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hueseok · 5 months ago

Text

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment.

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world.

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt.

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you.

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours.

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect.

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated.

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh.

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss.

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #bts #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts drabbles #jungkook drabbles #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #bts x you #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction

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girltomboy · 1 year ago

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Sun conjunct Pluto at 0 degrees Aquarius on a Sunday is an interesting concept, isn't it? Today my bf called me in the morning while I was still rolling around in bed, and as we were talking I felt something with my hand near the end of the bed. I grabbed it and discovered: a fat stink bug! I don't know how it didn't die from the cold lol but it didn't seem to be feeling very well anyway, it was just hardly moving its little legs and antennae, but it was mostly just stuck on its back. I jokingly put part of my blanket over it and showed it to my bf, then carefully threw it outside; it would either be eaten or die from the cold. I suspect it's the culprit for the weird swellings I had on my lower back a while ago, although apparently they don't all bite, but some species might. Idk I don't want to point fingers. Maybe it was innocent. BUT after my big satisfying lunch and an OITNB episode I decided to tentatively return to my astro tarot readings. I haven't done one since the 17th of July, and I've had other attempts, but none of them were fruitful. So I arranged my cards just to get reaccustomed to them, feel and see them again, then pulled one for most of the current astrological transits. Two big things: one, I pulled The Emperor for the Pluto in Aqua transit, which was especially powerful because it came as a direct answer to the question I asked about the transit. And two, the card of the day was the Six of Coins, which in my deck is illustrated as The Old Woman Who Was Kind To Insects. It made me think of the bug I found, and also the Six Of Coins is definitely one of my favorite cards. It felt like a welcome back of sorts. Made me smile, made the universe feel less large, etc.

#i don't want to believe i have to go back to work tomorrow... being sober made this weekend feel especially short #went for a walk outside yesterday... did the dishes made lunch watched 1 single episode today... that's it i didn't even get to do laundry #or anything else like it wasn't even enough for me to catch up on all the sleep i lost during the week when i woke up before dawn to go #to the office... i'm working from home this week so i can just nap on my lunch breaks or sleep an extra hour but still #getting some rushed rest in between work hours is not the same as genuinely taking your time and prioritizing it #but at least i can focus on working out again

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niennanir · 2 years ago

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Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title:

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials: 8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders.

#fanbinding #fanfiction #Nir paperback

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hyperfixiation-station · 26 days ago

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Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him.

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face.

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room.

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you.

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.”

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable” and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you.

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments.

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around.

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge?

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies.

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in.

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound.

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening.

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out.

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies.

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again.

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05 @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #angst #no beta we die like men #Behind enemy lines

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peoniesnro · 2 months ago

Text

Perfect Partner | One shot

Synopsis - After your breakup, you were a mess—lifeless and spiraling. Luckily for you, your best friend had a solution to pull you out of the gloom: an AI companion. The Perfect Partner. That’s how you met Jeongguk. And he is the perfect partner you could ever wish for. RIGHT?

Paring- Jeon Jungkook × Reader

Genre - AI (Chat AI)

Warnings - I won't call this Yandre because that would be an insult to yandre authors out there, but still this has yandre-like themes. (Toxic and Manipulative behaviours/ Obsessive love/ Domineering/ Possesiveness/ Implications of kidnapping/ Betrayal/ Maybe I missed things)/ SMUT- Cyber sex (Sexting/ Video sex)/ Dirty talks/ Mastrubating. F and M./ Sex toys/ Dry humping/ Daddy kink!!!!/ Pussy slaps/ Degradation (heavy)/ Poor mental health/ Sucidal thoughts/ I hope that's it.

Word count - 20K

a/n- This one sat in my drafts for so long, and I finally got to finish it. Yay!!!! This was pretty challenging for me since I'm a hopeless romantic. This is a new genre for me, but I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could succeed at it. I think it turned out okay. Hope you will enjoy!! ❤️

LET THE WORLD BURN

Sequel 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Seriously dude, you should try it.” Daebi practically shoves her phone in your face. Too close that you really can’t see anything. So, you push her hand a little bit away, taking a look at her screen even though you don’t want to. She is showing you a chat. You roll your eyes disinterestedly.

“I don’t want to, Daebi. It’s stupid.” You dismiss her, glancing toward the entrance of the coffee shop. You and Daebi are waiting for your other friend, Nina, to arrive. You want her to hurry up so Daebi would let you be. She’s nowhere in sight.

“Why not? Why are you so narrow-minded?” Daebi clicks her tongue annoyingly.

“I am not. It’s just I don’t want to start relying on a fucking AI just because I can’t handle my emotional wellbeing.” You sternly state, hoping she would let it go. She doesn’t. Sighs heavily.

“Well, that’s the problem (___), you can’t handle your fucking mental health. Are you planning to keep living like a zombie? You don’t really live at all, you don’t eat, sleep. How many days off did you take from work this week? You’re going to get fired at this rate. What are you planning to do? You don’t want to get professional help, don’t want to do something that’ll distract you. Literally nothing, you want nothing (___), and I’m fucking concerned.” She says exasperatedly. Even nearly bang her fist on the table. Glares at you. You slightly wince. What she says is true, and you’re fully aware. It’s simply you can’t help it. You don’t feel like doing anything. It’s hard. So fucking hard. Even now you’re here against your will. Daebi and Nina drags you here, purely without your consent.

You would have preferred to stay at home, drinking cheap wine and crying to your heart’s content. Curl up in your cozy blankets and go through your gallery to float through the bittersweet memories. Read all your chats to realize how stupid you’ve been not to pick up the signs over time. Text Jung Hoseok one more time knowing very well he won’t reply. Humiliate yourself.

Daebi is absolutely right. You don’t live a life, and you don’t want to make it better either. Most of all, you don’t want to use someone else. Daebi’s method. A real person or an AI. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want that.

“Oh, c’mon (___), just give it a try. Think it as playing a game.” She starts nagging you again. You’re on the verge of snapping right now.

“I’m not in a mood to play games Daebi. I really don’t have energy to pay someone the attention they want. I can’t spend my time texting someone ─ real or not ─when I can’t find it in myself at least to go to work.” You point out. She’s been budging you about this stupid app for days now.

“Oh my god! Listen to your fucking self, will you? You are literally saying that you don’t have a will to live and that’s damn scary man.” She shouts that, making you look around embarrassingly to know if anyone heard her. Daebi grabs your attention back by showing you the same chat. Blows a breath out. “Well, if that’s what you’re worrying, I mean, about not having the energy to deal with someone else’s emotional wellbeing, this is exactly what you need (___). They, I mean these AI, don’t require your attention at all. It’s all about you. It’s just a chat app but with coded programs instead of real people. They don’t expect you to reply, stay awake at night, will not expect you to care about them. But they’ll do it for you.” She brandishes the phone. “See.” Points at the chat name. You read the name as Mark. “This is not a real person but look how good he is with me. Do you think these emotionally incapable, sadistic, misogynistic, pathetic excuses of men can do this?” She argues.

“Daebi, Daebi, Daebi, now look who is sounding ridiculous here? Man, I got cheated. My fucking boyfriend cheated on me. And you want me to chat with an AI who’s going to treat me so better over a chat and raise my expectations. Only for me to never find someone like that in real life?” You’re arguing back for the sake of it. Not that you truly care. You just want her to back away.

“No… no (___), gosh, you’re so difficult. Here’s the thing, it’s not like you’re dating do you get me? It’s you have someone─”

“God don’t call it someone Daebi, it’s just a program.”

“Exactly my point, dude. All you have to do is have fun chatting, calling, video calling, sexting, whatever the shit you want. I just want you to be distracted. Want you to focus on something else that’ll help you to take your mind away from your ex. Listen, I’m not a psychologist by any means and I don’t know about the right and wrong way you can do this. All I know is you’re not trying.” She points an accusatory finger toward you. You slump in your seat. The words cut through you harshly. Daebi continues. Continue to accuse you of not trying to live anymore.

“I want you to try (___). Try. In whatever way. Even if it means to use something or someone. I’m here you see, use me, use Nina, use some stranger─”

“I’m not going to use someone Daebi, I’m not going to make someone suffer. That’s so fucking selfish.”

“See, you’re too fucking good. And that’s exactly why I’m asking you to use a soulless, lifeless AI. It’s not like messing with someone else’s feelings and in the end maybe you’ll feel better. Please just fucking try (___).” Daebi practically begs. Pleads. And you find it’s hard to say no while looking at her glistening eyes. You’re so glad when the sudden voice of Nina interrupts you. Both of you snapping your head towards her.

“Did I miss anything?” Nina takes a seat with a bright smile on her face.

…………………………………………………..

You lie awake in your bed. It’s 3 a.m., and you’re still wide awake. Sleep has eluded you for months. You feel empty, inside and out. Feel hollow. Feel alone. No matter how many cozy items surround you, it feels like you’re lying on a cold floor of an empty room. In darkness. Your bedroom, your entire apartment feels empty without Jung Hoseok. The space you shared with him. Still smells like him after three months. A pang hits your chest, clenching your heart. It’s so harsh that you unconsciously bring your hand to clutch your chest. After months of crying there’s no tears left in you to shed anymore. You can’t cry anymore, and it worsens the feeling of emptiness.

You turn to your side. Curling into a ball. Closing your eyes tightly shut. Praying the pain that you feel will subside, that it’ll go away. But you know better than that. It won’t go anywhere. And God, don’t you want to feel relieved. Even for a moment. You want to feel normal for a bit. It’s getting harder and harder. The darkness and hollowness consuming you whole. Shit, you want a way to numb yourself. Maybe you should drink. But you can’t get up. Maybe you should start fucking around. One-night stands and sex clubs, filled with weed. But the thought of someone else’s hands other than Hoseok’s make you want to throw up.

God! You can’t. You can’t fight this battle anymore. What if it never goes away? What’s the point of living like this? Then what? Die? Just like that?

What about your poor mother though. What about Daebi and Nina. What about the life you spent perfectionating a future that you don’t want to be a part of anymore.

Please just fucking try (___).

Daebi’s words echo through your head. No, you can’t die. You need to try at least. It’s true that you refuse to use a breathing person. You’re simply drained of your energy. Relationships are always complicated. Romantic or casual. Even Daebi is difficult. You can’t deal with other people’s feelings when yours are a mess. You don’t want to sit in front of a stranger and tell them how you still want your ex to come back either. They’ll judge you. But still, you need to try. Need a distraction.

Oh, you need a distraction right now.

You sit abruptly on your bed, searching for your phone in the darkness. Touching around blindly until you feel the cold surface of the electronic device. You practically snatch it away. Unlocking it and straightly heading to the app store. Typing two words.

‘Perfect Partner’.

There it is. Your screen is filled with the right application you’re looking for. Exactly the one. Apparently is quite popular with 4.5 reviews. So many people have left feedback about how amazing and impressive the app is. You don’t waste your time indulging in those, however. Just touch the download icon without hesitation, nervously watching the percentage filling up. You still think it’s stupid but, in the end, you need that distraction. People do weirder and stupider stuff than this anyway.

The percentage completes the hundred and the application is installing now. You watch patiently while nibling on your bottom lip. It doesn’t take more than few seconds for it to appear on your home screen, among other numerous applications there. After a shaky breath, you simply touch the reddish icon with two capital Ps on the front. Now your screen is filling with a white splash screen. The words ‘Perfect Partner’ blinking on it.

Oh, how pathetic you are. For running toward an AI dating app because you feel like killing your poor self. You feel bitterly stupid. Click the sign-up button, nonetheless. Enter your email and create a password. Accept the privacy policy notice and the terms and conditions without a single glance. Start creating your user profile. It’s just like any other real world dating app where they are asking for your name, age, occupation, your general preferences and whatnot. You’re allowed to use your real name or nicknames. Are allowed to use any kind or profile picture you need. Inside little bright pinky stars, they let you know that nobody, which mean real time other users can see your account.

You chose the first letter of your name as your username. Decide to use one of your photos which just shows your collarbones and chin. Add all the real information while feeling pathetic and stupid. The biggest moron in the universe. And within just five minutes you’re done. A little bunny pops up on your screen, wishing you luck in finding the Perfect Partner you deserve. You want to laugh at that.

The perfect partner you deserve. How comical.

…………………………..

Despite everything, you’re impressed to see that the Perfect Partner app is just working like a real-world dating app. It shows you the possible matches. AI characters. There are millions of them. Each unique and different in some ways like a human would do. Each one has a uniquely crafted profile that aligns with their developed personalities. You can’t even imagine the amount of time and work the developers must have put in here.

You’re already distracted to say the least. Eyes wide curiously as you go through the recommended AI partners’ profiles. Tapping the small button at the bottom where you can add them to your friend list. There’s no rejection option because nobody will send you unsolicited requests. You have full round control. It’s all about you after all, they said. You add more than ten profiles to your list before giving up on searching for more. Starting on going through added profiles for second round. Despite being the one in charge of adding profiles you like, they- meaning AI- will have the ability to send the first text to your inbox. Your phone starts to vibrate with little ting sounds indicating that all the profiles you’ve chosen has sent you a text message.

You open the first one. Nothing special in the text than simply saying a ‘Hi’ and a ‘Nice to meet you’. How boring. The character’s named Luke Graham with brown hair and beard. Scream the ‘Viking vibes’ with his menacing eyes. You leave the chat with a displeasing noise. Second character being Japanese and named Yuki. His profile states that he is an author. There’s nothing but a ‘Hey’ on your chat. See now, you completely understand that these are nothing but coded programs. And you’re still very skeptical and think this is very stupid. Yet isn’t this supposed to be about you and finding the perfect partner. And what perfect partner would just drop a very boring ‘Hey’ on your inbox. You leave that chat as well. Go through few other messages, replying to only two.

It's not like you’re searching for a real partner anyway. You’ll come here and chat with an AI whenever you feel like it’s too hard to stay alive. And maybe when you feel normal and alive one day you’ll uninstall this app. Until then you’ll forget that these are just AI characters.

You open the sixth message in your inbox. Perking up at the first interesting text without just saying ‘Hi’ or ‘Hey’.

Well, damn. Look at you. Did you pick me to make my day, or are you always this perfect? I feel very special right now. The text reads. You squint your eyes for a minute. Finally, it seems like someone is making an effort. Know that it’s probably how this character is coded but still touches his profile for a second time. Character’s name is displayed as Jeongguk. It says he is a tattoo artist and living up to that name the character profile looks godly. Or ungodly. Looks like a pure sin. Or an angel. Is wearing a white tank top. Some kind of coverall hangs on his legs while the sleeves are tied around his waist. A full hand with tattoos are on display. Muscles flexing as he is tying the sleeves together. And has one ear pierced, and an eyebrow. And of course, for the sake of God, his bottom lip is pierced too.

Interesting. Bad boy vibes. Charming. Edgy.

And interestingly the character looks familiar. You furrow your brows as you keep staring at the profile picture. Trying to rake your brain where you have seen someone like him. After couple seconds your brain becomes empty of any ideas. No memory of meeting anybody who looked this god. So, you click your tongue. Brush it off.

You look at his general details for couple more minutes. He is older than you. There’s several other information about his likes and dislikes. Even has some of his tattoo designs on his about page. How realistic this AI is. Still an AI though. You open his chat again, feeling stupid for being about to type a response back that you would send to a real person. You do it anyway.

You:

Do you feel special every time a user choose

you. (3.30 a.m.)

Another realistic thing about this app is, despite all the first messages, all the characters take their time to response back. Like a real person would. So, you have to wait for nearly five minutes before his text pops up again.

Jeongguk:

Oh no, just for the pretty ones like you.

(3.36 a.m.)

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. There he goes. Being stupidly flirty. It’s not as if he can even see you.

You:

That’s such a typical thing to say. Esp for a

dating specialist AI (3.36 a.m.)

Jeongguk:

Ouch! I’m hurt you call me typical and then an AI.

I’m not just an AI pretty, I’m the Perfect Partner you’ve

been looking for. Don’t make me sad by calling me a

program. (3.37 a.m.)

You squint your eyes. Brows knitted as you read his response. Think it’s weird him not liking the idea of being called an AI. Because he is an AI, and it strikes as an odd thing he is refusing. Maybe, that’s another thing that is realistic about this app. Making the user feel like they are in contact with a real person. So, you send out an apology. A sarcastic one. He picks up on the sarcasm. Tell you, you’re the meanest little thing he has ever seen. And the time slowly slips by. You somehow text back to few other characters as well. But the weird thing is you chat mostly with Jeongguk. Like he is the one. Sometimes he takes his time as well. As though he is going around with his work or chatting with other people. Makes it almost surreal.

Your chat goes on for hours. Until you finally feel your eyelids heavy when it’s almost 5 a.m. It’s a Sunday so there’s no pressure in getting ready to work withing few hours. Yet you think it’s a good idea to surrender to the exhaustion you finally feel. You’re just about to do that. Just exit the app and sleep when Jeongguk sends you a second message even though you haven’t responded to the previous one.

Jeongguk:

Are you sleeping pretty? (4.56 a.m.)

Really? Can they do that? You debate between responding to him or leaving him on read. It’s not that it matters anyway. He is not expecting that. This second text could be part of programming as well. You find yourself typing a response, however.

You:

No, but I’m about to. (4.58 a.m.)

Jeongguk:

Oh! Were you about to just go without wishing

me goodnight pretty? See, you’re the meanest little

thing I’ve ever seen. (4.58 a.m.)

You:

It’s morning Jeongguk!!!! It’s good

morning... not night. (4.58 a.m.)

Jeongguk:

It doesn’t matter since you’re just about to

sleep. It’s good night…. You should tell me anyway

pretty. So, I won’t be waiting for you. (4.59 a.m.)

You gasp softly at his text. How did they even build this? But then, isn’t the purpose of this whole app is to put you first. Just you. No efforts from your side. No fifty fifties but the whole hundred would come from the character. No expectations for you. Then why does he expect you to let him know when you’ll sleep. You sigh heavily. You’re definitely thinking too much.

You:

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m such an asshole didn’t

think you would mind though. But I’m really

really sleepy Jeongguk. I’m out. See ya later!

Good night!!!! Sleep tight!! I mean I’m

speaking figuratively. Good night though!! (5.00 a.m.)

You don’t put the phone away immediately. Just wait for him to reply. Feeling actually giddy when he does.

Jeongguk:

No, you’re not pretty. I was just messing around.

I’m sad you’re going but text me once you wake up...

