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eureka-its-zico · 2 months ago

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Residuals Pt 3

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: Screaming at the top of my lungs because you have all been so incredibly lovely and sweet. I appreciate every single one of your comments, reblogs, and your excitement over this spur-of-the-moment series idea. Honestly, I can gush forever. Thank you! This chapter is centered around a little extra backstory on their relationship (briefly). I noticed it's around ep. 4 when everything starts popping off in the show (and I have scenes already pre-written cause I’m excited!) so I hope the story stays entertaining and true to showing slow insights into characters, their flaws, and being human. As always, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. Much Love. Jenn

Thank you to the bestie @viridian-dagger for humoring me and checking all of my work. Thank you for helping keep me sane.

Words: 7208

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You remembered with agonizing clarity the last day you’d seen Robby. You could recall down to the very marrow of the hour how you’d watched him grab his backpack and head out the door.

If you weren't careful, your subconscious loved to dredge that particular memory up in frequent rotation.

If you weren’t careful, always on mental high alert, the memories came violently to the forefront demanding that you remember what it felt like to walk the halls of your home in nothing but his shirts. It had you up late in the middle of the night writing a list of all the achingly obvious differences between the empty bed you now slept in and the one you’d shared with him. How his large frame curled against your back or how his nose pressed into the crook of your neck before he woke you, trailing kisses down your collarbone.

Sometimes, Robby held you so tight you’d jokingly ask if he was trying to morph together like The Thing.

You’d gotten used to the quiet in your home. The lack of security knowing another person was there. You’d learned to portion down your meals, so you didn’t make some on accident for two, or three when Jake was home for the week. You did laundry less and didn’t have to fold as much. There was no one to help you build furniture or tear it down. The trash was handled by you and only you. Dishes sat questionably for longer in the sink than they should’ve. There were no hands on your hips to keep you steady as you demanded to be an independent woman and use the step ladder to change broken fixtures and lightbulbs. No car rides with blues gently playing through the speakers with his hand on your thigh.

No. You were reminded every minute of every day since you’d left of what you lost. What you chose to leave behind.

The day you left you’d waited in the hall. In the past, before the pandemic, before the world went to shit and stopped making sense, Robby waited for you to send him off. You’d bring him his backpack full of protein bars, a homemade sub sandwich (if he ever got to it), and instant coffee packets when he didn’t. The moment you were close enough for him to grab - to touch - Robby would reach for you.

Before Robby, you didn’t know what it felt like to be worshipped; to be craved and wanted so badly that they couldn’t wait for the moment they could touch you. The safety of trusting someone because they loved you without pretense allows you to be comfortable enough to be good, bad, weird, and everything in between.

“You’re my favorite person.” He’d told you this randomly, while you’d both been curled up on the couch. Your cheek pressed against his chest. You heard the slight change in rhythm before he spoke. It was an answer to a question you’d asked weeks ago. One he refused to answer because “What are we in junior high?”

You didn’t believe in fairytales or the idea of perfect relationships. You believed in what someone’s actions said about them when they tried to cover them up with words. You didn’t know what it was like to have someone choose you, all of you, until Robby.

Whenever he had the chance, Robby was always touching you - light traces of fingers that drew aimless doodles in your skin while he read. His hand glided across your back as he passed you in the kitchen or the hallways at work. Once Robby learned how much you loved having his hands on you, he found ways to use them all the time - in ways that made you feel secure and others that were far from innocent.

But out of everything, Robby always made sure you were taken care of and, most of all, loved.

Usually, when Robby departed from the house, he used his large frame to crowd into your space. Possessive hands snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him. Every time, like clockwork, you eagerly respond to his touch. Your neck already falling back just enough for his mouth to slate over yours.

Those memories of better days, days where you didn’t have to question if he still loved you, are what made the last day so hard. You stood there, silently hoping that he would turn around. That Robby would just stop putting in his air pods, looking everywhere but at you, and finally acknowledge you. You didn’t want your last fight to be what you remembered - the words you’d hurled at one another with tired vehemence the final thing you heard.

You just wanted him to love you like he used to. But the problem was, you weren’t sure if you could love him how you used to anymore either.

“I think you should take Kiara up on her offer, Michael. You need to speak with someone even if it isn’t her.”

“Jesus,” he huffed. A hand scrubbed at his face before latching behind his head. His eyes screwed tight as if he could simply blink the conversation away. “Here we fucking go again.”

“Yes, here we go again. We wouldn't have to keep doing this merry-go-round around the issue if you would just admit - “

“Admit what?” His voice rose in challenge, and it took every ounce of you not to return it. “You seem to want me to say I’m broken so you don’t have to be the only one.”

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed, pushing your dinner plate further down the table.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

“It’s not bullshit! I’m not the only one in this room who won’t be honest with themselves.”

“That’s real rich coming from you, Michael. If you think that’s true, look me in my eyes and admit you don’t feel some type of way since he passed. And I never once fucking said that you were broken - “

“That’s the point! You don’t have to. I can see it in the way you look at me. The way you talk to me. It’s like no matter what the fuck I say you don’t believe me. You just want me to be depressed like - “

“Like what, Michael.”

The room went glacial cold. Your eyes turned to slits as you waited for him to finish his sentence. A piece of you prayed he didn’t because you didn’t know how much more you could take before you finally broke.

“Like you,” he sighed, voice defeated as if he hated saying it as much as you hated hearing it. “You haven’t been the same since -”

“Shut up.”

“- it happened and I’m sorry. I - I wish I’d been there - “

“I said shut up! Jesus, just stop talking!”

The venom in your voice was toxic. It had your arm lashing out and shoving the plate of food off the table. The sound of tableware clattering and glass breaking dimmed the flash of anger enough to be embarrassed at your outburst. You hadn’t meant to do it. Just like you hadn’t meant to do a lot of things since Adamson passed, since the pandemic, and…since you received the news.

It was written plainly in the silence held between you. The unspoken depression from two different spectrums left you both unable to help the other. Neither of you knew how to bridge the gap your stubbornness bred.

Doctors were historically the worst patients because of that very reason. Pride. You used to believe Robby and you didn’t share an ounce of it between you, but you’d been wrong. You forgot you were both human and flawed.

“I just want to help you, Michael. Please. Ever since Adamson passed and - and what happened - “

“He doesn’t have anything to do with what happened! What happened fucking happened because it’s nature. It’s - it just wasn’t our time. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for something you have no control over. How many times have we told our patients this?” Robby looked up from his hands and you wished he hadn’t. His watery eyes were close to spilling; the tsunami of pain was all-consuming and when he whispered your name before he spoke again, you wanted to shatter. “You’re killing yourself from the inside out with this self-hatred.”

How many times have you been told that exact thing? It was an unfortunate natural process. It just ‘happened’. Every word is sterile and scientific which makes you feel less and less like a person. And what about the news that came after? Was that natural too?

Maybe you were the one who was broken.

“Adamson happened too, and you haven’t been the same since we lost him. You’re on edge more, Mike. You snap at work and home. You’re closed off. You’re so desperate to put it under the rug that we only focus on me? Bring up my faults so we can bury yours.”

A sneer pulled up his lips as he turned away from you. His eyes scan over the shelves and furniture in the room - looking everywhere but at you.

“You just want to help me? That’s what you keep feeding yourself but in reality, you just want me to be who I was before this. I don’t know if I can be that man again and when I tell you that, you act like a fucking child going around slamming doors.” Shame flushed up your face, turning your cheeks red with embarrassment. You’d done that and worse. You thought you could wait whatever this was out until it got better. But it wasn’t better. It was worse and you were so, so tired. “You want to focus on me but what about you?”

“You aren’t the only one hurting - that lost someone. You left me! You fucking left me to deal with it all on my own. Where the fuck were you when I needed you?”

“I’ve been right here with you!” Robby shouted back. “I’m right here with you, baby, but you don’t fucking see it. You won’t let me in.”

The tears you struggled to contain escaped in one shaky exhale. You carried around so much of your shame and guilt - tried repairing the cracks with quick fixes so Robby wouldn’t see because the last thing you wanted was pity. You didn’t want the confirmation that you were irreparably broken.

“But you’re not here. Are you? Not really.”

The earlier flash of rage was extinguished with each word. This job was a marvel and a curse. It took and took without forgiveness. Sometimes you’re fighting to save people who don’t want to be saved; who’ve never known the support and love they needed to believe they were more than their demons. Who wanted to succumb to a brief drop of loneliness in the ocean of a lifetime. Or you saw the ugliness that people did to one another and left you having an existential crisis if someone’s bad choice made their life unworthy of saving.

Robby dealt with all of these things daily. He shouldered them for every friend in the hospital. For every patient who needed the strength of his resolve and the care he delivered. He gave all that and more during the pandemic and now he’d given so much that there wasn’t much left to tend to himself.

Robby used to lean on you for just about everything. Sometimes, your talks were gradual - opening up little by little until everything was exposed. Other times, they came in bursts. A rush of words said too fast because if neither of you just ripped the band-aid off and said it, nothing would ever get fixed. Now all of that came to a screeching halt. You didn’t know what he was feeling anymore or thinking. He shut you out in so many ways. You tried to break through and failed.

You both stood at separate spectrums of grief and neither of you knew how to reach the other anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You hadn’t meant about your relationship. You wish you could’ve said that - informed him that the despair and betrayal of your own body left you in a place of purgatory. The pandemic stripping you bare and raw pressing salt into every wound. How was Robby supposed to love you if you didn’t know how to love yourself?

But it’s not how it sounded leaving your lips. It’s not how he took it as you watched his shoulders deflate. The emptiness that hollowed out his eyes in protection and left them empty as you felt.

“No one is forcing you to stay.”

You never did get to tell him you saw him - saw that he’d been there waiting for you to open up. He wasn’t who he was, but he’d still tried the best he could in whatever ways he could. In the end, you believed you deserved punishment.

Maybe that’s what losing Robby was - the universe's way of dishing it out for a wrong you never knew you committed.

It felt suffocating; your chest caved to create a black hole of grief that felt never-ending. You watched as the pandemic tore him down piece by piece - shredding him to ribbons. So many lives were ravaged by the virus with no way to combat it. You remembered the overwhelming, crushing feeling of seeing dozens of patients lining hallways because there were no more beds. Every doctor, nurse, RTs, and CNAs struggled to care for every patient and be with those in their final moments because the families couldn’t. It was chaos. It was frightening. It felt like it would go on forever. The last thing anyone expected was for Adamson to get sick. For the virus to infiltrate his body and claim his life.

Robby had run outside, tearing off his hazmat suit. Unable to breathe around the soul-crushing grief that constricted the air from his lungs. He’d crumbled like a house of cards as you held him in your arms, but he wasn’t allowed to grieve. He was a doctor, you were still a fucking doctor, and neither of you were allowed to grieve. You needed to compartmentalize; sew up the fraying edges of your grief and go back inside and be the doctors everyone needed.

It was agony watching what came after. The way he struggled day and night to get any amount of rest while wrestling with his demons. The guilt kept him up at night and woke him screaming covered in a cold sweat. Eventually, he stopped sleeping in bed with you all together. Slowly, you saw him less at home and only at work. You watched while the anxiety ate him alive and transformed him into someone you could barely recognize, and you felt helpless against it. At any moment, the pain in your chest would swallow you whole.

And just when you thought, given a few months, you’d be able to find new joy in your life, it all came crashing down again.

So, you waited in that hallway. You waited for any sign that you should stay. You waited to see if you’d change your mind and begin to be honest with him. You waited for him to at least turnaround and look at you - for the recognition of the life you’d had months before to flash in those beautiful brown eyes. You waited in the hallway even after he’d left - waited for your tears to dry before you went upstairs to pack up your old life and find a new one.

You’d expected a lot of possibilities when Gloria brought you back down to the Pitt. You considered all the variables and the endless amount of what-ifs. It felt inevitable for you to end up in this very situation; him being the attending, in charge of the Pitt, and overseeing a case. The only thing you hadn’t accounted for was how the heat of his body pressed against your back made you forget how to breathe. Your mouth suddenly dry and your heart pounded violently against the ache in your chest.

Was Robby even aware of what he was doing? You could practically feel him take a breath he was so fucking close. Fuck, you wanted to scream and you almost did when you felt his gloved hand move across your lower back as he stepped around you. The old desire to touch you every chance he could was a surprise to you both when the reflex made its appearance. It must have been a mistake - a subconscious tick because old habits can die hard. It was the only thing that made sense. You fought the urge to mouth a, ‘What the fuck?’ at him. Did he even realize what he’d done? If he did, he was damn good at hiding it.

You needed to get your shit together. You brought him in here for your patient.

“Allan,” you began to introduce him and found you had to clear the warble from your voice. “Allan, this is Dr. Robby. He’s the attending doctor here in the emergency department. Robby, this is Allan and his mother, Rebecca.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. Now, Allan, why don’t you tell me what brings you in today?”