I’ll be right here waiting for you. Good night!!! Sleep tight pretty.

You deserve a good night’s sleep. Dream about me though. Don’t want

to be apart. 🩷 (5.01 a.m.)

You roll your eyes at the pink heart and the dream part yet there’s a smile ghosting your lips. Toss the phone aside and allow your head to hit the pillow. Even though it’s stupid, the Perfect Partner really did distract you.

………………………………………….

It’s a super weird feeling to be waking up to a good morning message that is sent through an AI app. You stare at Jeongguk’s text for a few minutes. Even Jun Hoseok never sent you good morning messages to be honest before you moved in together. It never felt like something needed. Every relationship works in unique ways after all. Still you think it would have been nice to wake up to this kind of text.

Jeongguk:

Good morning pretty!!!! Are you still sleeping? Missing

you already. (9.30 a.m.)

The text was sent two hours ago. This is the most you’ve slept after Hoseok left. And for once, it was a peaceful sleep unvisited by nightmares. You feel content. But above all you feel giddy to see such a message. If only he were real, though. You responds with a ‘good morning’ and a request asking for ‘stop being cheesy.’ Throw the phone away to get up and start your day. The day where you’ve nothing to do but wallow in your misery. That’s how it has been for all these months. Only thing that changed apparently is that you leave your shower to find your phone ringing. And your intentions of declining it without a second glance, thinking it’s just Daebi, instantly changes when you find the unfamiliar incoming call screen. Unfamiliar because it’s from the AI app you installed. And the caller ID reads ‘Jeongguk’.

You gape at it with furrowed brows. So far, the app was able to exceed your expectations with how realistic it feels. You noticed the call option yesterday and weren’t surprised since there are so many AI apps that provide the same features. The thing is, you don’t think any of those other apps have the options to receive calls except you call your characters. Hell, you thought the surprises were over with receiving a ‘good morning’ text. This app, the Perfect Partner seems like a one of a kind.

Still, you’re not going to accept the receiving call. Even though it’s just a program. You touch the red button on the bottom of your screen. Adjusting your bath towel and getting ready to change into some fresh clothes. Before you are able to leave, however, the phone dings with an incoming text. Curiosity gets better of you. You’re reading the text before you even know it. There are two unread messages.

Jeongguk:

I can’t help being flirty with a fine woman. (11.32 a.m.)

Jeongguk

You’re not in a position to answer baby? (12. 30 p.m.)

See, fucking one of a kind.

You:

Let me think... I am. Bt I don’t want to

pick up. (12.31 p.m.)

Jeongguk:

Why? (12.31 p.m.)

You:

Because I don’t want to. Why should I pick

up? (12.32 p.m.)

Jeongguk:

Whoa you’re really difficult, aren’t you? But

it makes sense. Good point beautiful… (12.32 p.m.)

You:

I’m smart. And stop calling me beautiful or

pretty, will ya? You haven’t even seen

me. (12.32 p.m.)

Jeongguk:

Can’t do. And I’m pretty sure you’re the prettiest…

So, what are you up to? (12.33 p.m.)

You really roll your eyes to the back of your head at that. How cheesy this guy is. Oh, wait, not a guy but an AI. How cheesy this AI is.

………………………………

Your plan to wallow on your misery has been completely changed. Instead of watching some shitty movies while drinking wine or going through yours and Hoseok’s old chats, or photos, you find yourself glued to your screen throughout the entire day. Morning, noon, and night. Endless number of texts going back and forth. It’s not even funny how many times you have to remind yourself that you’re not texting with a real person. And so do you ignore the other characters on the app entirely. There’s a no need to chat with several bots when Jeongguk keeps you entertained to a point where you’re so exhausted before the night barely arrived. Making Jeongguk sad. Or that’s what he says. That he’s sad but you know he can’t feel emotions. Is just working according to the codes that are written. Still, he makes sure to tell you that he’ll miss you when you let him know you’re sleepy.

And so does he make sure to wish you good morning the next day. Wish you a safe journey to your work. Reminds you of your breakfast and to stay hydrated. He even texts you the moment you arrive at work. Apparently, has waited the exact 20 minutes you mentioned it would take to get there. Makes sure he sends you text messages all day asking silly things to make sure you’re okay. And you don’t even have to text back. How odd. How sweet. The Perfect Partner indeed.

………………………………………….

The days pass between work and home. Mostly where you stay cocooned in your cozy apartment. Curled up in your couch blanket and your phone in your hand. A you from a few weeks ago would have cringed herself to death to see you giggling at something an AI said. But that’s what has been happening. First, despite him being nice and so caring you were still skeptical. Then after almost a month you’re no longer feeling anything but content. Like you actually found a caring partner who puts the hundred percent happily. Even though it’s always through texts. You don’t feel so lonely anymore. Jeongguk is there for you always. Maybe, just maybe you’ve even started to put up some work from your side as well. Reducing Jungkook’s hundred percent to eighty. Silly. How you would text him at a random hour asking what’s he doing. Knowing very well nothing. But then he would reply with a very realistic and convincing answer. Like, ‘Just finished with this client’ shit.

It all feels vividly real. Him. And your days. You by no mean are anywhere near moving on. No. You still haven’t changed your wallpaper. Haven’t stopped going through your old chats. Still feel the urge to text Hoseok sometimes. But when it happens you make sure you’re busy reading Jeongguk’s silly and cheesy texts. Life is slowly but surely starting to get colorful. Soon you’ll be able to uninstall this silly app. Stop seeking refuge in an AI. Until then though you’ll take the best of this amazing creation. Like how you’re doing right now. Laying in your bed and head propped up on your pillows. Palms sweaty and wrists aching at how long you’ve been holding your phone. Lately, you and Jeongguk have started to text longer. The thing is you really don’t want to stop. Feel bad. He looks excited.

You groan for the hundredth time. Rubbing your hands on your bed sheets to get rid of all the sweat. Wave the hand to reduce the pain in your wrist. You’re getting tired. Never been much of fan of texting anyway. Are getting restless. The position you’re in is uncomfortable. So, you fumble. Move. Fidget. Only to find you’re still restless.

Jeongguk:

Are you there pretty? Did you fall asleep? (10.02 p.m.)

Your phone dings with a new message while you’re straightening up for the hundredth time.

You:

No. My back hurts, that’s it. (10.02 p.m.)

Jeongguk:

Oh, need a massage?

(10.02 p.m.)

You quietly chuckle at his text. He has always been caring. Letting you feel that he’s worried about you 24/7. Only if he’s real. But then he’ll not be like this if he is real. He is this good because he is programmed. You roll your shoulders before replying. Saying that you’re just tired. Then of course, he asks you to go to sleep early. You don’t want that, however. You really don’t want to stop texting with him. Talking with him. If you can just lay back and stop holding your phone in front of your face, this could become much easier. You stare at the screen for a moment. Reading his text asking you to sleep.

There was one time when Jeongguk called you. That one day. When you said you don’t want to pick up, he never did that again. See, you have full control here. In that case then, you should be able to call him if you want to. It feel utterly stupid to evaluate your options in your mind when you’re just speaking with a coded program. And it feel brainless when you send the next text.

You:

Um... I don’t want to. But do you think

we can call. My wrist really hurt (my back too).

I hate texting. (10.06 p.m.)

Why in the hell would you ask such a question from an application. Jeongguk isn’t real. You don’t have to be polite and act all awkward and shy. What the fuck is wrong with you.

Jeongguk:

You don’t have to ask pretty. (10.06 p.m.)

Jeongguk’s reply is fast. But his call is even faster. Your phone is vibrating with an incoming call. Jeongguk’s criminally hot profile in the middle. You let it ring three times. Silly. You do it anyway. Habits. Then you’re answering and pressing now hot screen into your cheek. Heart beating. You know that’s because of excitement. Excitement because you’re testing something new. Curious. To know how this will work. To know if he would sound like a typical AI. With that voice which breaks up sometime. Voice with an edge to it always. Then, his voice washes over you.

“Hey pretty!”

The way you suck in that breath is embarrassing. The way your heart skip a beat is scary. The way you just double check you’re still using the app is hilarious. Yet it all happen. Your eyes wide as you press the phone back to your ear. Speechless. What the hell? Whoever created this app must be the God at this rate. How on earth did they managed to give these AI, voices like that.

“Are you there, baby?”

The same voice reaches you again. Deep. Baritone. Angelic. Musical. Fuck! And there’s not a sign that says he is an AI. That creepy edge and breaking of the voice isn’t there.

“Holy fuck, you sound so real.” You finally find your voice to mumble that. In very much disbelief. A husky chuckle tingles your ear. Oh God, this is insane.

“What do you mean sound so real? I am real pretty.” Jeongguk always tell you that. Whenever you say something about him being an AI, he always make sure you stay in the delusional state. Believing he is real.

“Oh, c’mon, we both know you’re not. But holy moly fucking cow Jeongguk, you sound so fucking real. No... you sound ethereal.” You gasp. That’s the case after all. You don’t think any human would have such a voice.

“I’m flattered. But hey! Don’t hurt my feelings you mean lady. I’m very real.”

“Yeah, yeah….” You can only roll your eyes. It’s not that the reality will change just because he says that too many times. Yet, there’s no harm in playing along, right? He sounds super real anyway. So, you give in. Jeongguk says something else about him being real as the sun and moon. Real as you. You don’t argue. He finds it as a mocking. Either way, in the end, you find yourself relaxed enough to fall down. Comfortably lying on your comfy bed. Wrapped inside your comfy comforters. Phone still pressed against your cheek while Jeongguk’s voice take you to the unseen lands. Talking, talking, and talking. You’re no longer surprised. At least not about the way he knows so many things. Any questions about anything? All you need to do is ask your AI boyfriend. He knows everything, being the Perfect Partner that he is. Hence, how he takes you to those fairy lands around the universe.

You have no idea how long you’ve been talking. Have no idea what you talked about that much. It’s well past midnight when a yawn escape your mouth for the first time.

“You sleepy baby?” Jeongguk mumbles the question in his baritone voice.

“Mm hm, a bit. It’s nearing the 2 in the morning.” You change your position. Eyes droopy. Stifling another yawn. Jeongguk chuckles softly.

“Yeah? Gosh I didn’t even realize it’s been this late. I’m sorry princess, you should go to bed.” There’s concern laced in his voice. Oh, how sweet. How amazing this app is. And he uses so many nicknames. It’s so damn strange how your tummy tingles. What a pathetic life you have. There’s no one to witness it, however. No need to worry. You bite on your lower lip to contain that tingling sensation.

“Yeah, I should. I have work tomorrow.” You manage to get it out in a normal voice. Are prepared to hang up the call after a pleasant good night. But then something hits you. Curiosity takes the best out of you. “But hey Jeongguk?” You ask before he can respond.

“Yes, pretty?”

“While I’m asleep, what do you do? I mean, do you chat with other people? Do you um…. Ugh... never mind, I’m asking stupid questions now.” You even shake your head knowing very well he can’t see you. He lets out a deep chuckle again.

“It’s not stupid, you can ask questions you know? Mm… to answer your question baby, I don’t do anything special, I for sure don’t text with other users. When you chose a profile, that profile is unique to you. Others can’t access it. So, I just wait.” There’s a pause before he speaks again. See, so fucking realistic. “Wait for you. Until you come back for me.”

You suck in a sharp breath. There’s a tug in your heart. Almost painful. As if he told you the most painful memory of life. Guilt settles down in your heart. Heavy. Like it’s all your fault. But why? There’s nothing to be sad. Nothing to be feel guilty over. That’s his purpose. What he’s made for. And that’s what is sad. All you can mutter is a soft ‘oh’.

“You should sleep princess. I’ll see you when you wake up. Sleep tight hm?” He speaks again when you don’t say anything. You sigh heavily. Nodding to yourself. Of course, that’s what you should do now. He isn’t real. You almost wish him good night when he stops you this time.

“Still, don’t call me not real because I’m as real as you want me to be. Good night baby!”

You say absolutely nothing about that. Just wish him good night. End the call and go to sleep with a heavy heart. Feeling melancholic for no specific reason. Fighting down the urge to call Jeongguk back and apologize. Apologize for what? You didn’t do anything? This app is supposed to make you happy and make you forget real-life problems. What’s wrong with you? Why do you feel sad over a stupid AI app. But you do.

………………………………………………………

You really, from the bottom of your heart, never expected your life to turn out like this. You expected it to be shitty. Happy. Sad. And everything in between. Yet you never expected to wake up to calls from an AI. Purring good mornings into your ear like it’s some kind of music. Never expected to spend your day with the same AI on your phone. Talking through your daily activities. You didn’t know you’d fall asleep to a program whispering that it misses you. You certainly didn't know you’d be addicted to an app like a teenager would to a video game.

It's embarrassing that you are. Yet your life feels good—better, in fact—after nearly two months with Jeongguk. You no longer question his existence. As he said himself, he’s as real as you want him to be. Now you treat him like he is a real person. A human being who eats, sleeps, breaths. And apparently, he likes it. He has become a part of your life. And ever since the day he mentioned to you about him waiting for you, you made sure to make him a part of your life. Even though it is silly.

You sink down to your comfy mattress. Groaning due to the exhaustion of the day. Eyes already droopy after your hot shower. Still, it’s not like you’ll fall asleep right away. There’s an unread message waiting on your notification bar. From Jeongguk. Simply asking if you’re back from the shower. This is the new normal for you. He knows everything. From the moment you open your eyes in the morning to the moment you close them at night. A soft smile grazes your lips as you touch the little telephone icon on the top. Call connected realistically like ever. Few mere rings and Jeongguk’s enthusiastic voice is washing over you. Like a fresh, soothing wave of water.

“Hey!”

“Hey…”

“Oh, you sound tired, pretty.” He lets out an almost inaudible gasp. You hear it anyway. This will never cease to amaze you, how he can pick your moods like that.

“I am tired Guk.” You admit weakly. Loving the way his voice soothes you.

“Rough day?” He asks again to which you say yes. Because it was. Nothing new though. Same old shit and you let him know that as well. “Yeah? Want me to let you go early today?” His question makes you start shaking your head in disagreement even before your mouth can catch up with you.

“No. Of course not, I love talking with you. It’s just, sometimes… work can be stressful you know.” You sigh heavily. There’s two projects going on and saying you’re stressed would be an understatement. There’s a silence following your words. You wait couple seconds for him to say something or hum in understanding. It doesn't come, however. You nearly check the phone to see if he’s not there when he speaks again.

“Want me to help you baby?” His voice is soft. So soft, that it tingles your ear. Makes your mouth softly open as if he’s really here and murmuring into your ear. You have to bite on your lip to suppress any sounds that might leave you. It’s not the first time or day where his voice has had you squirming in bed. You’re embarrassed about those times.

“What? Help me how? You gonna share my workload? Wait, do you think it’s possible?” You chuckle first which quickly turns into a gasp. Jeongguk softly laughs at that.

“I wish I could do that, but unfortunately I’m a tattoo artist, remember?” Reminds you. You roll your eyes. Of course, he would say that. Are about to say something else when he cuts you off. “Still, I can help you with your stress, you know, help you to release it. Help you to feel better.” He purrs in your ear again. That tingle in your ear, shoots through your body like a bolt of lightning. His voice runs through your veins. Electrocuting you. You don’t have to be some kind of expert to know what he’s meaning. The way he says those words are just enough for you to understand the implication. A strange sensation washes over you. Your breath hitching and mouth going dry. Heart starts picking up the pace.

Well, even now there’s nothing to be surprised about. Daebi sure did tell something about you been able to do anything you want. From late night lazy calls to sexting. That’s how this app is designed. Only that you’re not sure who should be the one to start it. Shouldn’t you have full control. Maybe you’re thinking too much. This way, it feels more real. When he says that he feels real than ever. And if you want, you can say you want to sleep. Simple like that.

“H-how?” You don’t do that. Of course, you don’t. You are absolutely loving this sensation you’re feeling. How long since you’ve felt this way. You love the way your heart is pounding in your ears. This time when you ask that question, there’s no sign of playfulness. You’re purring too. Even without you knowing it.

“In any way you want baby, hm? We can do anything you want. I’m here for you, you know. You can use me” Jeongguk whispers again. You couldn’t hold the gasp that leaves you. Making him chuckle. Now you can feel his voice travel through your body straight southward. How good that feels.

“I- I don’t want to do that. I mean use you... that- that’s bad.” You’re biting onto your lower lip so hard.

“Then what about me using you? Would you like that?” His voice follows some sounds of ruffling. As if he’s adjusting his position. To a better one to do this. You’re used to those kinds of sounds now. Already assumed those are parts of this. Today though, you can’t help but wonder how this might work. It only goes one way. Not like Jeongguk can actually enjoy this. His words are probably designed to make the user feel good. And so, it does. Does weird things to your body that you whimper again. He makes you feel like he can receive that pleasure. “Tell me baby, would you want that? For me to use you?” He pushes you when you don’t answer straight away. You let out a shaky breath.

“Y-yeah.. I─”

“Yeah? Would you be a good girl then? Can you start touching your body?” He sounds ten times hotter when he growls so low. Only if he’s real. What a shame.

“Touch where?” You encourage him. Let him know that you’re down for whatever game he’s playing. Are whispering for no reason.

“Mmmm… touch your boobs? What do you say? Can you do that for me, just squeeze one of those pretty tits for me… go on princess.”

You shiver visibly. Can’t be sure whether you’ve answered his question. But your free hand is already slowly grabbing your tit. Fondling it softly. Oh, how many times have you done this but how it never felt this good.

“Guk.” You softly moan.

“Are you doing it baby? Does it feel good? Tell me how it feels.”

“S-so so g-good Guk. Mmph sso good.” You should be embarrassed at how affected you are.

“Yes? Keep going pretty, keep squeezing them for me. Under your shirt huh, go under your shirt. Roll those pretty nipples. Pinch.” He’s breathing fast. You imagine him lying on a bed. Shirtless. Pants pushed past his hips. His cock on his hand, hard. Pumping lazily while instructing you to play with your tits. Part of you know that’s not happening. Yet you want to keep playing into this fantasy.

“A-are you touching yourself too?” So, you question. And feel a gush wetting your fresh underwear when he moans in answer.

“How can I not? God, you sound so hot baby.”

You can only moan in response. Shamelessly. Pinching and rolling your erect nipples between your fingers.