Once Robby agrees to your use of wire cutters to remove the key rings, conferring on medications during and after a take-home prescription, you immediately go to work. It took a few extra minutes of explaining to Allan (and his very traumatized mother) that you would be as gentle as possible, but the longer the key rings stayed on to cut off circulation, the higher the chance of necrosis would occur. You also promised him lidocaine to numb the area. Lots and lots of lidocaine.

You’d just signed off on discharge paperwork and spoke with him one last time about maybe just buying what he wanted to try next time. It was not only the safer option but probably more fun and less mortifying than having his mom bring him here.

You stepped out of the room and made your way up to Dana’s desk. While you’d been in the room doing minor surgery to metal keys, you’d heard a couple of new traumas that arrived through the ambulance bay. The one that unfortunately had stuck with you was the nineteen-year-old kid who’d been found unresponsive. Nineteen. Two years older than Jake.

For years you tried to make sense of how it was possible to become so attached to a son that wasn’t even yours. You didn’t give birth to Jake and missed the beginning stages of his life. You met him at his ninth birthday party and thought he would automatically hate you. Instead, he asked you questions about superheroes and if you had a favorite wrestler.

The relationship between Robby and Jake’s mom had been hard to navigate. Harder when you came into the picture because all mothers are understandably weary of unknown variables and people around their children. You did your best not to step on any toes and bided your time until Jake’s mom trusted you - felt comfortable enough - with your presence to allow Jake to stay over when he asked Robby.

You went on field trips as a chaperone when Jake asked, helped him build science fair projects, and tried your best to play basketball with Jake and Robby. You were better at three-pointers and playing horse than the original two - on - two. Jake chose to see you as another parent. His mother decided to let you be a part of his life and knowing Robby, loving Robby, brought you all together. You were forever grateful to both of them for it.

But seeing cases like this one - hearing about them - caused a cold sweat to spread across your body. Jake was a good kid - a smart kid but even smart kids could make mistakes.

You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and continued moving towards where Dana sat front and center in all the chaos. She was currently on the phone but her eyes tracked you as you made your way towards her.

Quickly, you unlocked your phone and went to your messages. You tapped on Jake’s name.

Mom v2.0 ~ Hey kiddo just checking in. Everything good?

You were about to lock the phone and put it away when his reply came back at lightning speed.

JakeTheRipper ~ Hey! Ya everything’s 👍🏽 I’m coming by the hospital later to get tickets from dad. Be cool to see you. JakeTheRipper ~ if you can! JakeTheRipper ~ if you have the time!

You and Jake never lost contact with one another after you and Robby split. It’d been his golden rule and who were you to break rules, especially golden ones? But you hadn’t seen him since he was fifteen. The last weekend you spent housed up in the house - his teenage self picking up a dark cloud stole the warmth from the home.

He’d asked to see you a few times since then but you were always busy. Always unsure if you were overstepping. But you were here now and he said he was coming here anyways so -

“What’s got you smiling all goofy?”

Dana’s question sent you crash landing back into the present. You were standing directly in front of her seated position, phone in one hand and wire cutters in the other while a perfectly arched brow did most of her questioning.

“Ugh, it’s nothing,” you replied, tucking the phone back into your pocket.

God, you were acting suspicious. Be natural. Be cool.

“You got a boyfriend or something?”

“Oh, god no, no, no.”

You were throwing in way too many no’s.

You felt like you were under a microscope when Dana’s eyes narrowed in on you like this. A cold sweat was going to happen any minute now.

“There aren’t that many things that make women smile at their phones like that.”

“Memes make people smile at their phones because they’re witty and funny. A good deal on a pair of shoes, funny videos of animals, or cute babies…anyway,” you mumbled before handing the wire cutters over the top of her computer. “Ron the maintenance guy should be coming by to pick these back up. If I miss him, can you let him know I appreciate him letting me borrow these?”

“Did you tell him what they were gonna be used for?”

“Oh, god no, and please Dana don’t tell him I used it to cut key rings off a patient's penis.”

“You mean he didn’t know why you were asking for them?” She laughed. Dana fucking laughed and it eased the tension from your shoulders tenfold. “I think at least owe the man some kind of lunch, don’t you?”

“Ugh, well, I disinfected them. Twice? Does that count?”

Another bark of laughter came as she shook her head in disbelief. She was still smiling when she reached out and took the cutters from your hand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be up in triage?” Langdon asked, sliding in on your right.

“Did you come all the way over here from your spot in hell to ask me that, Langdon? Are we slacking off today or willfully choosing to be lazy?”

Langdon shot you a sarcastic smile before he reached over to grab a tablet and handed it over to the med student who’d been with him before. Her dirty blonde hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail and her glasses gave her an almost childlike demeanor that was only enhanced by the excited way she bounced on her heels. Her hand shot across the counter in way of introduction.

“Melissa King - everyone calls me Mel.”

She was so eager - sweet - that you almost warned her to be cautious in the Pitt. It tends to eat the good ones alive.

“Dr. Fullerton,” you replied, taking her hand briefly. “I remember you from earlier. Hopefully, Langdon is taking care of you and isn’t showing you what not to do during a residency?”

“Ha, that’s very funny, Fullerton. How long has it been since you’ve been down here? You’ve probably gone soft with all the babying they do upstairs.”

“Out of the two of us, Langdon who is still in their last year of residency and who is a board-certified doctor?”

“You know what I smell?”

“I don’t smell anything,” Mel interjected, thin lines of confusion creasing around her eyes.

“No, I don’t mean - it’s metaphorical, Dr. King.”

“Okay, kids that's enough. Robby sees you two both standing here bickering, you'll both be in trouble.”

“Is that your way of telling us to go back to taking care of the board?” You asked.

“No, it’s my way of telling you both to get the hell away from my station. Now shoo both of you,” Dana retorted, using a stack of patient demographics to swat at Langdon and you.

“I’m going, I’m going,” you surrendered, backing away.

You were mid-turn when an enthusiastic wave from Dr. King was thrown your way.

“It was nice to meet you. Again,” she excitedly called after you.

She seemed too pure to have picked the Pitt. Everyone had their reasons for doing residencies here and, hell, you believed med students should be mandated to work at least one full rotation in an emergency department to truly learn. Mel, however, made you just want to protect her from the harsh realities of a place like this. It could be soul-crushing and there is no way to prepare yourself for when it happens.

“Likewise, Mel. If you ever want a break from ER Ken you’re more than welcome to come find me.”

“She’s good where she’s at, Fullerton.”

You didn’t bother giving a retort; you and Langdon could keep up the verbal back and forth the whole shift. You were only a couple feet away when you heard Dr. King state, “She seems nice.”

“Yeah. She’s alright. A little unhinged, but alright.”

Each word had been pulled like teeth from him; admitting you weren’t the absolute worst thing in the world, or at least inside this hospital, you knew made Langdon grumpy. Those few words left a sour taste in his mouth admitting anything nice about you, but it was enough for you because it meant one thing for you. There was hope that today wouldn’t be a total disaster after all.

It was a busy morning but mornings were always busy in the Pitt. There shouldn’t have been a reason the hum of panic constantly buzzed behind his ears. It only grew louder the closer he got to the pediatrics wing of rooms. The bright colors blazed out into the hallway; all greens and blues. Animal motifs meant to instill comfort instead summoned what he’d struggled to keep buried.

Dana already caught him helplessly trapped outside the room. The memory of that day - the last day with Adamson - flashed vividly like every nightmare he’d had of that day since. Robby had been so engrossed in the recollection of monitors blaring and Princess shouting for him to do something, “Robby we’re losing him,” that he wasn’t able to shake the feeling of dread off.

He knew Dana noticed. The way her eyes craned over his shoulder to take in the peds room was the only confirmation he needed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. When do I ever make you worry about me?”

“Are you kidding?” Dana chuckled. “All the time.”

They both knew he was lying. Robby never did confirm it when Dana asked, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be fine or even close to simply being okay. Even after four long years, Robby found he still sought Adamson’s advice. Moments in the Pitt he swore he could hear him directing the room; asking questions to challenge Robby because “a doctor never stops learning.”

He missed being able to confide in him. The expectant look on Adamson’s face when Robby asked about situations in his life where he was at a loss of what to do.

Robby needed to change the subject - and lead Dana down a safer path of questioning that he could handle. If he could keep himself away from that room he should be okay. He could handle you being here and everything else if he didn’t have to step foot in that room. He should’ve known there was no safe space where Dana wasn’t going to bring you up. Robby could see the hard exterior she tried to keep up to defend against your presence was beginning to crack.

Maybe so was his.

“The two of you looked cozy earlier.”

“Dana, you know I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her voice oozed a playfulness that edged towards teasing.

“But there is no universe where you and I talk about this.”

“I was just making an astute observation.”

“I would appreciate it if you maybe observe somewhere else. We have eleven more hours of this shift to go and I’d rather not have to spend it talking about her.”

“Yeah, because you’re allergic to talking in general.”

“Well, that’s just not true. I’m allergic to people I don’t want to have a conversation with,” he pointed out.

She tried to shake the smile off her lips. Her palm lightly smacked at his shoulder which caused his smile to rise in response.

“You’re such a smart ass.”

“I try my very best,” he mumbled as he leaned down towards the computer.

He’d just grabbed his badge to swipe past the electronic monitor to unlock the computer, placing his arms to brace on either side of the keyboard when he felt her presence eclipse to his right. Dana was leaning over the counter divider. Her arms hanging over waiting for him to look back up at her.

“Something else I can help you with, Dana?”

“Just wondering if you’d be more talkative if you knew Fullerton was all smiles earlier. She had her phone out. Seemed to be textin’ someone.”

Robby could feel his eyes narrow in on her position. He shouldn’t care - he shouldn’t fucking care - because you were the one who left. What did he care if you were dating anybody? It’s been two years. The chances of you dating were astronomically high; shit, he’d attempted it a while after you left. Instead of taking care of himself because, “You look like shit,”, as Dana lovingly told him, he’d done what 95% of the population does: he ran from it.

Heather Collins was an R2 at the time. She was funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful, and he’d fucked it up in record time. All the things you’d thrown at him about being shit at taking his own advice, hiding from his problems, were true. When things took a turn he’d lock up. Collins noticed the cracks and mentioned them enough he countered with argument after argument. The worst part was he was harboring a love for someone else that was gone. You can’t love someone else, give them the love they deserve, when you’re buried ten feet deep for someone else. She deserved better than to be a rebound - better than what Robby could’ve given her because no matter how amazing she was he still thought of you. Heather deserved more than to be a body to bury his sorrows in. He tried dating again a year later but that had also gone up in spectacular flames. Robby couldn’t keep the ghost of you from haunting him.

He tried to act like he didn’t care - that Dana’s words weren’t threatening his last proper brain cell for the day. By the look on Dana’s face, he did a shit job of hiding it. So what if you were with someone? He shouldn’t even care.

“Did she say who she was talking to?”

Why the fuck did he ask that? Dana didn’t necessarily answer him as much as she chose instead to grin. A silent, ‘Gotcha’ flashing that he absolutely hated. He’d walked right into it.

“Surprise, surprise. I thought she’d be one of your allergies.”

A huff of laughter rushed past his lips that he tried to cover up with a cough.

“You’ve got a mean streak in you.”

Dana patted his arm before she retracted back inside her bubble. The phone went off in record time to pull her safely away from having to hear him complain. She gave him one last thumbs up before her back faced him, completely ending the conversation and forcing him back to the open file on the screen.

He enjoyed the quiet for all of a millisecond before he heard -

“Hey, fruitcake.”

God, take him now. Robby chose to ignore her. Ignore her like every other time -

“Hey, I’m talking to you, fruitcake.”

“Myrna,” he bit out. “I told you a hundred times my name is Dr. Robby.”

He expected her to argue about nicknames and their usage. It’s usually what happens when he advises her that maybe she’d get better treatment if she’d use real names. That isn’t what he got.

“Do you wanna see my vagina?”

Robby’s eyebrows ran towards his hairline as he replied, “I've already seen it. And once was enough, thank you.”

“And what about mine?”

Robby knew that voice. He’d know it in any lifetime, through space and time; Robby would know your fucking voice anywhere. He turned to his left and there you were with your elbows and back resting against the counter. You’d leaned close enough so that your words were for him and him alone.

Robby wanted to humor himself that it had to be his imagination. The flash of something dark, ravenous, and achingly familiar he saw in your eyes must have been his subconscious going haywire. It wasn’t until he watched recognition dawn of what you said, the way you’d fucking said it, crest over your face that Robby knew he hadn’t made it up.

The heat of embarrassment had you straightening up beside him. He could see it in the light tinging of your cheeks, the anxious beat your fingers rapped on the counter. You weren’t looking at him now but he wished you would.

And then the memory of Dana saying you’d been caught smiling at your phone reared its evil head.

Mine.

He couldn’t keep the word from forming in his head. You’d been his for so long and those words of yours meant to tease and force him to give you a response. Robby wanted to tell you that no, once wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Mine.