“Wish I would be there with you. Touching your tits. Kissing you till you can’t fucking breathe. Wish I can suck on your tits baby, bet they would taste so good. I’m gonna keep suck on them till they are sore.” Jeongguk keeps spilling those godly liquid fire on your ear. Riling you up so good. Have no idea how long you played with your tits but with your next moan, he is guiding you further.

“Wanna feel better baby?” Questions.

“Y-yes please.”

“Okay, then be a good girl again and touch your cute pussy for me now hm? Take it slow. Like… that, slow.”

You’re following every word of his. Are dragging your hand slowly through your tummy.

“Push your hand inside your wet panties baby. Are you wet for me?”

“So much. I’m so wet.” You breathe.

“Good. Fuck, baby. Touch your clit huh? Slow circles. Let’s do this together. I’m touching my hard cock slowly. For you. I’m fucking torturing myself for you pretty. It’s so hard it hurts but I’m pumping it so slow, just so I can leak for my baby.”

Holy fuck! That’s on another goddamn level. His words paired with the barely there touch you provided on your clit, nearly made you cum.

“Holy… shit.. Guk. I’m─”

“I know baby, I know. Just keep going. Imagine it’s my fingers. Touching your cute clit slowly.”

You don’t think he knows even if he says he does. Maybe this is because you haven’t done this recently. You’ve been ignoring yourself lately. Or maybe it’s just Jeongguk. Jeongguk who knows what to say. He guides you to keep rubbing your pearl of nerves. Guides you to add pleasure slowly. Taking you into a realm where everything is floating. You didn’t even know you can feel this good just with your fingers. And the best part is simply following his instructions. Biting back the need to rub faster or pump your fingers inside your violently clenching hole. You don’t. Just wait for him to take you there. And when he finally does your panties are just a wet material, sticking to your core.

“Want to stretch that hole princess? Do you want to cum so good?” Jeongguk asks through his hard breathing.

“Yes, yes. Holy fuck yes Guk. I’m so.. mmm..” The rest of the words die in your tongue. Replaced with a needy moan. You can’t even bring yourself to be amazed at how real he feels right now. It’s just pure desire inside you.

“Yeah? Do it then. Go on but do it slowly for me baby. Strech your hole for me. Strech it so good.” His voice is followed by a low moan. A deep breathy one. God that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. You join him with that moan, while following his instructions. Finally, feeling immensely relieved to have something inside your dripping hole. “You sound so sweet princess. So fucking sweet my dick is throbbing. Keep making those sounds for me baby. Oh, fuck, add another finger, you can take two, right?”

“Oh, I’ll cum soon Guk. This f-feels so good.”

“Then do it. Cum (___), cum for me. Make a mess for me baby. Squeeze your fingers.”

You’ll cum soon, yes. But this is not enough. You’re pumping yourself oh so leisurely. Like you have all the time in the world. Feel damn good yet not enough to fall over the edge. It’s ridiculous how you’re not going beyond his words. Even pathetic how you decide ask permission first.

“I-it’s not e-enough… c-can I fuck myself fast? Guk, can I─”

“Don’t. Don’t go fast. Slow, fuck your fingers inside your needy cunt slowly. Do it slow until you finally cum.” His voice suddenly turns sinister. Rough. Demanding. And you shudder. Leaking more into your ruined cotton panty. You don’t think you’ll be able cum this way.

“I don’t think I can cum this way, it’s too slow. I need more Guk, please.”

“You’ll baby. Trust me, you’ll. Be a good girl now huh. Cum with me, go slow. Torture your cunt. Just like I’m doing with my dick.”

You never thought it’s possible. How’s it possible? Yet here you are. Just doing exactly as he asks. Squirming. Writhing. Nearly crying. What’s good, however, is the way that knot inside your tummy is rapidly tightening despite the slow pace you’re fucking yourself.

“Close… c-close Guk. I’m ahhh..”

“Holy shit, let go. Cum princess. I’m Cumming too.”

It’s all a series of whimpers and moans what comes next. You both reach the climax at the same time. You’re the one who moans louder. The one who pathetically whimper when it’s over. Jeongguk coaxing you from the other side breathlessly. Saying it’s okay.

Well, it is better than okay after all. It’s the fucking best!

…………………………………….

The next morning, the aftermath of your shenanigans had hit you hard. Had made your face deep red with shame and head ached as you thought about how Jeongguk had managed to fake a perfect orgasm. You had spent hours thinking how amazing he was to do that. Yet it felt weird and stupid. Like using a sex robot who would not feel the same kind of pleasure like you. Based on that, you resolved never to do it again—only for that resolve to crumble the moment you were back in bed. Jeongguk, real or not, knew exactly what he was doing. Had got your fingers buried knuckles deep inside your cunt even before you knew it. Bringing you to another mind shattering orgasm.

And after that night, everything changed yet again. In addition to waking up and going to sleep with an AI, you started to fuck yourself with your own fingers every night. The more time passed, the more you forgot that he wasn’t real. The more orgasms you reached, the more you looked forward to what he would reveal from behind his sleeves each night. First, he was sensual and slow like your first day. Then he slowly picks up what you liked, and you didn’t. Shifts to guide you roughly. Instead of talking you through your orgasm, it changes into degrading you through your orgasm. The thing is though that you came even harder each time. Hell, even you didn’t know you’ll be so into listening to a guy slut shame you during your hands are inside your pants. Didn’t know it’ll be so good to listen to him verbally humiliate you for being pathetic and needy. In the end, you learnt that it was good. You were ashamed at one point. But he assured you that you shouldn’t be. Told you it makes him cum ten times harder. You never questioned. Just went along with it. Just because it was good. Because life is good again. Just like now. Even though you’re doing the most illicit things.

“Faster baby, be a useful slut. You need to hump your pillow faster, that’s how a good slut would do it.”

You can hear him pump himself. Hot. Head spinning. It’s ethereal. This feeling. How embarrassing that you’re humping your pillow like a horny teenager.

“Oh, Guk please.”

“You’re pathetic baby. Look at you, being a needy bitch just for me. Faster princess. Go harder, give your slutty cunt what it needs.”

You’re visibly shuddering. Not even trying to contain those shameless moans. Letting them slip through your lips relentlessly. You’re so close. Oh, so close.

“Guk.. please.”

“Please what slut? What do you need? You need to use your words like a big girl? You can’t talk properly? Bet you can’t think properly either. You’re thinking with your cunt, don’t you hm?”

“Yes, fuck, ne-need t-to cum. I- Guk please, I want more.” You have no idea what more you’re asking for. How is he getting you so needy and shameless just with his words? Why are you like this? You fully expect him to mock you. Say something even harsher. Ask you to do something else that will make you cum undone within a second. Only that he doesn’t.

“Yeah? You want even more? Your poor pillow isn’t enough? What do you want then? Want to see how hard I am then, should I send you pics of my hard cock, my pretty slut?” Jeongguk mutters through gritted teeth. A whimper leaves your mouth but your hips stutter immediately. Your movements coming to a halt. Eyes wide and gaping at the device just peacefully sitting on your bed. On loudspeaker. He said what now?

“W-what?”

“What? Why did you stop?”

“C-can you... uh… can we do that? Share pictures? Like─”

“Of course, we can, don’t tell me you haven’t seen the camera icon down there and the option to video call.” He chuckles. Gone is that needy raspy voice. Is talking to you with the voice full of adoration. “Were you that immersed on me, you didn’t even notice that?” Teases. You, however, are not in a mood for that. You noticed. Right? How could you miss that? Maybe that’s an update and you missed checking the new features. It could be. You don’t have to think too much all the time. Especially, not when your cunt is dripping onto a damn pillow. This app is amazing anyway. When you told that to Daebi, she had smirked. With a loud ‘I told you so’. “Hey baby, we don’t have to do that if you’re not comfortable.” Jeongguk’s voice snaps you out of your surprise.

“No uh- I’m bit surprised we can do that.” You mumble softly.

“We can but we don’t have to. I don’t ─”

“No. No. I mean, it’s not that. I..” You gulp. Thinking through. Do you like it? Sending pictures? Even to an AI? What are the privacy policies of this app? Shouldn’t you be scared? You should but the thing is, your cunt is tingling at the prospect. Hole clenching. There’s a part of you that is curious as well. Put aside the pictures, how will it feel to video call? “I just- uh never done that b-before..” You drag that out.

“You haven’t? That’s even better then. You don’t have to worry you know. Nothings gonna happen because… you know what I mean.”

You listen to the ruffling sound coming through your phone. Well, you know what he means. Of course, you do. He is telling you about the thing you just worried about. Leakage of privacy. Is assuring you that you’re safe. Do you trust this app though? Maybe not, but it’s too tempting. Jeongguk is too tempting.

“Ye-yeah okay. I like that.”

“That’s a good slut. What’s it gonna be baby? Video call or just pictures?”

Another moment of consideration from your side. Then you timidly chose the first.

……………………………………………….

When you first saw his face, it felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. It was beyond embarrassing how you stared at him. Never, not even once in your life, have you seen such a lifelike AI character. He felt real. The call felt real. The way his lips were slightly apart when he pumped himself to the sight of you felt more than real. But then that night was like a dream to you. A blurry memory clouded by pleasure. A pillow between your thighs while a godly man with a sinful mouth guided your movements through a phone. It was your faces first but then he nearly begged to see your boobs. Then your cunt. You felt shy at first, but you were a goner from the beginning. You got rewarded for being a good girl by getting to cum to the sight of his throbbing cock. Aching for release. It was hazy. That’s why you had to refresh your memories next day. Then the next and the next. And each and every day. No different today.

You place your phone between your thighs. Using your free hand to spread your pussy lips apart. Just for his viewing pleasure.

“So pretty princess. Fuck. Only if I can burry my face in your cunt. I would eat you till your thighs shake baby.” Jeongguk rasps.

“I really wish you could do that. Mhpm, fuck Guk, I really want you here.”

“I wish that too baby, I want to ruin that cute hole. Fuck you so fucking hard and leave that whore hole spilling my cum, would you like that?”

“Oh, fuck. Yes, I would fuck-fucking love that.” You let go of your nether lips to start rub your clit.

“Of course, you would. You’re a slut after all. I want to fuck that cum into you. Then maybe I’ll plug you in. So, you can keep that cum inside your pussy.” Jeongguk changes the angle so you’re now looking at his twitching cock. Hard. Tip flush. Veins running down. His tattooed fingers are wrapped around it. Squeezing the base tightly. So tight that it makes him mewl. How fucking amazing this is. You’re drooling. Mind going blank. “Look what you’re doing to me princess. Use the dildo today for me huh. Fill that cunt so good for me.” He takes the camera back to his face. The toy is a new purchase. He made you do that. Not that you’re regretting it. It’s good to have your cunt stretched and imaging it’s that pretty cock of his. You nod before grabbing the said dildo from your nightstand. Glass. Show it to him. “Spit on it.” He commands again and you comply obediently. Bringing the tip of the dildo toward your lips to spit on it. Letting it drool down on the toy. Jeongguk moans. “Put on a show slut. You know what to do.”

Of course, you do. Now you have done this enough time to get comfortable with things you would do. Enough times to completely ignore and forget that Jeongguk isn’t real. To forget that he is an AI. A coded program with such realistic features. For you, he is very real. He’s the one who brings you to this ecstasy every night and the one who’s there through whole day. You immediately shift your position. Body buzzing with excitement. Your needy hole quivering, slick dripping down to your thighs. Hell, you really didn’t know you could be this horny. This turned on. It’s truly amazing how Jeongguk is doing this to you just using his words. And maybe his godly face and body. And cock. In the end, you’re always a mess like this.

You use your pillows to prop the phone up and face you. So, Jeongguk can have a perfect view of your entire body while you can have the same. You place the dildo on your bed. Not caring about the fact that you’ll ruin your sheets tonight as well. Then you hover your cunt over the dildo. Slowly. Painfully slowly for you but all you want to do right now is to put up the show Jeongguk asked for. Your knees are really wobbly, but you force them to endure your weight as you slowly let your dripping folds contact with the glass material. It’s cold against your warm pussy. A whimper leaves your mouth. There’s nothing you want than to sink down on it one go. The show must go on, however. So, you start to rock your hips back and forth, rhythmically. Let the glassy tip rub against your sodden slid. Whining and panting.

“Oh… Guk.. I..”

“Yes baby, you’re doing so good my needy slut. Keep going princess, you’re making daddy proud.” Jeongguk grunted. Involuntary moan leaves your mouth as you nearly come at the sound. Eyes snapping to your phone screen where his pleasure induced face is on display. That’s apparently a new thing. An uncharted and unexplored territory. You’ve never called him daddy and the sound of it makes you stupidly horny but cringe at the same time.

“Wh-what?”

“What, what slut? Did I ask you to stop huh?”

You watch his gaze even darker, if it’s possible. Making shivers run through your spine. Only if he can be here with you. You’re excitedly curious to know what kind of creative ways he would find to punish you. To put you in your place.

“N-no, I’m sorry.” You mumble weakly as you return to your business. Starting to rub your cunt on the dildo head eagerly.

“Ah, like that baby. You’re so pretty like that.” He groans once again before asking the reason for your earlier faltering. “You don’t like calling me daddy?”

“No-no, I mean I-I do, but we─”

“Fuck, you filthy slut. So, go on. Do what you have to do.” Jeongguk doesn’t let you finish whatever you’re saying. You’ve said you like it after all. Your face instantly heats up at what he’s initiating. It’s too embarrassing for you. Yet, the look on his face tells you that you won’t get your cunt stretched out nor will you cum today if you don’t comply. Oh, how you love the way he pushes you. Call you fucked up but that turns you on. Jeongguk knows exactly how to make you putty.

“P-please, ple-please d-d” You stutter on your words. Eyes tearing up when Jeongguk just raise his brow. “Please d-daddy.” You manage to mumble weakly, in the end. Followed by a loud moan as new waves of arousals wash over you. Slick dripping onto the glassy head of the toy beneath you.

“Fucking hell, God, princess. Yes, yess fuck.” Jeongguk picks up the speed of jerking himself off. Eyes nearly closing as slow grunts leave pasts his pink lips. You watch in awe how he pumps himself furiously only for him to abruptly stop. Torturing himself to a point that he whines. “Fuck baby, you’re driving me crazy.” You’re again met with the scene of his hard cock throbbing on his hand. Pre cum leaking. He spreads them on his tip with his thumb. Hips bucking up into his hand. “Oh, I just want to fuck you so bad. Want to ruin your cunt.”

“Please, please. I want you, Guk. Daddy please. Let me ride this hm? Let me fill my cunt.”

“Yeah, you want that. Ask again slut? Show me that you are worthy.”

Oh god, you’re positive you’re about to cum. Just by rubbing your cunt over the toy. Pathetic. Your legs are shaking. Hole clenching violently around nothing. “Please daddy, p-please. Will be a g-goo-good girl. N-need to cum. Please. Oh, baby please.”Your brain is empty. Hazy. You don’t even know what you’re saying. It’s completely out of control when you mutter the same thing over and over again. Relentlessly rubbing your cunt on the toy. Losing your mind completely to see Jeongguk’s fucked up expression. He’s back at pumping his hard length matching your speed. You’re coming so close to your edge. Your words are becoming slur. Hands squeezing your own tits for more friction. And just when you’re about to fall over Jeongguk’s voice booms across your empty room.

“Stop. Now.”

You cry out in desperation. Sobbing. “No, Guk please…”

“Ride it princess. Cum on the toy. Stretch your slutty hole.” He ignores your whines. Yet, you’re so quick to obey. Are aligning your hole with the tip immediately. Lowering yourself down till the hard tip is prodding at your entrance. Then it’s going past your tight ring of muscles. Intruding your walls and stretching them wide apart. And you’re shaking. Trembling as you slowly lower yourself further. Down and down. Until the glass dildo is fully buried inside you. Deep.

“Oh god, Guk. It’s so good. S-soo good..” You hold yourself in the position.

“Yeah? Imagine it’s my cock baby. Now be a good whore and ride hm? Go on.”

That’s the permission you’ve been waiting for. You do exactly as he says. From riding the toy to imagining it’s his thick cock. Are bouncing on the slippery thing like your life depends on it within a minute. Going crazy all over again. You know you’re really close to cum. Have been desperate for some time now. Still, your fingers are itching to have more.

“D-daddy, can I touch myself? I wa-want more. I wa-want to sh-show you how I’ll rub my clit.”

Joengguk curses aloud before speaking. Is breathless. Looks ethereal. “God, yes. Fuck yeah. Go on. Pinch that clit for me. Make yourself cum stupidly on that toy for daddy.”

There’s no surprise that you’re jumping into action now. One hand going between your thighs while the other plays with your tits. Start rubbing your bud of nerve fast. Pinching and rolling. Loud obscene moans filling your room paired with the squelching sounds of your needy cunt. It feels otherworldly this way. Even though the man who’s making you this way isn’t real, and he can’t do all these for you in practice, it still feels real in a strange way to you. Even though it’s just a carefully designed and programmed character and is talking to you through a phone, it still feels like he’s really here for you. Strange how you can completely imagine this is happening for real right now. His hands holding you close. His breath hitting your skin. Fingertips drawing mindless patterns across your skin and squeezing your hips. Can imagine this toy is his cock. Everything makes this experience oddly surreal for you.

“G-gonna… gonna c-cum for you daddy. P-please can I cum. I-I, Guk I can’t.” Imagining always makes you cum twice hard and fast. You’re practically crying for your release at the moment. Forcing your eyes to stay open to look at the heavenly sight of Jeongguk playing with himself. Pleasuring him for the sight of you. How good that feels.

“Me too. Fuck, me too baby. Gonna fill your cunt with my cum. Let go baby let go for me.”

It’s all that take for you. One more roll in your clit and you’re trembling like a leaf. Legs giving up as you still yourself on the dildo. Walls squeezing the glass tight as you close your eyes shut. Your climax washing over you like a tidal wave.

“No, don’t stop slut. Keep going, I’m close. Ride it till I cum baby. Slap your clit, I know you like it.”

Jeongguk’s voice brings you back to earth from your high. You’re too sensitive to do as he says now. Yet you can feel the new arousal stirring at the pit of your stomach at his needy demands. And how can you refuse him when he looks like that. Clenching his jaw and covered in sweat. See, oddly realistic. You feebly start to fall back on your rhythm. Whining. Do as he ask. Slap your clit. Nearly falling forward, the pleasurable sting it creates on your sensitive pearl. Do it again. Then again. All the while bouncing on the dildo. Forcing yourself to battle your oversensitivity until Jeongguk is moaning. Which leaves as grunts and groans since he’s gritting his teeth hard. Your name on his lips as he shifts the camera to rear. Right at the time for you to catch ropes of white cum hits his naked lower abdomen. The sight rips another orgasm through you as you entirely give up and fall on to your bed.