The last few months of your relationship had ended in flames but the rest. What about the rest of the many years you’d spent together? They’d been spectacular. The best memories he had you were a part of. The attempts at gardening and doctoring up sick animals. The way you’d dance to his records as you danced through every room while you dusted. The sounds of yours and Jake’s laughter mixing from the kitchen table going over homework.

He could remember the way your hands fisted the sheets as his hands hooked under your thighs to bring you closer to his greedy mouth. Your slick drenching his face, his beard, stubble - whatever phase he was in with or without facial hair. Robby loved it when you began to let go; body melting in his hands as your fingers wound themselves tightly in his hair to pull him closer, deeper. Robby could get drunk off your taste, the soft keening breaths that came ragged and shaking from your chest. How your body trembled as he worked each finger inside you until your back arched beautifully off the bed.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine….

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t fucking care, but he fucking did.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Fullerton?”

Robby grabbed the PPE gown from beside the table before he went to his full height. From this advantage, he could faintly make out the dying hint of a flush on your cheeks.

“I was talking here first, Sugar tits.”

You pivoted to glance around him and waved at Myrna who waved back with her middle finger.

“Myrna, always a pleasure. I think that’s my third finger wave today,” you muttered the last part to him.

“Dr. Fullerton.”

“Right, right. I wanted to see if I could borrow one of your med students. Central 3 and 4 have two patients, males twenty-three and twenty- four in age. Both were at the same BBQ and believed dumping liter fluid on a fire was a good idea.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, they look like human marshmallows right now. One has second-degree burns while central 4 has, what I believe, might be second degrading into three.”

“Do you need me to come take a look?”

It felt like a reasonable question. He was attending and usually, all consultations like this went through him for an opinion. He’d just done it with her half an hour ago. It shouldn’t be a big deal -

“Oh, no, no. Thanks but I think I got this.”

“Oook. If you got it, why do you need a med student?”

“I figure it would be a good teaching moment for one of them on treatments of burns and how to assess the level. I’ve already called surgery for a consultation on central 4. Plus, there’s no available nurse to help me attend to both.”

Robby tried to keep the scoff from coming out. He shook his head and went to move around you, shooting Myrna an irritated glance that hopefully she caught as his nonverbal way of telling her he didn’t want to see her the rest of the day.

“So, you are saying you need help, you just don’t want my help.”

God, he sounded like a petulant child. By the look on your face, you’d agree with that statement.

“Robby, I know you’re busy - “

“I’m not busy,” he cut in.

“Robby, the parents of the OD teen are here.”

Dana came from behind the station, her eyes glancing between the two of you.

“Okay, park them in Trauma 1. He’s not back from CT yet. I’ll be there in a minute. You can borrow Whitaker,” he directed at you.

He had to move. There was still the floating face patient in trauma 2. He needed to find out if they’d been able to prep for a safe intubation and if not, they were doing a solid alternative. Langdon was there with both interns. Robby could trust him. He should’ve been more worried about himself because as he passed by you on his way to trauma 2, he felt his body dip towards you. The jealousy rushed up like a lance piercing his heart as he remembered Dana’s words. The idea that you’d moved on, that someone else had taken his place, threatened to remove whatever sensible bit of himself he had left.

“And don’t pull your phone out on the floor. It’s unprofessional, and I won’t have it in my department. You can step outside like everyone else.”

You didn’t look at him as he spoke. You didn’t even snap at him or give him any hint you’d heard him. Robby knew you’d heard him, but your eyes were solely focused behind him. It was the spot he’d just been standing - the spot Dana now occupied.

There should’ve been some satisfaction in watching Dana’s face crumble like this. All the earlier anger dissipated back into a playful, if not biting, rhetoric that gave you some hope the day wouldn’t be your version of Dante’s Inferno.

But Robby’s comment…

Only one person saw you on the phone earlier. One person who’d asked about who you’d been talking to while you’d read Jake’s texts. You’d been so ready to shout at Robby that it was Jake, his son. It might have given you some retribution but why should you have to explain anything to him? He was acting like a jealous significant other, not a damn boss. The way he’d pressed himself against you earlier; touching you as if half-possessed.

You weren’t helping, were you? The minute the words had leapt from your mouth you’d wished you could take them back. You shouldn’t have said it and yet, you did. You fucking did and now the wanton look he’d given you was forever etched into your brain.

You were an idiot.

An even bigger idiot for thinking Dana would’ve left anything between you.

“You just couldn’t help yourself. Could you?”

“Kid - “

Dana took a step forward ready to explain. You didn’t have it in you to listen. When the phone went off in her hand you found your way out and took it.

“Do you know where I can find Whitaker?”

“He had a patient around the North-East hallway.”

“Thanks.”

You heard her call your name. Not Fullerton, not kid. Dana said your name and for the first time today, you wished she’d stuck to calling you an asshole.

You followed Dana’s instructions and moved toward the hallways. You weren’t sure how long you’d be searching for him, but luckily it wasn’t long. On the opposite side of the hall, you watched him wheel a patient out of 17 North and into the halls. Whatever the patient said stopped Whitaker in his tracks - both grateful and surprised all at once. You waited a few minutes longer for him to enjoy a good moment with his patient (because sometimes it didn’t always go like that) before you made your way around to get to him.

“Whitaker!”

“Uhm, oh yes. Hi, Dr. Fullerton.”

“I have a couple of burn patients in Central 3 and 4; second to third degree. Dr. Robby said you’d be able to assist if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I would. That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

He was so earnest it was endearing. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go remove some dead tissue.”

You took the lead in showing Whitaker to the rooms. You were trying to make polite conversation. It only seemed fair to take a small interest in what motivated a young doctor to get into the field of medicine, of saving lives. Basic questions such as those were able to tell you a lot about who someone was and if they held enough compassion to be around people during their most vulnerable times.

You did try your best to keep your attention trained on the work. It was your turn to be a teacher, and you wanted to do it well. You didn’t have an excuse why you looked toward Trauma 1. No excuse at all why you watched Robby speak to the kids' parents looking defeated before they’d even begun. There was even less of an excuse for when Robby looked away from them, his eyes searching until he found yours, that should’ve made you want to forget these last two years. You hated the old impulse to run to him - to care for him. The last time you’d seen Robby looking desperately close to combusting like this it’d been a few doors down standing outside pediatrics.

Looking at him now, Robby seemed ready to quit, and it wasn’t even close to 8:30.

______________

As always, thank you all so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

______________

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange

#Residuals #ongoing series #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #dr michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt x reader #dr robby x oc #michael robinavitch x oc #michael robinavitch x you #noah wyle #saucy angsty babies

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awrkive · 9 months ago

Text

[TEASER] THE LOVE PROGNOSIS (m) — JJK.

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. the kind of girl who thought her high school jock boyfriend would make good on his promise of keeping contact until college. that girl who thought the guy she met at 19 at some sleazy frat party wanted more than just sex. the girl who thought that her boyfriend at 21 would finally be The One after he introduced her to his parents on New Year’s Eve. you’re the kind of girl who thought that it was smart to get a boyfriend in her first year of med school and get proposed to in fourth year.

but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 1.2k words for this teaser but the fic currently is at 22k words (heavily unedited). the final estimate is around 30-35k 🤓

WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, jk sluts it out quite often😞, hopeless romantic!oc, weddings and engagement themes, the angst is a bit extreme (medium level tbh) on this one, it’s the… yearning? one sided-love?, the surgeons gang: jk, oc, nayeon, doyeon, taehyung <3, multiple sex scenes (will specify once the fic comes out), i personally have only acquired a degree on Bingewatching Grey’s Anatomy so my medical knowledge is.. you see.. greys anatomy 💔 BUT! i did a lot of research for this pls dont crucify me. the full list of warnings will be indicated when the full fic comes out 🙏🏼 anyways warnings particularly for this teaser: drunk oc, implied alcohol consumption, germaphobe jk lol

NOTES hello awrkive nation!!!!!!!!!!!!! i wanted to do something for jk’s birthday this september and this is what i came up with 😭 i am so soooo so incredibly excited to announce this fic to you guys 😵‍💫 ive been working on this on and off since the last week of july and its currently at 20k words so its coming along really well 🫂 its gonna be a HUGEE HUGEEE fic since its estimated to be around 30k words which will be a first for me hehe <3 pls look forward to it and REPLY TO THE COMMENT SECTION IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST (pls do not send an ask for taglist request 🫶🏼) LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK!!!!! I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS <33333

[ TLP MOODBOARD ]

READ FULL FIC HERE ❗

“Hey, swing me.”

You tell Jungkook, situating yourself more comfortably on the wooden platform attached to the chains.

“A dollar per minute.” He says, standing up from his own seat and placing himself behind you.

“I thought you hate capitalism? What is this?”

“This is forced labor.” Jungkook says with a groan that you think is a feigned exasperation, since you begin to feel movement right after it.

“You broke my hairdryer the other day. Consider this your compensation.” You look up at him to give him a smarmy smile.

Fom where you’re seated, you realize just how… big his presence is. It’s not the looming, ominous type, though – it’s quite the opposite. When Jungkook surrounds you, you find a bit of comfort in it. A huge one if you want to be honest to yourself.

“And I already bought you a new one. We’re even.” Jungkook squints his eyes at you.

You laugh.

“You’re gonna borrow and break it again.”

He visibly winces. “Touché.”

Jungkook swings you while you talk about your day, just like usual. He asks you about your laparoscopy that kept you from having lunch with the rest of your friends at the hospital earlier that day, about your new scrub cap, and you gossip a little about the new lab tech having a crush on the scrub nurse you both know.

For all his complaints earlier, Jungkook seemingly doesn’t seem to mind having swung you for the past ten minutes now. He’s relaxed and gentle with his movements, and his voice is quaint and soft as he talks to you.

But then you start to feel bad for him so you tell him to stop, standing up from the swing.

“Okay, your turn.”

Jungkook gives you a big grin.

“Nice.”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm when he sits on the swing chair this time around. But when you attempt a push, he barely moves, prompting him to laugh.

“What weak ass push was that?” He says incredulously, looking at you.

You jut your bottom lip out. “You’re heavy and I’m drunk.”

The second time you push him is more forceful but then Jungkook voices out a complaint after the third, fourth, and every single time you do it. You roll your eyes at his tantrums, but then suddenly, you think of a much better idea.

You push him off the swing with all your remaining strength even though your body feels like jelly from all the alcohol you consumed an hour ago.

“What the fuck, __?”

You burst out in boisterous laughter at Jungkook’s state, his hands and knees planted on the ground. He then sits on it, clapping his palms together to get rid of some dust that gathered on his skin.

Without thinking too much about it, you make quick steps over to his direction and situate yourself beside him.

Jungkook looks at you, confused, but you only give him a grin.

“Let’s lie on the ground.”

“What? No!” Jungkook immediately opposes it. As you expected.

You scrunch your face. “Oh! Look at me! I’m Jeon Jungkook and I’m a germaphobe and I’m afraid of dirt!” You say, intentionally making your voice a pitch higher.

Jungkook deadpans. “Pathogens can kill your cells’ metabolic machinery, so, yeah? I’m afraid of dirt.”

You roll your eyes at him and while he goes off about how they can also cause a toxic massive immune reaction, you push his chest forcefully which catches him off guard, prompting him to lay on the ground. Before he can say anything, you take his arm out to spread beside you and you use it to rest your head on.

Jungkook stops his rambling after that.

“See, shut up.” You say, backhanding him slightly on the chest. You fix your gaze at the skies. “The sky is beautiful tonight. Worry about your pathogens next time.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you feel the vibration of his body as he does so, being so close to him. As you peer up to look at him, you see him folding his other arm to lie his head on it.

You smile, going back to looking at the sky.

“This is like in The Notebook.” Jungkook says after a beat of silence.

“Right?” You grin. “And with the pathogens, too.” You tease.

Jungkook laughs, pinching your arm in his reach. “God, shut up about your pathogens.”

You chuckle at the irony.

“That’s me,” you point upwards, referring to a big twinkling light in the sky. Then, you move your finger towards the star beside it. “And then that’s you, ‘cause I’m a bigger star than you.”

You feel Jungkook look at you from his position. “You are so drunk.”

That causes you to giggle, clutching your stomach because you can’t stop laughing at pretty much everything tonight.

“I feel like I'm not anymore. My head just feels like it’s floating but no, definitely not drunk.”

“Whatever you say.” Jungkook says, chest vibrating from laughing at you.

“Hm. Race you to sleep, Jungkook.” You snuggle on his armpit. As you do, you smell a waft of your water lily springs body wash from Bath and Body Works. “Can you stop using my body wash?”

“What?” You can hear Jungkook say, but as he calls your name and more, his voice starts fading. “__? Hey, don’t sleep on me.”

You hum, eyes still closed.

“__, hey!” Jungkook grazes your arms. You can feel your head moving as Jungkook starts to sit, guiding your back to sit upright. He calls you again, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up.

The truth is, you’re really sleepy, but not so much that you can’t hear him anymore or move on your own.

Jungkook gives up trying to wake you up, though, convinced by your acting. Soon, he goes over in front of you, reaching for your arms and placing them around his neck.