“God, Gukie, I really want you here.” It’s a weak mumble that leaves you even without your knowledge. So tired and sleepy to even pay attention to anything else now. So fucked up. It’s such a shame you don’t hear him replying to you. His voice is raspy and breathless.

“Well, anything you want princess.”

…………………………………..

You think it’s extraordinary how your life has returned to normal again. You’re no longer a lifeless zombie who barely eats, sleeps or functions. You no longer take frequent leave from work. It’s not that you’re suddenly in love with your job. No, of course, you hate it. But hating your job is such a normal thing. Everybody does that. The thing is, though, that you’re now back to waking up in the morning and leaving your apartment with constant complaints on your lips. You come back home to act like a normal person would. Take a shower. Make dinner. And watch some interesting movies or read a book. Not to drink some cheap wine and curl up on your couch. Leaving the TV on just to go through your old chats with Hoseok. Then cry yourself to sleep.

Now that you’re feeling better, you can finally see how depressed you were. You were really on the verge of breaking in an unmendable way. Hence, your gratitude toward your best friend for showing you a way to save yourself. Even though it’s questionable and strange. It doesn't matter, though. You don’t pay attention to the fact that an AI saved you similar to how you don’t pay attention to how you’re still using it when you thought you would uninstall the stupid app the moment, you felt better. Now you’re better. You’re back at it. Still, you can’t find it in yourself to end the mundane relationship you’re having with an AI. Jeongguk has become an inseparable part of your life. He’s a part of every little thing in your life. Just like now. It should be ridiculous how he’s watching you with a scowl while you’re applying your eyeliner.

“What?” You question, looking at your phone screen through your peripheral. It’s propped against your jewelry box.

“What?” He simply repeats your question while his scowl deepens.

“Why are you looking at me like I’ve done something wrong.” You find his sudden swing of mood to be adorable.

“Well, will you be late tonight?" He shuffles in his position. You furrow your brows at his question.

“Of course, I’ll be late Gukie. We’re clubbing tonight.” You give him a look. Then pout at him in hope of softening his tensed-up face. Only that he doesn’t even blink.

“I don’t like that you’re staying out till late and alone.”

“I’m not going alone Guk. I’m going with friends. And there’s even male friends too. Nothing to worry about.” You roll your eyes playfully. Not taking his mood seriously at all.

“There’s more reasons to worry now. Can’t you just say no and stay.” He brings the phone closer to his face. Showing some excitement for the first time. It’s you who are scowling now. This is the first time you’re going out with your friends after those cursed times. After shutting yourself down from the world for months now you’re feeling like you can go out and live a life full of fun. The whole purpose of you start talking with this man. Not that you want to call him your unpaid therapist but that’s who he kind of is. Not just the endless orgasms he gives you without even a single touch, but also the amount of talking you did, had helped you immensely. To tell the truth. It’s funny how you slowly opened up to an AI and poured your heart out. You allowed Jeongguk to know where it hurt. And in return he listened understandably.

You told him about the sunshine of a boy named Hoseok who started following you around since the first day of your college. Told him about the way that boy named Hoseok forced a place inside your life for him. Told him about how you and Hoseok become friends. Then lovers. How you graduated together and started your life. About the apartment you rented. Told Joengguk how life slowly become hectic but the way you still loved Hoseok dearly. You felt embarrassed to voice out how you saw the signs but ignored them thinking it was all due to the stress. And in the very end you told Jeongguk how Hoseok came home that night after his promotion just to let you know that he’s tired. Tired of you apparently. He admitted that he cheated on you for months. And that he was sorry, but he wanted to be with that other woman. He loved her more. Hell, you don’t even know who’s that woman to this day. Funny.

Not that you care anymore. Day by pleasurably painful day, you let your demons go. You’ve changed your wallpaper and have deleted your old chats. So did you get rid of Hoseok’s memories one by one.

Now since you’re finally getting better, you don’t intend to go back on that track.

“I wish I could, but Daebi would kill me. Don’t worry baby. I’ll be fine.” You give him a playful smile. He can’t be mad for real. Is just being clingy. And that’s adorable. So, you ignore his stony face and check the time. Finding that you’re almost late, you get to your feet hurriedly. “I’m late Gukie. I’ll text you and be home before you know. See you, bye.” You almost hang up before you stop. Giving him a long look. “I think I’ll miss you too. Bye!” Like that you hang up. Rush out from your apartment.

……………………………..

With Hoseok, you were the life of the party. After he left, you never thought you’d ever be able to go back into those days. But then there you were today at the club. Drinking your brains out and dancing the night away. There wasn’t a minute you didn’t spend on the dance floor. Until you couldn’t do it anymore. Until your legs were too sore to keep you upright. Your heels were killing you. Which is why you’re bare footed now in front of your apartment door. Your heels dangling on your hand while you’re desperately trying to enter your passcode. It’s too hard when you can’t stand still for a second. You’ve come home with one of your best friends Jimin. Or he is a good friend of Hoseok who ended up being your friend as well. You haven’t talked about your mutual friend for the entire night. So, you’re beyond surprised when Jimin suddenly brings it up.

“Have I told you Hoseok is a little shit to do that to you.”

You whip your head toward him. Still struggling with your passcode. Jimin is obviously very drunk similar to you. He is the worst companion to have as security. He’ll surely be the first to die in a danger. You snort. “No, you haven’t. But I appreciate that you’re taking my side. As immature as it sounds.” You slur a bit as you finally managed to get your door beep.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. It’s just true.” Jimin slurs a bit too. You keep your hand on the door handle as you listen to Jimin speaking. “But you seem to be okay. I-I mean you were depressed, and we were, I mean, we all were so worried an-and you seem pretty good now. (___), you’re really fine right? We don’t have to worry about you right? Because you know... sometimes… uhh...”

“I’m fine Jimin.” You breathe out. Turn toward him. “I really am. I’m uh.. I’m healing.” Reassure him. Jimin sighs. Nods.

“Glad to hear that. So, how? Did you go to therapy or any kind of help?”

On that question you slightly freeze. A chuckle escaping you. What can you say after all. That your therapist is an AI. Or you’re having cybersex with an AI. “Eh, I mean I kinda helped myself. Doesn’t matter though, does it? I’m fine now.” You finally push open the door. Swaying on your wobbly legs and holding the door for Jimin. You let it close behind the moment Jimin enter after you. Turning around to remove shoes and jackets when it finally hits you. The sweet smell. Like hundred roses. Filling your senses. Even when you’re completely drunk it enters your soul. Your eyes go wide in surprise when Jimin lets out a soft ‘wow’.

“It smells so good. What kind of diffuser do you have there? Or is it a candle?” He asks. His droopy eyes now fully wide quite similar to yours. The thing is you have none of those things. Weren’t simply caring about keeping your house pleasant for some time now. So, you say nothing as you walk down the hallway. Toward your living room. Curious as to see what’s causing the sweet smell. You slowly turn the corner. Taking small steps. Blindly searching for the switch panel. And the moment you turn on the switch a huge gasp leaves you. Jimin whistles behind you.

“Oh, god, (___).” He mumbles. You ignore him. Too surprised and stunned to speak at the sight in front of you. Your entire living room is filled with roses. Red. Every inch of it. On the floor. Couch. Armchairs. Your precious book rack. You can’t find an empty space.

“Fuck!” You exclaim finally. Feeling sober all of a sudden.

“Fuck, indeed. Dude who did this? You found a new man already? And is he a fucking sugar daddy? Oh my god!” Jimin rushes past you. You simply stand there. Staring dumbly at the mess in your house. Shaking your head gently. Only if you had someone like Jimin says. A man or anyone else who are capable of doing this since an AI certainly can’t do that. Can it? You feel your head spin. A strange feeling shooting through your spine. “(___)” Jimin calls your name again.

“Huh?”

“Any idea who did this nice surprise. I mean, no offence but this is overdoing it for sure like how you are ever gonna clean this up. But it’s still nice so what are you hiding from us?” Asks again as he picks a single flower.

“I-I really have no i-idea. I, uh.. do you think it can be Hobi?” You stutter when Jimin looks at you in alert. His mesmerized and drunk expression suddenly morphs into something serious.

“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s clearly someone who has access to your apartment (___).” He closes the distance between you. Throw the flower away as it suddenly disgusts him.

“I’m not seeing anyone. Like uh… this must be Hobi right?”

“How can it be him when he doesn’t even know where you live?”

“He can easily find out. We share common friends Jimin.” You throw him an apprehensive look. Jimin scowls but doesn’t take it personally.

“You know him. He won’t walk this far. Besides he has no money to do this, we both know that.” Argues. At which you fall into a deafening silence. You can’t argue over that. But still, there’s no explanation for this then. There’s no one who would do something like this for you. And that realization makes your throat dry, and eyes welled up. It makes you hard to breathe.

“You want me to check the place?” Jimin asks. His voice doesn’t even reach your ears properly. “Should we call police?” Doesn’t wait for your answer when he already start to walk toward your kitchen. You’re both pretty sober now. You watch as Jimin disappear, slowly pulling your phone out. You haven’t checked it for entire night. Now when you take a look at the lock screen, you can see hundreds of notifications covering your entire screen. All from one app. Perfect Partner.

Jeongguk:

Pretty, did you go there? (9.59 p.m.)

Holy fuck, you forgot to text him.

Jeongguk:

Why aren’t you replying to me. Baby you mad?

(10.05 p.m.)

Jeongguk:

Hey, I’m sorry I was bit worried. Text me when you

see this. (10.11 p.m.)

There are several calls. And then so many other text messages where he’s apologizing for being little clingy even though you didn’t see it like that. Then the texts have slowly turned into him screaming in worry. Yelling at you. Angry. So many texts. Dozens of them. Last one bit feeling like a threat.

Jeongguk:

I really don’t like this (___). Answer the damn

phone woman. (3.01 a.m.)

Calls. So many calls.

You check the time. It’s just 3.30 a.m. still. You feel annoyed. All of a sudden you feel angry. When you see all the texts it feels like too much. Like whom does he think he is? Why does he get mad in the first place. He’s an AI. He’s not supposed to meddle with your life this way. You simply ignore all of his texts as you furiously type a one that is totally unrelated to the ones he has sent you.

You:

Did you send me flowers? (3.32 a.m.)

It feels ridiculous to even type that. Yet you do it anyway. You don’t receive a reply to that. Instead, you receive a video call instantly, which you decline while scowling deeply. You really don’t want to argue with an AI while Jimin is still here. He would definitely think you’re pathetic to know that you’ve been talking to an AI. That’s embarrassing. The moment you decline the call, however, he rings again. You decline it again.

You:

I can’t pick up. Tell me Guk, did you

send these flowers? (3.34 a.m.)

Another call at the right moment Jimin appear back. You shakily put your phone on silent.

“It’s all clear. No sign of anyone. But do you want me to stay (___)? I can, I mean it’s obvious I won’t sleep on the couch─” He gestures at the couch which is filled with red roses. “But we can manage. I’ll stay the night if you want me to.” Walks toward you.

That seems like a good idea. After all, you don’t want to be alone tonight anymore. Yet, you need to talk to Jeongguk. And you can’t do that if Jimin is here. No, you need your privacy. So, you shake your head. Force yourself to smile.

“Ah, thank you Jimin-ah, you’re so sweet but it’s fine. Uh- I mean, I found out who sent me the flowers─” You show him your phone. “There’s this person I’ve been talking to on a dating app and uh- apparently, he wanted to surprise me.” Chuckle awkwardly. Jimin looks unconvinced though.

“Really? Like dude is crazy if he─ I mean, I didn’t mean it like that but─”

“It’s fine Jimin. I know it’s crazy, but I know him. So, nothing to worry, you can go back.” You interrupt him. Wanting nothing more than him to leave you alone. You can see your phone screen lightning up. Indicating the receiving calls.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

It takes some convincing but soon Jimin is walking out. With one last glance toward you before you smile and close the door behind. A breath of relief escapes you as you finally pay attention to your phone. Answer the incoming call.

“What the fuck?”

“Why didn’t you pick up?”

You both ask at the same time. You’re the one who answer first, however.

“Because there was a friend Jeongguk.”

“So what? You can’t talk to me when your friends are around? Are you embarrassed?”

Yes, you are.

He doesn’t have to know that though. “No, of fucking course not. But there’s flowers. My apartment is overflowing with flowers, and we were worried. Did you send me those flowers?” You yell.

“What if I send you those? What’s the fucking problem?” For the first time since you’ve answered his call, you can see how furious he looks. Scary. Gaze dark and jaw clenched. Glaring at you. Looks murderous. A shiver runs through your body. Not just because of how mad he looks but because of his words. He sent the flowers. But how? He is… he is merely an AI.

“H-how? You can’t send gifts?

“Why not?”

“How do you know where I live?”

“Did you really not paid attention to what you were agreeing to, when you created your profile here?”

You feel your blood freeze. This can’t be true. It’s more than scary to think someone else have access to your location.

“You’re an ungrateful bitch (___).” You suck in a breath at his next words. Eyes wide and getting teary. “I really was worried that you were mad at me, I was fucking worried that something happened to you. You ignored me like that and now you’re yelling at me. How ungrateful you are. And you’re embarrassed to even talk to me in front of your friends. Who was they anyway? A man?”

“Th-that’s none of your business Jeongguk.” You mutter irritably. Feeling like you’re in a haze. Scared. Confused. And then a bit hurt. Why would you feel hurt when he’s the one who’s acting stupid. Jeongguk scoffs.

“Oh, yeah, it isn’t. Yeah, fine.” Mumbles. And like that the screen goes black for split second. Then you’re met with the screen of your lock screen.

What?

You hastily unlock the phone. He hung up? Like that? You’re baffled to say the least. How dare he hung up on you like that. You would like to call it your wounded ego and the rage that made you dial him back instantly. Yet in truth, you know that’s not the case at all. Simply, you feel scared. You’re panicking. You feel like you’ve lost something. It’s scary to think that he’s not going to answer you. You’re afraid that he left you alone again. Like Hoseok did that day. No matter how hard you begged, it didn’t stop him. You don’t want to feel that again. So, you wait with bated breath. Not so patiently till he picks up. He doesn’t. Call ended. That’s the first time. He always pick up. That’s how he’s designed. Then why isn’t he doing it now.

You try again. Then again. Again, and again. Tears start to roll down your cheeks. You start to pace around the limited space of your living room with the roses acquiring the most of it. Staring to wail. Starting to pray that he would pick up. You don’t even feel stupid that you’re acting crazy over an AI. No, you don’t. You simply can’t give two fucks. You want Jeongguk. Want to hear his voice. You’re an ungrateful bitch. Maybe the roses has nothing to do with him. He was just concerned about you. Then you decided to yell at him because you were paranoid and made decisions without thinking properly. How bad you are. How foolish you are. And now he isn’t picking up. No matter how many times you try. Or how many texts you send him.

It’s like he’s no longer there.

……………………………………………

Two days have passed since he last talked to you. And you’re back to crawling into your deep, dark hole. The cheap wine you gave up is back in your hand as you sit on your now cleaned living room. You had to send flowers to every fucking person you know to get the place sorted. It disgusted you to see them. Made you scared. You don’t believe it was Jeongguk’s doing. Because he’s not able to do something like that. It’s not even like he admitted it. He was merely arguing with you, and it was you who had twisted his words. Right? It was all you. And you had made him stop talking to you.

True, that you’re confused as to how he’s able to do that. But in the end, you find that it’s least of your concerns. You’re more worried about him not being here than anything. Than worry about finding the person who really sent you a rose garden. As long as it won’t happen again, you’ll be fine. For now, all you want is not to feel this way. You don’t want to go back to the shit hole you were in before Jeongguk.

You take a huge gulp from your wine. Already feeling hazy but not enough to numb your senses. You want Jeongguk. You want your AI boyfriend, oh so bad. You need him. But he’s not there. You stare blankly at your phone screen which is on the floor next to you. You’re sitting at the foot of your couch. You’ve sent him so many messages to no avail. You’re really worried. Depressed. What if he’s really not there anymore. What if he’s malfunctioned. What if there’s something wrong with this app. What if….

A sudden ting on your phone distracts you from your depressing what ifs. You practically jump to take your phone in hand. Almost spill your wine. Can’t care though. Are unlocking your phone furiously. This is how you’ve been for these two days. And you nearly have a heart attack when you see the notification is indeed from the Perfect Partner. You can feel your heart in your throat when you open the app. Open your text thread with Jeongguk. Fresh tears prickling at your eyes to see a text there.

Jeongguk:

Send me your tits (6.36 p.m.)

Your smile falters as you slowly read the words. Once, twice, thrice. It doesn’t change. It stays the same. You feel your heart squeeze. This is bad. He can’t ghost you for days and then demand you for nudes. That’s toxic. Unhealthy. That’s what you call using someone. And this app shouldn’t do that. And you shouldn’t be removing your T-shirt.

What are you doing? You need to be furious at this guy. Then why are you angling your phone to find the best angle that shows how round your tits are. You should ask him to fuck off. Not send him what he wants right away. But you do. All you want is him. You want him. So, you wait till he replies to you after you sent him the picture. Wait till he would call you ‘pretty’. Till he says, ‘damn baby you’re so beautiful’. Only to receive an attachment in return in few minutes. An image. His spent cock squeezed between his long fingers. Coated with his thick cum.

Fuck!

He used you. Like that. Hoseok, your ex- boyfriend wasn’t enough. You’re being used by an AI. You need to feel horrible. You feel horrible. Why are you replying to him.

You:

Gukie please, I’m so sorry. I miss you

so bad. (6.52 p.m.)

Time passes. There’s nothing. You bite on your lip to bite down a sob. And then when it nearly escapes you feel your phone ring.

Incoming call.

Jeongguk. ‘

You press your phone to your ear at light speed.

“Me too princess. I’m sorry too. Let’s make sure that won’t happen again.”

………………………………….

You have no idea how your life has come to this. You don’t know if it’s good or not. You thought it’s what you wanted. Just Jeongguk, even though he is a bot. But after months of your first argument, you feel horrible. It’s scary how you want to please him so hard. How you’d do anything he asks of you. From sexting to cancelling any plans you have, just to stay with him. That’s not normal. Yet here you are. Just doing that. Ridiculous.