“Just put your legs around me, yeah?” He whispers against your hair once you’re glued against his back.

You hum, intending it to sound like a mumble so Jungkook thinks you don’t actually understand.

Jungkook fixes your legs around him, standing up, bouncing a little to get you nice and snug in his back. You smile at the prospect of a piggyback ride.

“I know you’re awake, silly,” He says suddenly, his voice painted with amusement.

You stifle your laughter against his neck, breaking your supposed to be convincing act.

“Race you to the car, Kook.” you whisper into his ear.

Jungkook scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything more until you reach his car. He wears your seatbelt for you, though, and tells you to drink more water from his tumbler.

You fall asleep easily mid-drive.

In the morning, you wake up with a banging headache, your eyes catching the sight of a post-it note on your desk with one tab of Advil.

morning/afternoon stinky i made porridge before i left for my shift just heat it up again when you wake up

ps: your medical bill from my personal care will be discussed later when i get back home. no friends discount allowed

— your angelic friend, kookie

You chuckle at the (annoyingly elaborate) sketch of an angry bunny on the side.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #awrkive

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yhwhsdaughter · 1 year ago

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Alucard Alphabet

Affection ༄

He is quite affectionate. Alucard’s heart softens at the mere sight of you, so it’s difficult to be anything but loving. He unconsciously lowers his voice when speaking to you so it comes out like a sweet murmur. He has this need to touch you, whether it be a protective hand on your shoulder or a sultry kiss.

Best friend ༄

The two of you would be inseparable. Alucard might seem uptight at times, but he’s always putting your best interests at heart. His help is available to you, always. He won’t hesitate to intervene in your stead should problems arise. Loves to listen as you tell him your worries and thoughts. Alucard stares so intensely into your soul as he does this, which is endearing but also a bit concerning.

Cuddles ༄

In your arms he wishes to stay for the rest of his days. Alucard wouldn’t bring up the desire to cuddle so you’d have to be the one to propose. He won’t admit to liking it, but it’s quite obvious and he won’t fight you on it. Alucard loves to embrace you when cuddling, preferably facing each other. Kisses your forehead often when cuddling. He also inhales your scent because it brings him peace.

Domestic ༄

Alucard absolutely yearns for normalcy. He wants the two of you to have a mundane life, full of domestic intimacy so bad. Alucard wishes for a time where you can be together, without having to worry about fighting the undead or risk losing you in the process. That said, he is perfect around the house; he cooks, cleans, and offers protection. Your cup will never be empty with him.

Ending ༄

He would try to keep things as civil as possible. Alucard wants an amicable separation—mostly to spare your feelings. He’s definitely hesitant about breaking up the memories you have constructed. There’s a bit of awkwardness in the process, for he’s not the most experienced with amorous relationships.

Fiance ༄

Alucard is so happy to be with you, so he’ll have no issue committing his every breath for your happiness. Having a life partner is honestly all he could’ve wished for. He will be a devoted and loving husband. Alucard would craft the most beautiful rings you’d ever seen. On the inside would be an inscription of his feelings for you, engraved in both your minds and hearts.

Gentle ༄

Would rather die a thousands deaths than ever hurt you. Alucard is a gentleman; he’ll tend to your needs, all of them, sometimes placing them above his. Because of his enhanced strength, Alucard will handle you carefully, almost like you’re made of glass. His touch is that of a feather, his voice like a ghostly whisper. Remind Alucard that even if he were to shatter you with his long sword and fangs, you would die a most pleasant death.

Hugs ༄

Will not ask for them explicitly, but he loves embracing you and being embraced. If he’s feeling particularly needy, Alucard will simply trudge towards you and do it. Now, his hugs are incredibly comforting, though they tend to be a bit heavy since he leans on you, his form draping over yours. He doesn’t want you to disappear, even for a moment.

I love you ༄

Alucard will say this spontaneously. It could be at a time where he’s feeling desperate or peaceful. Either way, the words will slip from his lips. This confession won’t be revealed till he’s sure you’re the one—meaning you’ll have to be patient because Alucard is showing opening his vulnerable heart to potential hurt.

Jealousy ༄

Oh, he gets jealous. I think it brings feelings of insecurity. Alucard might try to be subtle about it, he may even act suave about the whole ordeal, plastering a cocky expression over his statuesque-like face. Immediately, he will bury his face on the crook of your neck, fangs grazing your carotid gently.

Kisses ༄

Soft, desperate and forceful. Not in a bad way though, Alucard just needs to feel you… firmly. He gets carried away in your touch and embrace. It’s so addicting that if he were to miss your kisses for a day, he’ll go into a withdrawal. The most common places where Alucard will plant kisses is your lips, temple, neck, and the back of your hand. In return, he’ll want to be kissed on the jaw, the corner of his mouth, and the crook of his neck.

Little ones ༄

He likes to humor them. Alucard is surprisingly patient with children. He would be a great father; has a desire to form a family, whether it be biologically or adopted. He just wants to share that love and be loved.

Morning ༄

Quite peaceful. He would prepare breakfast so when you wake, a meal is already waiting. Alucard also likes to start the mornings by giving you small kisses, a reminder of his love and proof that you’re real, not a mirage or figment of his imagination. Evidence that you’re with him and he’s not lost himself. He likes to start the day slowly, not eager to do much without you.

Night ༄

He’s a creature of the night, somewhat. So if there’s a time where you can’t wander into the land of dreams, Alucard will keep you company. He’ll hold you in his arms and carry you to the top of Castle Dracula to admire the stars till he feels the weight of your head on his shoulder. Afterwards, Alucard will share your bed.

Open ༄

Um. He’s a bit closed off to be honest. Alucard’s story is complex, one that he doesn’t feel like repeating aloud. He loves to learn about you though—taking notes of all your favorites, dreams, as well as the things you hate. However, when you mention how it can be a bit unbalanced, Alucard will then sit you down and reveal his troubles. It’ll take time for him to tell you everything, but that’s fine because you’re not planning to go anywhere.

Patience ༄

Unlike with others Trevor, Alucard extends you his infinite patience. He might get exasperated but never angry. If we’re being quite honest, everything you do is adorable to him. You could be massacring a vampire and Alucard will have heart eyes, smiling proudly. Blame the beating organ inside his chest that threatens to jump out whenever he lays eyes on you.

Q ༄ Quizzes

You are always on his mind. Alucard reserves his best thoughts towards you, so he’ll remember everything. It’s unnerving, in a good way, how Alucard knows you so intimately.

R ༄ Remember

There’s so many precious memories that are stored in the vault that is his heart and mind; so if you were to ask him specifically what’d be his favorite moment in your relationship, he would probably answer with, “When I lay eyes on you.” So, all the time.