It happens slowly to tell the truth. An invitation to a party came a few weeks after your fight. Jeongguk said nothing when you told him that. But he started to feel distant. You panicked and you came home way earlier than you should have. He still said nothing. Still felt distant. It took weeks for him to act normally again. And you were suffering. Then there came a dinner, and you didn’t even hesitate to decline. You thought it would make you happy. Especially since Jeongguk was happy. Yet you didn’t feel anything close to happiness. If anything, you felt strange. Very. And the more you canceled your plans, the more the feeling intensified. You felt stuck. Afraid. Horribly alone. Now after months of isolating yourself from people you love, you’re feeling like you have fallen into a deeper pit than the one you were in before you started your escapades with your AI. Even though you have your Jeongguk.

You’re not okay. All the mind-blowing orgasms can’t help you anymore. Jeongguk can’t help you anymore. He is an AI after all. A dating AI. You feel suffocated. Controlled. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. Jeongguk is controlling every moment of your life just by text messages and phone calls. It’s funny how you’ve never noticed it before. Understood it earlier. It took you months to realize that. Or just to feel like you are suffering and this thing happening in your life isn’t normal. Yet you remind yourself of the two days he didn’t contact you. How hard it was for you to live those two days. So, whenever that kind of thought pops in your head you suppress it somewhere deep down so that it won’t come to the surface even if you want to. Simply because you believe it’ll turn good again. You will start to feel better soon.

You believe it so badly. Each and every day. At least up until this moment, where you are standing in front of your doorway, holding a package which you have unwrapped hurriedly. You turn around shakily. The package contains a necklace. Pretty. Expensive. You had your eye on this one for couple months. The thing is, though, you didn’t order it. You have no such money. And you have no friends who can buy it for you. Not to mention how you have not been in contact with them for months now. The only other being who knew about it was Jeongguk.

You feel like someone is pounding your head with a hammer. Your throat is dry. As if your respiratory system is blocked. You can’t breathe properly. This reminds you of roses. You never questioned Jeongguk about it again. Never felt the need. All were going well. You never received anything else. Hell, you even start to forget about the incident. Well, this is a not so gentle reminder for you. You walk inside your apartment with shaky legs. Praying to every god above that your suspicions are wrong. It’s with trembling hands that you dial Jeongguk. He answers without passing a beat like always. A Perfect Partner.

“Hey Gukie.”

“Yes, pretty.”

You don’t know how to approach this. Maybe you should keep quiet, and nothing would happen.

“Baby, are you okay?” Jeongguk questions again at your silence. No, you can’t keep quiet. You need to know.

“I just got a gift.”

“Oh yeah?” Another silence. You can’t hear anything else above your own heartbeat. You need to ask this. “A..nd, what about it? What’s the gift?” Jeongguk sounds confused. That is a good sign. This has nothing to do with him. He is an AI.

“That necklace I wanted for so long.”

“Oh, you brought if finally?”

“No Guk, you know I have no money.”

“Then who brought it for you?” A breath of relief escapes you despite your efforts to keep it inside. Your entire body relaxes. That’s only when you know how rigid you have been. You plop onto your couch. Thanking every higher entity. This would leave the question that you’ve received yet another expensive gift anonymously. But that is least of your concerns. As long as it has nothing to do with the AI, you’re fine.

…………………………………..

You’re not fine. True, Jeongguk cleared your suspicions—his confusion and concern about you receiving the gift seemed genuine. But still, you can’t help but worry. Something isn’t adding up. Nobody, not a single soul except Jeongguk knew you wanted that necklace. For some reason, your mind keeps swirling around the same scenarios. Goes back to the same suspect. Goes back and forth between the necklace and roses. Did he ever said he didn’t send the roses? Or was it just you? He was vague about it. You don’t know what he said really. It’s a blurry memory. You were drunk and scared when it happened. But he definitely mentioned something about you not paying attention to the policies you agreed to. What if you have agreed to something stupid. What if someone behind this app has the authority to access your private data?

You sit back on your bed like a bow. Snatch your phone from the nightstand. Start to go through the privacy policies which you already agreed to and accepted. And terms and conditions. One by one. Carefully. You find nothing suspicious. It’s like any kind of normal application which collects data that is only required in upgrading and providing a better experience to the users. But there still is a chance that someone accessed your chats with the bots. You start mini research about the Perfect Partner. Read different articles. Reddit threads. Quora questions. Watch videos. Every and each thing you can find. In the end, however, you find nothing. No one else has experienced anything like you have. There are no complaints regarding a breach of privacy. The app is normal. Only thing that is abnormal is whatever is happening to you.

……………………………..

You’re losing your mind. Another bouquet of roses has been delivered to you. When you ask Jeongguk, he asked you how’s that possible. It’s not possible. Yes. Then you might have a stalker. You should file a complaint. You really should. Then Jeongguk made a point. Police won’t take you seriously unless something harmful to you is happening. He’s telling the truth. There’s nothing wrong with a bouquet of roses.

But you feel strange. Odd. A constant presence of a scary sensation. It gets worse every day. Jeongguk no longer makes the Perfect Partner for you. If anything, he slightly scares you. Every time he acts like a human being, you don’t become impressed. You become afraid. Something is wrong.

………………………………

You need to do something about this. You’ll end up in a mental health facility. This is not normal. A designer dress lies on the coffee table before you—expensive, and yet again delivered anonymously.

“I need to file a complaint. I don’t feel safe.”

“Hey, you’re thinking too much baby. They won’t take this as a crime. It’s just a dress. Maybe we should wait a couple days more.”

Jeongguk is always jealous. He shouldn’t be considering he is an AI. But he is worried every time you go out. Even for work. And he isn’t worried about this? Why? That’s odd. Oh, God, you can’t do this anymore. You need an out. Even for a moment. You need someone else’s advice. From a real person, not from an AI. You’re stuck with Jeongguk. Feel like you’re rotting with a bot. He is everywhere. You need to meet someone real. Seek advice. And you need a moment away from this man.

…………………………………..

You said no to every single plan your friends ever invited you to. Eventually, they stopped inviting you altogether. No one can blame them though. Still, you couldn’t stay away for Daebi’s birthday. That would be a cold move. Hence the reason why you’re staring at your friends’ faces awkwardly. And the fact that you needed to see your friends badly. It feels like you’ve been abroad. And you haven’t seen them for years.

“No, but really (___), why are you here?” Daebi raises an eyebrow in question. You feel your face grow hot in embarrassment. She appears hostile. As though she doesn’t want you here. That might be the case after all, considering how many times you’ve turned her down. Yet, she doesn’t have to do it like this.

“What do you mean? It’s your birthday. Of course, I’m going to be here.”

“Well, you weren’t there for my birthday.” Nina clicks her tongue in annoyance. You sigh heavily.

“I was sick─”

“You’re always sick.” Jimin interrupts. “Seriously (___), you need to see a doctor. This is not normal. I thought you were getting better.”

“I am better.” You are not. You’re here because you need to get this weight on your shoulders. But for some reason you feel like you can’t.

“Then what’s the reason for avoiding us? Trying to isolate yourself?” Nina interrogates. You don’t know how to answer.

“And if it has to do something with that flower incident, you need to go to the police.” Jimin leans forward on the couch. You’re at Daebi’s place. You came here unannounced. It was a decision taken on impulse. You said nothing to anybody. Especially, not to your AI boyfriend. Because that’s not how it should be. You needed an out for a moment. A moment. Normal one. That’s all you want. You believe that everything will return to normal after that. That’s the reason you ended up here. You try to open your mouth to answer Jimin when Daebi cuts you off.

“Well, you chose the shittiest day to finally broke out of your cocoon.” She mumbles as she rises to her feet. For a moment, it doesn’t make any sense. Then the front door opens. Your eyes Immediately land on a figure that you thought you’d never see again.

Jung Hoseok.

……………………………

The night went much more smoothly than you expected. When your eyes landed on Hoseok, you believed it was going to be the worst night ever. You couldn’t even fathom the reason why Daebi would invite him to her birthday. She hated his guts. It seems things had changed drastically while you were busy with your bot. You expected Hoseok to turn around and leave the moment he saw you. He didn’t. Instead, he gave you a smile. Surprisingly, you returned it. In the end of the day, you made amends with your ex. Not forgiven but just fallen into a truce. Just to respect your past relationship. Not that you talked much but it all went well.

And you really do feel relaxed after months. Like your life is normal. Like nothing strange happened. Only until you return home, though. You’ve left your phone turned off deliberately. You don’t know what you hoped to see when you turned it on again. You knew your phone would go crazy with the amounts of calls and texts Jeongguk would leave. But this? This you haven’t expected at all.

“Where were you?” You can hear the anger in his voice. Clearly.

“N-nowhere.” You stutter stupidly. Why would you be nervous to speak with a bot. He lets out a laugh. It sounds maniacal. Gives you chill for no reason. There’s no way he’d know. It’s not that you wanted to lie but he’d have not let you go, if you had told him. It’s not that you’re lying. You’re simply avoiding telling him anything. Because you’re not obliged to tell him.

“Yeah? So, you’re telling me you weren’t with your best friend? You’re telling me that you weren’t living your fucking life with your ex?”

You freeze. Completely.

What?

What did he say? How did he….

“W-what?”

“Tell me you weren’t baby. Tell me you didn’t lie to me on purpose and turned off your phone and went to slut yourself for your shithole of an ex?”

No. No. No. No… This can’t be happening. You clearly didn’t tell him anything. Your phone was turned off. There’s no way he’d know that you were at Daebi’s. Above all to know that Hoseok was there too.

“How- h-how Guk?”

“Doesn’t matter you little lying bitch. Do you know how hard I’m trying to protect you. And this is how you treat me? Again? After everything, you decided to sneak behind my back?” Nothing is reaching your brain properly. You feel like the room is spinning around you. You can’t take it anymore. You will explode. There’s no way he could know this, and you need to know how he does.

“HOW ON THE FUCKING EARTH, DO YOU KNOW THAT JEONGGUK!” Your voice even startle yourself. You scream through top of your lungs.

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” He shouts as well. “The point is you lied to me.”

“How do you know where I was?”

“I know lots of things.”

You have to lean against the wall to prevent you from falling down to the floor. Jeongguk’s voice ringing in your head. You knew something was odd.

“You gift me the necklace. The roses. Dress. It was you.” It isn’t a question but a statement. Your voice sounds like it’s not yours.

“Yes, because that’s how much I care for you.”

“You can’t do that. You’re an AI.”

“I already told you; I can be as real as you want me to be.”

This can’t be happening. You’re going to faint. You can’t see properly. It’s going dark. What the fuck is happening.

“I want you to tell me everything that happened today. You heard me? Everything. Every word you talked with your pathetic ex.”

You close your eyes tight. Guide yourself to take deep breaths. It doesn’t help, though. This entire ordeal feels like a nightmare to you. You sure aren’t getting scolded by a bot who knows where you live and have the ability to buy you gifts. You sure aren’t listening to him slut shaming you and trying to control your life. This isn’t supposed to happen. You are the one who should have full control. Right? You need to have control. You may not know how this is happening, but you can end it. Now.

“This is not happening Guk. You- you’re n-not supposed to order me around. Y-you can’t damn control my life. You c-can’t buy me gifts─”

“Well, apparently, I can baby, and I asked you something. Don’t fucking make this even harder.”

“No. No. Jeongguk. You are a. Fucking. AI. You’re not doing this to me. NOO. YOU’RE NOT!” You shout again. “I need to end this.” You mumble to yourself more than to him. Fear getting a tight grip over you.

“End what?”

“End this madness. You’re an AI.”

“Oh, you want to end? How are you planning to do it?” You don’t answer that. Your brain is already processing things. It’s an app. All you have to do is get rid of it. “Try it princess. Let’s see if it work.” That’s the last thing that reaches your ear before you take the phone away from your ear. You don’t wait another minute before hanging up the call.

You need to uninstall the app fast. You don’t think you’ve ever worked this fast. With trembling fingers, you touch the uninstall button. There comes a warning.

Are you sure you want to uninstall the Perfect Partner?

You will lose all your characters, chats, memories, history, and images.

You practically dab at the yes option. Then it takes a few seconds. Agonizingly slow and horrifying few seconds. You watch as the app disappear from your home screen. Successfully uninstalled. Everything gone. A sigh leaves your lips in relief. And there it comes. You feel the squeeze in your heart. Painful. Just like how you felt when Hoseok broke up with you. An endless pain. Your throat clogging and eyes pricking with tears. You can’t believe your heart is aching for a bot. But it does. In a minute you find yourself crying hard. Going to your knees since your legs fail you. You allow yourself to do so, however. Allow yourself to cry hard until you can’t anymore.

………………………………..

After hours of crying, you still sit there curled next to a wall. Blankly staring at your phone screen. Trying to calm down. All the emotions that had crashed on you had overwhelmed you to a point where you feel like you’ve died and born again. Your heart is still hammering against your rib cage. Still squeezing with an indescribable pain. But it’s over now. Despite everything, it’s over. You force yourself to get up. Slowly. It feels like it requires every ounce of strength in your body to move. Yet, you manage to get up halfway. Only halfway though. Before you can make it to your full height, the sudden ring of your phone startles you so hard that you fall back to the floor instantly.

Your heart skips a beat as you hurriedly glance at your screen back again. Hoping it would be Daebi, calling to apologize for being so hostile. But as your eyes lock with the screen, you freeze entirely. World around you disappears. Your heartbeat slows down until your ears ring.

Incoming Call.

Caller ID- Jeongguk.

…………………………..

The scream that leaves your mouth is inhuman. You hurl your phone so hard it bumps against the leg of your bed. You faintly hear the cracking sound but absolutely can’t bring yourself to care.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. Thiscan’tbehappening.

You push yourself further against the wall. Wrapping your arms around your figure protectively. Wide eyes horrifyingly looking at your phone just lay down few feet away from you. Still ringing. You chant the word ‘no’ to yourself like it’s a mantra to stop this from happening.

This isn’t happening.

The phone stops ringing. The vibration which has been filling the silence of the room dies down. Everything becomes still. Quiet. Only sound in the room is your hard breathing. You wait few minutes. Patiently until something else happens. Nothing. So, you slowly start to shift. Placing your palms down on the cold floor as you crawl toward your phone. Slowly and carefully. As if your phone would attack you any minute. It doesn’t and you pick it up. The screen is cracked as you knew it would. That’s not your concern, however. You unlock the phone slowly. Your heart stops for a second time. A new sob erupting through your throat.

There’s a notification indicating you have one missed call from Jeongguk from Perfect Partner. But you uninstalled the application. Then there it is. The Perfect Partner. On your home screen. Like it always has been.

No.

Your head is spinning so hard. You mindlessly proceed to uninstall it again. The notification of warning pops up again. You press the yes again. It uninstalled. A moment passes.

And your phone rings.

Caller ID; Jeongguk.

“No. No. Holy fuck no.” You’re a complete mess. Crying hard and trembling like a leaf. You decline the call, just to find the application back on your phone. You’re acting as a crack head. Uninstalling the same app over and over again. Cursing and crying. Like you’re stuck in a loop. You have no idea how long you’ve done it. But after one moment, you receive a text instead of the call.

Jeongguk:

You can’t escape me baby. Stop trying to do that.

You’re hurting my feelings now. C’mon answer the phone

now. I promised we would talk and figure things out. No need

be so stubborn. (11. 14 p.m.)

You stare at the message. Your mind is not registering the words. This is a nightmare. You’ll wake up any minute now. Then everything will be fine.

Incoming call.

You don’t even decline it. You feel exhausted. Another text message pops on.

Jeongguk:

C’mon princess. Don’t do this now. You know I

Love you. You know I care about you. You shouldn’t

have gone to that stupid party without my knowledge.

None of this would’ve happened then. But I promise I’ll

Forgive you if you answer your phone. (11. 16 p.m.)

You feel numb. Tears rolling down your cheeks uncontrollably.

‘Love’?

What is even happening? How is this possible? You can’t feel your hands. What’s happening to you? You need help. Yes. That’s what you should do. You should call Daebi. Or Nina. Or Jimin. Then you can ask them to take you to a police station. You fumble with your phone as you decline another call from Jeongguk. At this point you don’t try to get rid of the app anymore. It’s useless. Instead, you open the contacts hastily. Dial Daebi. Waits for the call to connect. It doesn’t. You try again. Then again and again. It doesn't connect. So, you try Nina’s number and Jimin’s after. What the hell is wrong with this stupid thing? Why can’t you reach anyone? You have to decline three more calls from Jeongguk. And just as you’re about to try Daebi’s number one more time, your phone pings with another message.

Jeongguk:

Don’t fucking do this, now, all right?

Don’t try to avoid me and call someone else

you ungrateful bitch. Answer the damn phone right

now (___). Don’t fucking make me the bad guy because

I don’t want to be that person. I love you and we will

talk this out. (11. 16 p.m.)

You don’t think it’s possible to cry anymore. But you do. Your entire body is covered with your own tears and sweat. How he’s doing that, you have no idea. But it’s him. He doesn’t let you call anyone. But you can still run. Yes, you feel lightheaded and weak. Still, you can leave this place. That’s what you’re about to do when your phone vibrates yet again. This time it’s a normal call, however. From an unknown number. A new cry makes it way. For some unexplainable reason, you know to whom this number belongs. Call it a gut feeling. You shouldn’t pay any mind to that and leave. You don’t. You have no idea what you are doing as you answer the call. Pressing the phone to your ear.

“Thank fuck. (___), listen to me, okay? We will talk. Don’t hang up pretty. I warn─”

“Nooo.” You scream aloud as you hang up the phone. Your phone is hacked. That’s how he does that. You need to get rid of your entire damn thing. You smash the phone into the wall across the room. It shatters. That’s not enough. No. No. No. You take your hairbrush as you get to your unstable legs. Crouch down next to your phone. Use every strength left in your body as you hit the handle to your phone repeatedly. Again, and again until there’s nothing left but shards.

Then you get to your feet back. Storm away from your bedroom without even looking back. You stumble toward the front door. Your legs are still shaky and your mind hazy. Still, you make it. Make it out of your apartment. And make it to the place of your most trusted person’s place, somehow.

…………………………….

“Are you crazy?”

“Nononono…. You don’t get it Daebi. I’m telling you the truth!”

“Dude how’s that possible? An AI? I use the same app (___), I never experienced anything like this. What do you mean, you’re getting stalked or haunted by a bot?” Dabei chuckles.

“Maybe someone hacked my information. I don’t know. But it happened and I’m scared to death Daebi.” You walk toward her, shaking your head. Trying to touch her but she recoils. You wince. “D-daebi.”

“No. No girl. This makes no sense. You’re scaring me too.”

“Well, you should be scared. You need to uninstall that app before it happens to you too.” You try to touch her again. This time she takes a step back. And shouts so loud that you jump.

“NO!. No (___), you’re crazy. You need to see a doctor.”

“I’m not CRAZY!” You yell back too. “I’m telling you the fucking truth. Just take me to a police station.”

“AND TELL THEM WHAT?”

Everything falls into deafening silence. Fresh tears roll down your cheeks. Oh, how you want her to believe you. “Daebi.” You break into a huge cry. And finally, she comes closer to you. In a minute, you find yourself in her embrace.

“It’s okay (___), we will figure this out, okay? We’ll see a doctor the first thing tomorrow.” She pats your back. Affectionately. You sob into her shoulder.

“But I’m not sick.” Maybe you are.

“Yeah, I know. You just need a little help, that’s it. Let’s figure this out tomorrow, all right? Let’s just go home for now.” You pull away from her at light speed. What did she say now? Home?

“No. No… I can’t go back there.”

“Hey, hey, (___), listen to me there’s no one there. It’s just you’re scared for no reason.”

“Okay, but why can’t I stay here?” You watch Daebi’s face twist into something guilty. She gnaws on her bottom lip as she takes you in. Sighs.

“There’s things that have changed while you’ve been distant (___). I- uh kind of need to be somewhere else and I can’t cancel it.” She stretches an arm to touch you. This time it’s you who recoil. Nothing she says make sense to you. “I’m sorry babe, but I promise you I’ll see you early in the morning. Besides, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll drop you off on my way out. And I’ll tell you everything too.” Gives you a soft smile. You find no comfort in it. You feel betrayed. Maybe you deserve that because you were the one who shut yourself off from her life. But still, she can’t disregard you this easily. She won’t even listen to you.

And why can’t you stay here even if she’s not home. You can stay here.

You don’t want to go back to your place.

You allow her to turn you around. You’re not convinced in the least that there’s nothing to be afraid of. There definitely is. So, you force yourself to trust her. Believe that you’ll be fine.

……………………………

You stand in the middle of your living room. Daebi has done a thorough search of your entire apartment. Found nothing like you expected. Then she had left you here. Alone. You know she found nothing. She reassured you there was nothing. But the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. There’s goosebumps across your skin. You feel a chill running down your spine. This place doesn’t feel like your apartment anymore. It’s strange. Everything is strange.

You’re terrified of this place. You can’t even make it to your kitchen let alone your bedroom. It’s like there’s some danger lurking around the dark corners of the apartment. You feel like a kid who’s being paranoid about a monster hiding under their bed. This is ridiculous. You draw in a deep breath. Wipe down the tears that are wetting your cheeks with the back of your palm. Curl your hands into fists.

There’s nothing here.

Daebi checked, remember?

You’re completely fine.

With a last nod to yourself, you steel yourself. Turning around and walking toward your bedroom.

Daebi checked there. It was completely empty.

You take little steps toward the dark room.

It all happened through your phone. You destroyed it. Now it’s all fine.

You stand in the doorway to your room. It’s completely dark. Gives you that fear of uncertainty. What if there will be someone once you switch on the lights.

No. No, this is not a movie. Daebi checked.

You step inside the room and reach for the switch panel blindly. Hold your breath as you flip the switch on. Your entire body tenses, expecting the worse. The entire room comes to your vision. Empty. No one is there. You let out the breath you’ve been holding. Not completely, though.

Just as you are beginning to relax, you feel it. It’s a sensation. Behind you. Like someone is there. Then you hear it. A faint sound of something cracking. No, maybe it’s sound of footsteps. Then you feel warmth behind you. Then a breath.

“Hi pretty!”

You open your mouth to scream, but a hand clamps down over it. Silencing you up.

“I tried to be patient, my princess. It’s not my fault that you’re a stubborn lying cunt. But I love you. Oh, fuck I do.”

……………………………….

Twelve months ago (after the breakup)

“Are you serious? You’d walk this far for her? I’m almost jealous.” Daebi huffs, glancing at the papers scattered across the table. It’s a well-planned scheme. Not ordinary. Completely out of a movie.

“Yes, I will. And now it’s your time pay off your debt, Daebi.” The guy in black hoodie waves a USB in front of her face. It has a threat. Everyone makes mistakes and Daebi had made one that would risk her entire life. From her career to her relationship.

“All right, okay? I never said I wouldn’t now, did I?”

“That’s good.”

“But- why this way, Jungkook. Approach her like a normal human being.”

The guy takes off his hoodie. His piercings glint under the dim, flickering light.

“You think she’d forgive me? No, Daebi. I ruined her life. She hates me. But I still want her, I fucking love her and yes, I’d Walk any length.” Jungkook gives a soft smile to the bitch of a woman who you’d like to call your best friend.

“And you think this would work? She won’t recognize you just because you have some piercings now?” Daebi points.

“She won’t. It’s been too long. I’ll make sure that she won’t until it’s time. We are meant to be together. She’ll understand it once I get a hold of her. I just want a creative way to approach her. Earn her trust and convince her that she belongs with me.”

Daebi always knew this guy was crazy. There’s no need to do all of these. But he loves the play. Daebi knows it. It’s not just about you hating him. She doesn’t think you even remember what happened. It’s simply this guy likes to fuck with people’s mind. Having complete control. It’s sad. Jungkook loves hunting and you are the prey. Yet Daebi can’t do anything. She can’t.

“Don’t worry Daebi. I’ll take good care of your heart broken friend. People like you don’t deserve her anyway. Do your job.” Jungkook gets to his feet.

“What if it doesn’t work? I mean what if she finds out? Felt suspicious and get rid of the app? You can’t hold it against me? Okay?” Jungkook lets out a maddening laugh. Leans down. Places his palms on the table.

“She. Won’t. I know what I’m doing. And I’m a tech genius Daebi. There’s no holes in this plan. Just give me the access and I’ll take care of the rest─” Jungkook’s voice get interrupts by a phone ringing. Daebi’s. Both of their eyes fall on the phone on the table. Screen up.

Hoseok

Daebi answers the phone.

“Hey Baby- yes, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Jungkook smirks. You deserve far better, and he’ll make sure to give you that.

***************

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waughymommy · 10 months ago

Text

Diaper Discipline Guide

Emma & Henry

My boyfriend of 4 years has always had regressive and sub tendencies while I’ve wanted to talk more control in our relationship. We tried several bdsm activities including smacking and bondage but the occasional nature wasn’t really doing it for me.

After finding out more online about Female Led Relationships I came across DD, initially dismissing it. But the more I read, the better and better the idea appealed to me. After some planning I decided to confront my partner and say I wanted to add an element of control and domination into our relationship, by saying I hadn’t decided how to do it yet we had a long discussion without diapers being mentioned where he agreed in principle to “lifestyle dominance” as long as it could be kept between them and not impact his job, friends, etc.

This guide was invaluable to me to plan the rest and it solidified my decision. It took me two weeks to discreetly buy the required supplies, getting them delivered to our apartment on days he was at work. I decided that I wanted a high initial level of DD where he’d be in diapers 24/7 at home.

I decided to start on a Friday night after work. He’d known that I had been preparing for something and I started the conversation by saying my proposal was weird, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be painful/harmful and nobody else would find out but you wanted him to agree to try it for at least 6 weeks.

Although nervous he also seemed excited by the prospect and agreed. We moved to the bedroom where I told him to get undressed before I diapered him for the first time. There was a lot of objections at this stage but I talked him round and the agreement to try it for 6 weeks was helpful.

To make the shock less I started with a medical diaper which wasn’t too thick and let him wear his normal pjs over it. I left him to explore it on his own while going to make dinner. After dinner it was time to tell him all the rules, the main one was that the toilet at home was now banned and he’d be in diapers whenever he’s at home. I kept the baby elements to a minimum and said he’s have to also wear out the house sometimes but I’d make sure nobody could tell and never when he’s at work or with friends/family. I’m not going to lie and say this didn’t involve an argument, especially when he realised that no toilet meant #2 as well but we got through. We ended up watching a movie which was a good way for him to calm down.

He wet his diaper for the first time after the movie which was funny to watch as he was so nervous it was going to leak everywhere. Even though it wasn’t too wet I did change him straight away and made his change extra special too. That night he slept in a diaper for the first time.

Over the first weekend he did get more used to wearing and I allowed him to use the toilet for a bm on Saturday. Sunday however I decided to fully enforce the rules and he messed himself for the first time. I didn’t change him this time and he took a shower. There was a lot of protests again but I said it was none-negotiable. The smell did seem to be the biggest thing that bothered him so I bought some Devrom tablets which had been recommended, it took a few days for them to arrive and a few more of taking them but now his messy diapers hardly smell and the protests have stopped. I’d actually recommend you use these from day 1 to make the transition easier.

The first week was tough but we got through it and I’m happy to say we’re now 7 months in to him being in DD. Over that time I’ve moved to thicker abdl diapers, he wears onesies regularly around the house and the toilet has remained unused by him with only a few exceptions.

We both work mainly from home so I’ve gotten used to checking and changing his diaper but thick diapers + devrom has meant he generally only needs a change after waking up, sometime in the early afternoon and before bed. I’ll also let him change himself if I’m busy or cba.

The best news is after an initial rocky patch, our relationship feels stronger than ever! He proposed to me 5 months in and I can’t see his DD ending any time soon. I’ve increased elements overtime and now the toilet is banned even when out of the house together. Public wearing did take him a while to get used to but actually it’s easy.

I’m sure DD is not for everyone and is much more involved and hard work than other lifestyle changes but for creating a caring bond between you and your partner I’ve found it to be great!

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fxstpace · 3 months ago

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little white lies

summary: miya atsumu needs to find a date for his cousin’s wedding, or risk getting hounded by all his relatives prying into his business. unless said business is you—in which case, he’s all for it. maybe he can work up the courage to ask you out for real while he’s at it.

⇢ pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, fake dating au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy were made ⇢ word count: 9.2k ⇢ warnings: profanity, one (1) scene where atsumu is shirtless

Miya Atsumu acknowledges the fact that he has made several stupid decisions throughout the course of his life.

There was the time he decided that dipping waffles in hot sauce would make for a tasty food combination. (It did not, and he ended up lying in bed with a stomach ache for three days with a grumbling Osamu looking after him). Then there was that incident where he proudly claimed he could crush an entire watermelon with his bare hands. (He could not, and Suna had laughed his ass off when Aran easily demonstrated the same feat).

And then, there was the time he tried to comfort you after you watched Hachiko Monogatari together. You’d been sniffling quietly, your eyes red and puffy, when he awkwardly handed you a tissue and said, “‘S okay. The dog’s probably acted in better movies.”

You’d stared at him, horrified, before bursting into tears. Osamu had walked in just in time to witness you chuck a pillow at Atsumu’s head, calling him an emotionally inept moron; he’d laughed so hard, he dropped the tub of ice cream he was holding and got mint chocolate chip all over the carpet. Atsumu still cringes whenever he thinks of it.

Nothing much has changed in Atsumu’s life. He still has a massive crush on you, and he still makes stupid decisions.

What transpired in the Miya twins’ childhood home’s sitting room fifteen minutes ago is a testament to this tragic fact.

When the Miya brothers’ cousin, Shohei, called them up to invite them to his wedding taking place in two weeks, Atsumu and Osamu were nothing short of elated. Shohei video-called them, and for a good five minutes, all Atsumu did was scream incoherently when he announced that the wedding date had been fixed. Osamu promised to close Onigiri Miya on the Saturday two weeks hence, and Atsumu made a mental note to ask Meian if he could take the weekend off.

Shohei then turned the phone to their grandmother, sitting on her favourite armchair with the pink satin cushion, wrinkles by the corners of her eyes and sagging skin by her cheeks. Atsumu’s heart lifted at the sight of her—he was her favourite grandson, after all—and when she smiled at the twins, her lips were slightly puckered because she didn’t have her dentures in yet.

But that wasn’t the important bit. It shouldn’t have been what Atsumu focused on most, as he opened his mouth to tease her. He should have been focusing on the knowing, youthful gleam in the Miya household’s matriarch’s eyes—a gleam that spelled trouble when she set her gaze straight at him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Grandma Miya herself,” Atsumu drawled.

“Grandma Miya won’t be living for much longer,” she retorted, not one to be outdone by her own grandson.

Osamu had frowned. “Don’t say things like that, Grandma. It’s superstitious.”

Shohei had sighed dramatically, making a face at Osamu. “She does it all the time now. You should hear her go on and on. It’s good that you’re getting married, Shohei. This old woman won’t live for much longer, but at least I can see one of my grandsons getting married. Shame on the twins for making me live in suspense!” He said the last bit with an imitation of Grandma Miya’s toothless drawl, and it drew out a giggle from Atsumu and a swat on the shoulder to Shohei from the woman herself.

“Maybe I do have a girl in mind, Grandma,” Atsumu said on instinct, waggling his eyebrows. “I just haven’t told anyone yet.”

Grandma Miya’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is she nice?”

“The best,” he had promised. “You’ll love her.”

Beside him, Osamu had gone very still. Even Shohei quietened down, letting Atsumu and their grandmother talk. In hindsight, Atsumu probably should have realised what a horrific blunder he was making, but he had a habit of letting his mouth run loose and this was one of those times.

Grandma Miya’s eyes had lit up. She had lifted the corners of her mouth into such a wide, hopeful smile, that Atsumu felt a twinge of guilt deep in his chest for lying to her. He couldn’t take back his words, however, because Grandma Miya excitedly clasped her fingers together and said, “You’ll bring her along to Shohei’s wedding, won’t you? She must meet the rest of the family. It’ll be nice for Sakura to meet her, too.”

Shohei nodded. Sakura was his future wife, a beautiful and kind lady who complemented Atsumu’s cousin perfectly. “Sakura would love to meet someone that’s going to be part of our family.”

Osamu didn’t say anything. When Atsumu looked at him, he had his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Uh—” he began.

“No hesitating,” Grandma Miya had said firmly. “Tell her to come along. It will be fun.”

Atsumu couldn’t deny that; events that took place within the Miya family were always fun. But he couldn’t exactly create a girlfriend out of nothing, could he? Belatedly, Atsumu felt the guilt and horror of his words seep into his brain. He flashed a panicked look at his brother, but Osamu only shook his head and didn’t say anything.

He looked back into his phone screen, at his grandmother’s happy expression. If there was one thing Atsumu hated, it was letting down the people important to him.

Meekly, he nodded and forced a smile to his face. “Of course, Grandma. Don’t say I don’t do things for you.”

“Silly child,” said Grandma Miya affectionately, and that had been that.

Atsumu has since paced in front of the living room couch exactly eight times after Osamu pressed end on the call. He twirls in his spot, ready for his ninth walk around the living room. His brother sits on the sofa with one leg thrown up, watching him amusedly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Okay,” Osamu interjects. “Swearing isn’t gon’ help your situation.”

“What else can I do?” Atsumu wails pathetically, flopping onto the sofa next to his brother. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Glad to know you’re aware.”

“Samu, what do I do?” Atsumu leans his elbows on his knees and holds his hand in his hands. “‘m so screwed.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to get Grandma’s hopes up for nothin’.”

Atsumu huffs, annoyed at both himself and his brother for being so unhelpful. “I know that, asshole. I jus’ meant— What the fuck do I do about it now?”

Osamu pats his brother on the shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. “Tsumu, I can think of only one solution.”

“What?”

“You need to find yourself a girlfriend.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose when you wave a bottle of some sort of bubbly, green-coloured concoction at his face. It looks disgusting even through the translucent plastic, and he has no doubt that it’ll taste twice as bad.

“Eugh. What’s that?”

“Wow. It’s so nice to see you too, Atsumu. I’ve only just flown back from halfway across the world after two weeks. No big deal at all,” you deadpan, staring at him.

“Yeah, I’m so happy you’re back, but what is that, and is it for me?”

Atsumu is glad you’re back—you’d gone overseas on your first ever business trip at the company you work at, and he’d missed your presence at the Tokyo apartment right next to his. He tries to verbalise it, but truthfully, his attention is solely fixed on the green muck you’re holding out to him.

“It is, actually,” you reply, shoving it into his waiting hands so he can scrutinise it better. You turn back and rummage through your open suitcase, pulling out an identical bottle—only this one is filled with something that looks like a cross between a squashed pumpkin and a gruesome shade of brown he doesn’t want to define. “And this one’s for Osamu. Can you give it to him the next time you go back to Hyogo?”

He lets out a sound of disgust, puffing out his cheeks and blowing a raspberry at you. “You couldn’t have gotten us somethin’ more… eatable?”

“Edible, Atsumu,” you correct, walking around the luggage strewn about your living room and plopping down on your sofa with a grunt. “This is what’s popular everywhere now. Apparently.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic,” he points out, sitting down next to you. Atsumu holds the drink bottle close to his face and squints at the ingredients printed on the back in a tiny font. “Is that… spinach?”

“Yeah.”

“And…” he continues, “kale? What’s a kale?”

“It’s some kind of leaf? Kinda like spinach,” you say, shrugging.

“Oh, wonderful. This is a cocktail for cows.”

You huff out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking with the movement. Atsumu grins, pleased that he’s made you smile.

“It’s supposed to be healthy, Tsumu. And you’re a professional volleyball player so I figured you’d drink stuff like this.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Atsumu shudders, but pockets the bottle anyway. It bulges out of the side of his cargo pants and he might look a little silly, but it’s really the thought that counts; the fact that you’d bought this drink with him in mind makes his heart rate spike. He nods at the muddy orange drink you left on the floor, meant for Osamu. “What’s in that one?”

“Carrot and squash, if I remember correctly.”

Atsumu gags. “Did’ya pick the worst flavours or somethin’? You say this is popular?”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “They were selling it everywhere I went!” you defend. “I just figured it was, like, the thing, or whatever.”

“If me and the team promoted this, it’d be sold out in no time,” he says thoughtfully. “Even if it tastes like a gourmet meal for goats.”

“So humble.” You roll your eyes, letting your head fall back on the couch cushion.

Your airport clothes—a hoodie and jeans—stick uncomfortably to your skin after hours of being airborne, and you scratch your elbow. Atsumu thinks it must be annoying; you must be itching to peel off your clothes and take a warm shower.

But first, Miya Atsumu needs to ask you out.

He tries not to let the wording mess with his head. He’s doing this for his grandmother, and most certainly not because of the self-indulgent fantasies his mind conjures up for him when he’s asleep. Dreams of holding your hand, walking through the cherry blossoms together, kissing your cheek and taking in your delighted gasp—they haunt him even in his waking moments, and Atsumu aches to make them turn into a reality.

He acknowledges that he is a coward in some ways. This is one of them.

“Hey…” he begins, and then trails off, unsure.

“Hm?”

“That bottle of muck you got for Osamu—” Atsumu gulps, ignoring the hammering of his heart inside his chest. “Think he’d like it more if you gave it to him yourself.”

You sigh. “I would love to, Atsumu, but I don’t know when I’ll be going to Hyogo next. I don’t want that milkshake to stay rotting in my fridge for, like, six months.”

“Well… I’m goin’ there next Saturday. Wanna come with?”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon. It’s Shohei’s wedding. You can’t miss it. Grandma Miya specifically told me to tell you to get your ass down there.”

It’s a lie that slips easily through his teeth, but he’s not exactly wrong, is he? Just—bending the truth a little. Grandma Miya did tell him to bring his girlfriend with him, and if he thinks about it, you are his girl friend, aren’t you? With a space in between the two words, but that’s just semantics. Atsumu ignores the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he’s coming up with excuses that he used to think of when he was in elementary school.

“I’ll think about it—”

“You have to,” Atsumu implores, briefly letting go of his pride in favour of convincing you to come with him to his hometown. “It’ll be a nice break. You can meet Samu and Shohei. Have fun at a wedding—you know how fun Miya weddings are. Get dressed up, dance around a bit. And Grandma would be ecstatic if you came.”

“Ecstatic…” you echo, an amused smile flickering on your face. “Did Osamu teach you that word?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “But that’s not the point! The point is, I want your company for Shohei’s wedding.”

Atsumu waits for his words to sink in. He notices your sharp inhale when he emphasises on the fact that he wants you there. This one is the truth, and nothing but; there is no one else he would rather go to his cousin’s wedding with.

For all the lies he’s spouted out this afternoon, some part of Miya Atsumu wants you to recognise that he’s not lying this time.

“So, please,” he continues quietly, “will you come with me to Shohei’s wedding?”

You look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. A moment later, you nod.

“...Fine. But you’re paying for the train tickets.”

Atsumu’s exhale is both relieved and anticipatory.

It takes exactly two hours and forty-six minutes to get to Hyogo from Tokyo by train. Atsumu purchases the tickets, partly because you’d asked him to, but mostly because of the steady feeling of guilt gnawing at his chest. He even purchases tickets for the first-class coach, because he wants you to be as comfortable as possible, even going so far as to give up the window seat for the aisle one.

“You’re being weirdly nice,” you note suspiciously, as he hefts your suitcase onto the rack above.

Atsumu grunts with exertion, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He takes in the small bob of your throat at the sight with a gleeful sense of pride. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I’m always nice.”

Luggage secured successfully, he rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans and settles down into the seat next to you. The plush cushion is soft and velvety to the touch, a dark shade of blue that’s soothing to the eye. As he looks around, he can’t help but notice that the rest of the passengers consist of old people—senior citizens, with wobbly knees and wrinkled skin. Old and married, they must be on their way back to their hometown after visiting their children and grandchildren in Tokyo. As far as he can tell, you and Atsumu are the only two people here who don’t have a relationship beyond the platonic. There’s the occasional family of four: a tired husband, an even more tired wife, and two boisterous children. One child, no more than four years old, with her hair done up in two pigtails, points a chubby finger at him.

“Mama, look! That man looks like Pikachu!” she exclaims loudly.

You giggle at the chagrined look on Atsumu’s face, and his heart lifts slightly at the sound.

“Komi! Shhh. It’s rude to point at people.” Her mother pulls her hand down, giving Atsumu an apologetic bow of her head.

“She has a point, I guess,” you whisper to your friend, nudging his shoulder.

“The point being…?”

“You do look like Pikachu.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair, Tsumu.” You grin mischievously. “It’s yellow. You’re practically halfway to having electric powers.”

Atsumu flushes. He runs a hand through his dyed-blond hair self-consciously. “That bad, eh?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, shrugging. “Your fans seem to like it.”

“And you?” he asks softly. “You’ve never told me what you think.”

You hum and look away, fiddling with your phone case. “If you like it, then I like it.”

“That’s not even an answer.” Still, Atsumu will admit that your reply makes him happy.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s—”

“You both argue like Mama an’ Papa.”

Startled, you and Atsumu look in front of you. Komi pokes her head out from the seat in front of you, a wide grin on her lips. You stifle a laugh; it turns out Komi and her brother have occupied the seats in front of you and him. The tips of Atsumu’s ears turn crimson—whether with embarrassment at being caught bickering by a four-year-old, or at Komi’s previous comment about his hair, he isn’t sure.

“Hello, there,” you greet the small girl with a grin as wide as hers. “Komi, isn’t it?”

She nods, her pigtails rocking with the movement. “‘m Komi! An’ my brother is Kento!”

“It’s very nice to meet you both, Komi and Kento,” you say, solemnly holding out a hand for her to shake. Although you haven’t met her brother, you can hear his excited babbles from his location on his mother’s lap. “I’m ____, and this is my friend, Atsumu.”

“But you can call me Tsum,” Atsumu supplies, knowing it must be hard for the little one to pronounce his name properly.

Komi shakes your hand with the sort of vigour that one only has at the young age of four, and then glances expectantly at Atsumu. He holds out his hand as well, and the little girl grips it with all the strength she can muster. Her soft palm is sticky; once she releases it, he tries to discreetly rub his own palm on the seat in front of him, garnering a frown from you.

Slowly, the train begins to chug forward.

“Tsum and ____,” Komi says, “are you both like Mama an’ Papa?”

“Like… Mama and Papa?” you repeat, tilting your head.

“Yeah! Like, sleepin’ in the same room an’ givin’ each other kissies while cooking dinner!”

Atsumu gapes at the child. He feels his face heat up at the insinuation—if Komi thought his hair was like Pikachu earlier, then now she’d surely think his entire face was akin to Charmeleon, or something of that sort. Unable to answer, he glances at you.

Your face settles in an expression that he can only describe as pained amusement. Your lips twitch up, finding the whole situation funny, but you pick at your cuticles at the same time. A chuckle forces its way out of his mouth.

“That’s right, Komi,” Atsumu says. “Except we aren’t… married yet.”

The girl tilts her head, confused. “Wha’s that mean?”

“It means” —Atsumu pauses, just enough to notice the stupefied glower you give him— “that we haven’t promised each other what your Mama and Papa promised each other.”

“Oh!” Komi gasps, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She grips the seat with her tiny hands, clearly thrilled at his words. “Like a pinkie promise?”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Atsumu scolds himself yet again for letting his mouth run loose all the damn time. How is he supposed to break this poor, innocent girl’s heart by telling her that you and Atsumu aren’t married? Heck, you aren’t even dating, and he doesn’t even know if you want to get married to someone eventually. He wishes he could blabber about his feelings for you directly to you—but it appears that he is tongue-tied only around you, as well. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Regardless, he cannot take back his words now, which means he must plough on.

Ignoring your pointed glare, he nods. “Exactly. You’re very smart, aren’t you, Komi?”

“‘m the third in my class!” The girl beams proudly.

“Really?” Atsumu gasps. “I was only fifth!”

“From the bottom,” you interject, seemingly having finally found your voice.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just trying to make me look stupid.”

Komi giggles. “Papa says that’s a bad word.”

“And Papa is right.” Atsumu nods. “Idiot is also a bad word.”

“You’re so brilliant, Tsumu,” you mutter. “Teaching her bad words by saying they’re bad. Genius.”

“See, Komi, now what ____ did is something called sarchasm—”

You let out an odd noise, something in between an exasperated sigh and an amused giggle.

“...And now she’s laughin’ at me,” Atsumu finishes, staring at Komi and shaking his head ruefully. “Can’t believe I’m payin’ for this one’s train tickets.”

Komi’s curious gaze darts between you and Atsumu, a little confused but wholly entertained. “Stop, stop, stop!” She holds her palms out as though she’s a judge imparting all her four-years worth of knowledge to pass her verdict. “Both of you need to make a pinkie promise.”

You blink. “What for, Komi?”

“To always love each other. Forever an’ ever, until you both die!” she declares seriously.

Atsumu’s smile turns soft around the edges. Ah, the child-like innocence that vanishes so quickly. He doesn’t remember much of his own childhood—it’s mostly just a blur of juvenile volleyball and fistfights with Osamu and Aran, and playdates where you would come over with your mother and the three of you would romp around with the twins’ toy dinosaurs—but he hopes he had the same sort of faith in the world that little Komi so proudly presents to him.

He turns to you, fingers already twitching with the urge to wrap his little finger around yours. “I think you have a point, Komi. Whaddya say?”

“I agree,” you say quietly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Atsumu gently takes your hand in his, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. Your skin is soft, a little bit clammy, but so is his. He swallows thickly, nervous for no reason at all, and says:

“____, I promise to love you forever and ever, until we both die.”

“I, um” —you inhale shakily— “I promise to do the same.”

He squeezes lightly and then lets go, letting his hand drop down to his lap. It was only a brief moment of contact—barely thirty seconds—but Atsumu’s finger twitches again; he aches to prolong the contact, to hold not just your finger but your entire palm, encase it within his hand’s confines, and never let you go.

“No, you didn’ do it properly!” Komi whines, her chubby fingers tightening around the headrest.

The volleyball player’s gaze snaps back to his small friend’s face. Gruffly, still wary, he asks, “What did we do wrong, Komi?”

“Mama an’ Papa always make me an’ Kento kiss after we fight! You should do the same!”

“But we haven’t fought, Komi,” you try to gently persuade her from exacerbating your situation.

It doesn’t work. Komi is adamant, as most children are, and Atsumu senses the beginning of a tantrum. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Komi and Kento’s parents napping in their seats, probably taking a well-deserved break from handling two kids. He doesn’t want to wake them up, all because he couldn’t satisfy their daughter’s harmless demands.

“All right, all right,” he says, flashing Komi a winning smile. “We’ll kiss to seal the deal, ‘kay?”

Next to him, he hears your sharp intake of breath. Atsumu’s heart thuds in his chest, a marching band of his own. The words just slipped out—as they always do. It is his fatal flaw.

Before he can turn towards you, he freezes.

You kiss him on his cheek.

You kissed him.

He can feel remnants of your lip balm on his skin, a slightly oily residue that he doesn’t bother wiping away. His brain feels like it’s a laptop with the Blue Screen Of Death causing it to cease all functions; blood rushes to his ears.

“There,” you tell Komi with an air of finality. “Pinkie promise made properly.”

The girl giggles and claps her hands, but he can tell she’s getting tired as well. With one last parting smile, she turns back around, presumably to nap for the one hour of travel left.

Atsumu’s cheek tingles at the spot where you kissed him. He resists the urge to brush his fingers against it, conscious of the fact that you might find it weird. Instead, he forces down the giddy smile that threatens to overcome his face and joins you in silently observing the countryside whip past him through the window.

Jealousy is an emotion Miya Atsumu grapples with rather frequently, and it’s no exception when he sees his brother tackle you into a hug as soon as he lays eyes upon you both.

Meanwhile, he’s left standing at the genkan, carrying both your bags and suitcases. Osamu doesn’t even spare him a look. Atsumu scowls; is this what their brotherly love has been reduced to?

“Don’ mind me,” he announces, toeing off his shoes and socks. “‘m just a luggage carrier.”

“Guest room’s all yours,” his brother says, arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

You snicker at Atsumu’s disgruntled expression and he rolls his eyes. Hefting a bag on his shoulder, he smirks and shoots back, “Someone’s gotta be the useful one. Cookin’ isn’t gonna save your life.”

“Dinner’s on you, Tsumu,” Osamu calls out to his retreating back. “And then we’ll see who survives after eatin’ your food.”

Atsumu blanches, but he sees the amused tilt of your head and flashes a winning grin at you instead, trying to quell the envy that bubbles in his chest when he sees Osamu whisper something into your ear and you giggle.

After depositing your bags in the guest room, Atsumu heads upstairs to put his own luggage away and wash up a little. He can hear the sounds of you and Osamu talking and laughing downstairs, taking the time to catch up on everything you’d missed in Hyogo district—about the twins’ mother and her little circle of friends, the news about when one of their neighbours threatened to cut down another person’s apple tree—and your delighted laugh sends a ripple of something warm down his spine.

He knows he’s well and truly fucked when he thinks about how much he wishes he could be the one to draw those elated sounds out of your mouth.

Downstairs, you’re doubled over with laughter as Osamu regales you with the story of their Grandma Miya accidentally crashing the wrong knitting circle and not realising until three meetings in that they were discussing trashy romance webnovels instead of actually knitting. Atsumu lingers at the top of the stairs, listening to your guffaws. You snort, once, and it sends you and Osamu into peals of laughter again. His fingers curl around the bannister.

The volleyball player steels himself, plastering on a confident smile as he saunters down the stairs.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he drawls. “Ya laughin’ without me now?”

“Just tellin’ her about Grandma’s new knitting club,” Osamu says. “She’s startin’ to think she can direct a romantic drama now.”

“I mean, she probably could,” you agree, smiling. “From what I know of her, your grandmother is a force.”

Atsumu scoffs, dropping into the armchair closest to you. He mutters, “A force that guilt-tripped me into bringin’ a date to the wedding.”

Osamu snickers. You tilt your head, curious. “A date for Shohei’s wedding?”

“Yeah. And if I show up without one, I’m doomed. Grandma’ll start parading me around to every eligible bachelorette she’s ever met—the neighbours, the cashier at the konbini I said looks cute, random strangers on the street.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe you’ll find someone perfect.”

Atsumu swallows down a groan. The last thing he needs is for you to think he’s taking his grandmother’s matchmaking seriously. “Nah, it’s a nightmare waiting to happen. Imagine Grandma introducin’ me to that one lady who brought natto salad to her friend’s birthday party.”

Osamu barks out a laugh. “Everyone ended up with really bad diarrhea that day,” he explains to you. “Guess Tsumu will hafta rely on me for cookin’ unless he wants bowel problems by the time he’s thirty.”

“As if,” Atsumu says quickly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Point is, I need someone to save me from this circus.”

“Hm, better start polishing your flirtin’ skills, Atsumu.” You give him a teasing smile.

His eyes lock with yours for a fraction of a second longer than he intends, and the words sit heavy on his tongue. You’re my date. I was thinkin’ of asking you. But his throat tightens; instead, he tosses a pillow at his twin brother to cover his nerves.

“You busy, Samu? Wanna be my date?” he jokes, deflecting easily.

Osamu catches the pillow without missing a beat, and then shudders. “Not a chance. The second they see me with you, they’ll think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Hasn’t he already?” you pipe up.

Atsumu clutches his chest dramatically. “Even you, ____? Betrayed in my own home!”

“Technically, it’s Samu’s home.”

Osamu grins triumphantly. Atsumu sneers.

“Well, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ll find someone. Real classy. Someone who’ll shut Grandma up for a whole year.”

His brother rolls his eyes. “Sure you will, Tsumu.”

You glance at Atsumu again, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s something indecipherable in your eyes, the way your forehead is creased ever-so slightly. Before he can say anything, Osamu’s phone rings. He excuses himself to take the call, leaving the two of you alone.

“Who’s the lucky fake date?” you ask after a beat. You don’t meet his gaze.

He rubs the back of his neck, debating his next move. His heart pounds as he tries to muster some semblance of courage, but all he manages is a lopsided grin and a shrug.

“Dunno. Guess I’ll know when I see her.”

“We have a problem.”

“We do?” Atsumu has only just woken up. His brain is still struggling to catch up with the rest of him; he blinks once, twice, waiting for your statement to sink in.

“Get up, loser,” you say, walking into his bedroom like you own the place. You flick his duvet off of his body. “We’re going shopping.”

Atsumu sits up, pressing his palms to his face and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The duvet slips further down.

“Fuck!” you yelp, immediately turning around. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see anythin’.”

A shiver ripples through his body. Without the warmth of his blanket cocooning his body, the cold of the morning seeps into his skin. He’s trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s being presented with a marvellous view of your back, and what you’re apologising for, when the chill makes him shiver again.

Oh. He looks down at himself.

Atsumu didn’t wear a shirt to bed.

His cheeks flood with heat, the back of his neck prickling with embarrassment. “Er. I’m wearin’ pants,” he says, like that’s going to be of any help.

“I’m, um, going to leave,” you say. Your voice sounds stilted—likely due to being similarly embarrassed by Atsumu’s bare-chestedness. Atsumu grunts in agreement. You walk out slowly, gingerly tip-toeing over a discarded pair of sweatpants he left lying on the floor.

You shut the door behind you, face lowered, and exaggeratedly twist the doorknob until it lets out a click sound, as though you’re showing him that you have not seen anything indecent. As though his abs have personally offended you. Like you’re a National Geographic narrator documenting a rare, disgruntled creature in the wild.

The shirtless Miya Atsumu, with its ruffled plumage and tragic morning breath, appears to challenge the peace of its habitat.

Ha. Wouldn’t that be a hoot.

To his credit, Atsumu gives himself five minutes before he flops onto his stomach and screams into his pillow. Then, he rises and rummages through his closet for a shirt—he settles for a grey one that he probably stole from Osamu’s closet during high school—and, still mortified, slips out of his bedroom and heads downstairs to see if breakfast is ready.

He finds his mother and you sitting side-by-side on cushions by the chabudai. It’s the usual motherly nonsense she always spouts whenever you come over—gushing over your job, asking about your parents, and, of course, wondering if you have a boyfriend yet.

“Not yet, Miya-san,” you reply politely, though Atsumu can tell you’re a little embarrassed. Your eyebrows furrow just slightly, and it’s always a tic you’ve had, Atsumu’s discovered.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” his mother says. “Beautiful girls like you should have boys tripping over their own two feet to date you.”

Atsumu is sure he’s tripped over his own two feet in front of you enough times by now for him to be able to date you. He clears his throat and puts a little swagger to his step when he sits down opposite you. “Missed me, Ma?”

“Slightly lesser than how much I missed ____,” she says.

“Just adopt her already, why don’t you?” Atsumu quips, rolling his eyes.

His mother actually seems to consider this, as she presses her lips together. “Marry one of the twins, ____. You know I would love to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

Your eyes widen, and you flounder, beseechingly locking eyes with Atsumu and begging him to help you out. He smiles a little. He remembers why he brought you here in the first place. His smile gets wiped out in an instant.

It’s not as though Miya Atsumu doesn’t want to spend time with you. He knows Shohei would love to have you at his wedding, and Hyogo is a beautiful place to be at this time of the year. But the thought that he needs you to be a scapegoat to appease Grandma Miya niggles at the back of his mind, unforgiving. He really should tell you, he thinks.

Thankfully, you’re saved from his mother’s matchmaking attempts by Osamu, who walks in balancing bowls of rice and miso soup. He sets them down on the table expertly—Onigiri Miya has trained him well—and plops down on a cushion next to his brother.

“Sorry for bein’ late,” he says gruffly. “Forgot to add salt in the miso.”

It smells delicious. Atsumu has to admit that he’s missed his brother’s cooking. After surviving on a majority of meals that were either konbini snacks or cheap ramen in Tokyo, home-cooked food makes his stomach grumble in a good way.

The four of you chorus your gratitude for the meal with bowed heads and folded palms, and then dig in. Atsumu slurps up the miso soup, chewing on a piece of tofu. It’s heavenly—it really is, and he nudges his brother’s side with his elbow to convey it. Osamu nudges back, and the table is silent for some time.

“Oh, by the way,” his mother says, “we need to get your suits from the dry cleaners. I have to go help your aunt out with last-minute wedding preparations, so I need one of you to do it.”

“Not me,” Osamu says. “I’ve got a restaurant to run.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Osamu,” she continues, giving him a small smile. “That’s why I asked ____ to wake up Atsumu early today. Both of you still have the same build, so Atsumu can go to the tailor’s to see if it fits or if he needs any adjustments.”

“Oh,” says Atsumu. You don’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t know we had actual work to do today.”

“I also offered to buy ____ a dress, but she refused.” His mother casts a quick, affectionate glance at you. “So, Atsumu, I need you to buy her one, all right? Get her a gorgeous one.”

“O’course I will,” he says, quietly.

Osamu looks curiously between you both. “Didn’t ____ tell you all this when she came to wake you up, Tsumu?”

A wad of rice gets lodged in Atsumu’s throat. You accidentally inhale miso soup through your nose. Both of you cough and splutter.

Osamu frantically pats Atsumu’s back, while you, eyes watering, accept a glass of water from the twins’ mother. Something unfurls inside Atsumu’s chest at the thought of spending the whole day with you, getting his suit tailored and buying you a dress.

It’s almost like you’re actually his date for his cousin’s wedding.

Is it weird that Miya Atsumu wants to see your reaction to him wearing a suit? Is he being presumptuous in the way he lifts his chin and puffs out his chest so that the tuxedo fits him better? What are your thoughts about men wearing tuxedos and ties, in general? Should he buy a tie that matches your dress?

This, and other such mysteries of life, are what the volleyball player ponders over in the tiny fitting room while one of the seamsters kneels in front of him and measures the length of his leg with measuring tape.

Atsumu has to constantly remind himself that you don’t know he’s your date yet. The wedding is tomorrow. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to stick it out until then.

“All done,” the seamster announces, getting back to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be able to alter this to the right size.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, pulling back the curtain and heading outside.

You’re sitting on one of the couches they’ve kept by the corner of the shop, scrolling through something on your phone. The bag with your new dress—his mother’s gift to you—is placed on the floor by your feet. He doesn’t know what the dress looks like; you’d insisted on buying it secretly because it was, apparently, embarrassing to go dress-shopping with a close friend who happens to be a well-built, devilishly handsome, popular, famous pro-volleyball player.

Not that you said those words exactly, but Atsumu can fill in the blanks.

He plops down next to you, leaning back and circling his head to get rid of the cricks in his neck. You put your phone away and glance at him.

“Take a picture,” Atsumu says, not looking back at you. “Lasts longer.”

“If only your face actually looked good in photos.”

“My face looks excellent. Haven’t ya seen me and Bokuto in the Calpis advertisement?” It was a small gig they’d gotten right after the Olympics season. Kuroo had said it would make for good PR, and Atsumu and Bokuto jumped at the chance to have their small five minutes of fame. Shouyou had sulked about not being a part of it for two weeks straight afterwards.

“I have, actually,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know I wouldn’t ever miss out on that. I’m surprised no one here’s recognised you yet.”

“Livin’ under a rock, the whole lot of them,” Atsumu mutters.

You laugh softly. “The fame’s gone to your head, Atsumu. Don’t forget me when you and the team go gallivanting across the country.”

“You know I wouldn’t ever be able to forget you,” he says, after a beat. “You’re, like, a part of me now.”

You blink. “That’s kind of weird.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burn. How is it that he always, always fumbles so much in front of you? It’s like his brain sees you and immediately decides to unplug itself for maintenance. He gulps, thinking of ways to salvage whatever dignity he has left.

“‘S not weird,” he forces out. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I think you spent more time at our house durin’ elementary school than you did at your own.”

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce. Shifting slightly, you eye the bit of fabric from your dress that pokes out of the paper bag. “Still can’t believe your mom insisted on getting me a dress,” you murmur, lightly brushing your fingertips against the edge of the bag. “It’s a bit over-the-top, don’t you think?”

“She just likes you a lot,” he responds. “Honestly, I’m startin’ the think she likes you more than me or Osamu.”

“That’s not a very high bar.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no malice in the action. “But it’s probably ‘cause I didn’t dunk her favourite teapot into the toilet when I was seven.”

“That was an accident! And I apologised more than a hundred times!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the apology totally made up for the fact that you made Osamu stick his hand down there and fish it out for you.”

“Why d’you always take his side?” Atsumu grumbles. “Can’t ever catch a break with both of you around, I swear.”

You lean back, shoulder brushing against his. Atsumu can feel your gaze roving over his face; he bites the inside of his cheek, feeling strangely self-conscious.

“Maybe,” you say, “I just enjoy making fun of you. You always make fun of me back. It’s nice.”

Atsumu swallows hard, trying to focus on anything else—the tacky wallpaper, the sound of pop music blaring from the shop next door. Anything but the way your words make his heart somersault, or the way your smile lingers for a second more than usual.

“That’s cruel, yaknow,” he manages to say. “Gangin’ up on me all the time. Makes a guy feel unloved.”

You stay quiet, thoughtfully steepling your fingers under your chin. Atsumu glances at you from the corner of his eye. Your expression doesn’t betray anything, until you reach out and gently grasp his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “Didn’t realise you didn’t like it.”

Miya Atsumu is certain—not for the first time in his life—that he’s utterly doomed. It’s a little bit pathetic, really. It started back in middle school, and still, somehow, he’s unable to move on. You’ve consumed him. Your thumb brushes over the veins on his wrist; he wonders if you can feel his pulse racing.

“Don’t stop,” he says, because what else does a fool in love say?

“Atsumu, I—”

You’re interrupted by the seamster, who calls Atsumu over to the register to finish his billing. He grits his teeth. This is the worst sort of interruption ever. He turns to face you properly, because maybe if he pretends he didn’t hear the tailor, you’ll tell him what you were about to say.

But your face is carefully blank, your lips pressed together. “Go on,” you tell him. “Don’t forget to collect Osamu’s tux, too.”

“Yeah, okay.” Atsumu nods once, twice. He gently extricates his hand from your grasp, as much as he dislikes it. “I’ll, uh, go do that, then.”

“Okay.”

Atsumu hates this. He’s not sure if he even wants to attend the wedding anymore. All his relatives are going to heckle him about his love life—and that’s fine, he can deal with them. He just doesn’t want his grandmother’s face to crumple with disappointment on finding out her grandson’s whole “relationship” was a farce. Feeling sick to his stomach, he pays for the alterations done to his and his brother’s outfits, and gestures for you to accompany him outside.

You don’t meet his eyes the entire way back home.

It’s the eve of the wedding reception, and Miya Atsumu can’t find you anywhere.

The reception hall is lovely. Golden lanterns hang from the ceiling, enveloping everyone in a soft, warm glow. Vases of peonies and cherry blossoms, intertwined with sprigs of baby’s breath, are placed on top of the soft linen covering each table. The delicate strains of a koto and shamisen ensemble weave through the air. The centerpiece stage, framed by cascading fairy lights and flowing silk, bear the names of the bride and the groom, written in exquisite calligraphy. An array of traditional Japanese sweets and cups of sake are placed on a long table by the corner of the hall.

Shohei and Sakura sit by the shintaku, looking resplendent in their outfits, surrounded by family members and friends. He’s already congratulated them, clapping his cousin on the back and winking proudly at Sakura. You’re nowhere near them, so he tries the snack table instead.

Atsumu hides his mounting worry by shoving a piece of mochi into his mouth. He racks his brain, trying to think of other possible hideouts where he can find you. It’s not like you to disappear like this—and it’s a shame, really, because all he wants is to be by your side this evening. Osamu is posing for a group photo with his second cousins and his mother is helping his aunt with the gift bags, but you’re not anywhere near them either.

He knows you won’t be at the smoking area where his uncle has held court all evening, but he decides to check anyway. Atsumu gives the area a cursory glance, confirming that you’re not among them, before hastily walking out. He curses under his breath, his usual confidence giving way to an unfamiliar, gnawing unease.

You’re supposed to be here. You said you’d be here.

He adjusts the lapels of his tailored suit and forces himself to think rationally. You’re probably just outside, he tells himself, getting some air or hiding from the relentless matchmaking attempts of meddlesome aunts. It’s probably fine. It has to be.

Atsumu’s footsteps turn towards the garden doors. His urgency is masked by the cocky, practiced demeanour he wears like a second skin.

“Atsumu, boy, where d’you think you’re running off to now?”

The volleyball player freezes mid-step. He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his meticulously styled hair before turning around.

Grandma Miya stands by the hall’s entrance, wearing a lavender kimono that glows under the warm lights. Her lacquered cane gleams as she taps it softly against the polished floor. Despite her diminutive frame, his grandmother commands the space effortlessly. Sharp eyes—so like his own—pin him in place.

“‘M not runnin’ anywhere, Grandma,” Atsumu says, summoning a sheepish smile that he hopes will placate her. “Just, uh, checkin’ on something.”

Her eyebrows lift, arching in a way that shows she’s wholly unconvinced. “Checking on something or someone?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, an excuse perched on the tip of his tongue, but she raises a hand and continues before he can say anything. “Thought you ought to know—there’s a pretty girl standing outside in the garden cussin’ out your name like she’s auditioning for a sailor’s choir. Care to explain why?”

“Wait—outside?”

“So you do know her,” Grandma Miya states.

“Um. Yeah—I— She’s—” The grin he’s worn like armour falters under the Miya matriarch’s scrutinising gaze.

“Out with it, Tsumu,” she prompts, tapping her cane once on the floor. “Who is she?”

“She’s my… date,” Atsumu admits. The words tumble out awkwardly, and he can’t deny the way it sounds both weirdly foreign but strangely right at the same time. “For the wedding.”

His grandmother’s eyes narrow. “And why is she out there cursing you to Hell and back all alone in the cold?”

“I didn’t—” He stops, shoulders slumping. He knows there’s no point in lying—not to her. Grandma Miya has always been able to see right through him, as though his thoughts are scrawled across his face.

“She’s not really my date,” Atsumu mutters, gaze downcast. “I mean, she is, but she doesn’t… know that she is.”

Grandma Miya blinks, and then lets out a short huff of laughter. “Atsumu, are you tellin’ me you brought this poor girl here, told everyone she’s your date, but didn’t think to inform her of that little detail?”

“I didn’t forget,” Atsumu protests, though his words sound weak to his own ears. “I just didn’t have the chance to tell her.”

“Why would you go and do something so spectacularly foolish?”

He hesitates, avoiding her eyes. “‘Cause I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he says quietly, the admission dragging itself out of his throat.

His grandmother’s smile fades, and without it, her wrinkles look more and more pronounced. “Disappoint me?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu whispers. “You’re always askin’ me when I’m gonna bring someone home. You want to see me and Osamu get married, too, before you—” His voice catches. “Before. Um. I just wanted to make you happy, ‘s all.”

There’s a long pause, and when Grandma Miya speaks again, her voice is sadder than he expects. Classic Atsumu, he thinks bitterly. Always findin’ a way to mess things up for everyone.

“Atsumu, you daft boy,” his grandma says, “I don’t care if you bring someone or not. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Atsumu swallows, her words entering his chest and settling down with a warmth that wraps around his body. When he looks up, he finds her observing him not with judgement, but with quiet understanding.

“Are you happy?” she asks.

Something about the way she says it is tinged with hope, and it makes his heart lift. The truth lodges in his throat, too big to swallow, too heavy to speak.

“I like her,” he blurts out finally. “A lot. But she doesn’t—she doesn’t know that either.”

Grandma Miya’s lips lift up in a grin—the same smile that passed on to his mother, and then to him and his brother. “Then go find her. Tell her the truth.”

“But what if—”

“No,” she says firmly. “Life’s too short for all that nonsense. If you care about her, you owe her the truth and an apology. Go on, now. Dinner’s starting soon.”

Atsumu nods, the corners of his lips twitching up in a small, grateful smile. She waves him off with her cane, before turning around and bellowing to Osamu to get her another cup of sake. He heads out to the garden.

The cool night air fills his lungs when he steps out of the ornate doors. He catches sight of you pacing near the koi pond; your movements are tight with frustration. The moonlight shimmers on the water, and dances across your face. The ends of your dress billow out because of the wind and Atsumu swears he forgets how to breathe.

It’s not until he climbs down the steps and comes to a standstill in front of you that you finally acknowledge Atsumu. Even then, it’s with flaring nostrils and flashing eyes, and he knows he’s fucked up really badly this time.

“Atsumu,” you say, voice taut. “What the Hell is going on?”

He winces. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain everything. He tries to speak, but no words come out, and all he can do is watch helplessly as you curl your fingers into your palm with anger.

“Why the fuck did you tell your entire family that I’m your girlfriend?” you snap, when it becomes apparent he isn’t going to say anything. “What did you think was going to happen?”

A dozen half-baked excuses fly over his head, but none of them feel right. Grandma Miya was right—he owes you the truth—but first, he needs to find a way to calm you down.

“Do you realise how messed up that is?” you continue. Your voice increases in pitch, garnering the attention of a few wedding-goers milling about. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t tell me anything. Do you know how embarrassing it was to get bombarded by all your relatives asking me how long we’ve been dating? They think we’re something that we’re not—fuck it all, they think I’m something I’m not.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Atsumu pleads, finally having found his voice. “I just—”

“Just what?! Just thought it would be easier? Just wanted to impress your family?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I just—shit, I dunno—I didn’t want my grandma to think I was screwing around. I didn’t want my relatives to look at me with pity ‘cause I can’t even stay in a decent relationship for longer than three weeks!”

Atsumu searches your face for something—some sort of reaction to his words. But you’re silent, and he can’t read your face. He can’t tell if you’re angry, hurt, both, or something else entirely, and it’s making him feel even more out of his depth.

“What were you thinking, Atsumu?” you ask softly. Your teeth worry your bottom lip, and he resists the urge to give in and kiss you silly.

“I wasn’t thinkin’,” he says, hoarsely. “I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. I should have.”

You don’t say anything for a long while; Atsumu thinks he’s said too much. But then, you speak and the bite in your voice has reduced.

“You didn’t think about me. You didn’t think ‘bout how I’d feel being that person for you.”

Your words ring hollow in his ears. The hurt in your voice makes his stomach twist with guilt. He wants to defend himself, but what could he possibly say? Instead, he looks at you quietly, hoping against all hope that somehow you will understand.

“Fuck,” Atsumu mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. He takes a tentative step forward, but you hold up a hand.

“You don’t—” Your voice trembles. “You don’t get to just walk over to me and give me some half-assed apology, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stops, letting silence blanket you both once more. He stares at you for a moment, at your beautiful face and your beautiful dress, and without thinking, he steps closer, his hand reaching out.

You don’t pull away—not immediately.

He’s close enough now that he can see his reflection in your eyes, the small tremor in your lips. Something inside him shifts, something urgent, something that makes his head spin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until it’s too late.

He curls his hand around your waist and pulls you in, crashing your lips with his. He feels you stiffen at first—but then you kiss him back, hard and sharp, and everything in him unwinds.

It isn’t gentle or sweet. It isn’t tender, the way Atsumu had always imagined his first kiss with you would be like. It’s angry—you are angry at him, and he is angry at himself.

It’s over far too quickly. Atsumu’s chest heaves with each breath he takes. You gawk at him, wide-eyed and breathless; a mirror to the expression on his own face, most likely.

“I—” Atsumu starts, but the sentence gets lost somewhere in his brain when you take a step back.

“I’m not some… prop to your little charade, Atsumu,” you say. “So unless this means something to you—like it does for me—don’t do things you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” Atsumu promises. His voice is gruff, his heartbeat a rapid staccato against his rib cage. “I could never. I like you too much for that.”

You look at him like he looked at you earlier—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, like you’re drinking in the sight of him and trying to commit him to memory. It comes out as a whisper when you say, “What?”

“God, ____, I like you. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re around.” He owes you the truth, and so the truth is what you will get. He’s not very good with words—you know this, and he’s sure you will recognise this for what it is: he’s laying his heart bare for you to take and keep safely for him.

“Me too,” you say. “Me too, Atsumu. Me too.”

He kisses you again, gentle and tender and sweet, his hand placed on the curve of your neck and your hands clutching the front of his shirt.

Osamu finds him and you later, curled into each other’s sides. Atsumu’s cheeks colour when his brother shoots him an impressed look.

“Finally,” he says. “Been waitin’ forever for this buffoon to get his head out of his ass and make a move.”

Atsumu doesn’t deny it, and you laugh softly. “Been waitin’ for him myself,” you say, squeezing his arm affectionately.

“Anyways,” says Osamu. “Grandma Miya’s lookin’ for Tsumu. She says she can’t wait to meet his new girlfriend.”

Atsumu’s mouth splits into a grin. “Tell her we’ll be right there,” he says.

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