S ༄ Security | How protective is he? How would he protect you?

There’s no safer place than by his side, and in his arms, his embrace. Alucard would go to the ends of the earth for you. Your security, your safety, your well-being— it is all above everything. Albeit he fought against his father for trying to exterminate the world for his mother, Alucard would do the same for you.

T ༄ Try

No one like him would put this much effort into a relationship. He would get and arrange things to your liking but not so much that it would overwhelm you. It’s a bit endearing when he’s a bit awkward about certain aspects of being with you.

U ༄ Ugly

His lack of trust can be a bad habit of his. It’s not like he doesn’t trust you specifically, it’s just… well, in his defense, life hasn’t been kind to him. Because of this he might seem cold or detached, and quite depressive at times. Alucard, prior to you, tended to go off the deep end with ease, almost getting consumed by his thoughts.

V ༄ Vanity

For him its all about the heart, though it doesn’t hurt if you’re a beauteous woman. That said, Alucard finds you extremely captivating in every aspect. There was a time where he would constantly stare at your hands and face whenever you’d cook. He would get so entranced by your movements and expressions.

W ༄ Whole

You’ve attached yourself to his heart and soul. You’re ingrained in his being that any attempt at separation is painful. So, Alucard would very much feel incomplete without you in his life.

X ༄ X-ray

There’s no one that knows you more than him. He knows you like the back of his hand. He could sketch every piece of your face, down to the last hair, from memory alone.

Y ༄ Yuck

Don’t tie him up. Seriously. He loves you to no end and wouldn’t harm a hair on your pretty little self, but the idea of being tied would make him anxious, recalling bad memories. He’s entirely averse to causing you pain. He can’t bear to mark you purposefully—maybe only bites but that’s with explicit consent and once in a blue moon.

Z ༄ Zzz

He likes to sleep holding your hand, always facing you, never away. He’ll sleep on his back or facing you—Alucard doesn’t like to give you his back, wanting to fall asleep staring at you. For if he were to die before he wakes, he would want you to be the last thing he sees.

#alucard #alucard tepes #adrian tepes #alucard x you #alucard x reader #alucard x y/n #adrian x reader #adrian x you #adrian tepes x you #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania #castlevania x reader #castlevania x you #castlevania x y/n #sfw alphabet #reader insert

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 year ago

Text

Biker!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the ask here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Seeing Simon on his motorcycle is something that awakens a new yearning inside you, but when you get your own bike and start riding alongside him, the way he gets you hot and bothered makes it worse. You need him to fuck you on his bike and you hope your plan will make it happen.

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings:

The first time you ever saw Simon Riley perched atop his black motorcycle, in that moment some innate part of your brain was awakened and you were never the same. There was just something so incredibly erotic about the way those thick thighs straddled over the sides, the way his arms looked with their muscles bulging, straining his black short sleeved t-shirt wrapped around them as he leaned forward to reach the handlebars. Of course his helmet with the blacked out visor didn’t hurt either, not when paired with his sleeve of tattoos. He was a vision even more than usual and you were suddenly hooked.

Then he took you for a ride along the open highway where he could really show you the power his bike had and that solidified your need to be involved in his hobby. Adrenaline, that was and still is Simon’s favorite part of being on the open road, his bike vibrating underneath him as the wind rushed past his body, and now that you had that first taste of it all, it was yours too.

Whatever you needed to do to keep getting to look at him like that, to keep feeling that rush, you were more than willing to do it.

Whenever he was on leave you two found yourselves on his bike, roaming the city on long night rides just to feel the wind on your skin and the rush of speed under your bodies. That was until he made an off-handed joke one day about getting you your own bike so that you could drive alongside him and then suddenly you were expressing how much you actually had been thinking about it. Sharing his hobby with someone, especially you, was something he has always wanted. To think you could experience the same thrills had him rushing to take you bike shopping the very next day so he could start teaching you.

You picked it all up relatively fast and before you knew it you had your license and regular drives have now become a part of your routine whenever your military man is in. Getting on the highway, opening the bike up as you go faster and faster, weaving through traffic with Simon always right by your side, there is something exhilarating about it all. And now you had the best view of that gorgeous specimen of a man.

Being able to see you on your own bike makes Simon have a taste of his own medicine because fuck did you look a goddamn beauty. Is this how you feel looking at him? The way it makes your back arch, full juicy arse just calling his name, has him salivating whenever he gets to see it. And he can’t help what it causes him to do; it’s not his fault when you look the way you do. The first time he ever pulled his little stunt, a ritual of sorts that he has to engage in every time you’re out driving together, you had a hard time focusing on the road after.

Bringing his bike close beside yours, he reaches out and runs his hand over the curve of your ass, making sure that he does it long enough that the other motorists behind you both can see him claim his hot biker vixen as his. You belong to him and he wants everyone that can see to know it.

And fuck does it drive him wild and have you reeling every time.

This goes on for quite a while, and all the times he’s touched you while riding have conjured up a new fantasy of yours and you finally decide you have to do something about it. Lately you’ve been thinking: what type of partner would you be if you didn’t return the favor? Simon deserves to be just as flustered too, right? It’s not because you need him to fuck you on his bike, nope, not all.

Is it strange? Maybe. Will he go for it? You aren’t entirely sure, but one thing you do know is that you at least have to try. And if it works out, you know he’ll enjoy it too. On one of the last few nights of his leave, you decide that you’ve got nothing to lose and put your plan into motion.

“You know, it’s been so long since you took me on a ride with you,” you put your case to him tonight. “Like we used to. Me on the back of your bike, wrapped around you tight, you speeding through the lanes with the wind rushing past us. Remember that? I used to get so excited to see you just so you’d take me out with you.”

Those hazel eyes stare back at you curiously; of course he remembers. Christ, how could he ever fucking forget? Still, it’s intriguing to him why you would be bringing this up now. “What’s got ya all nostalgic sweetheart, hmm?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow. “Ya don’t like ridin’ beside me?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just thought it’d be nice to be close to you again is all, since you’ll be leaving soon,” you say as you bite your lip with a subtle coyness while you stare back at him with those tempting doe eyes that make him melt.

How can he say no to that? To his girl wanting to be near him? Absolutely fucking never.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he responds as he gets up while pointing towards the bedroom, “well, go get dressed then. Can’t say no to ya when ya look at me like that.”

Simon is already sitting on the bike out front ready to go when you emerge from the front door in a short skirt, tight tank top, and leather boots and once again he is reminded just how lucky he is to be with you. This just keeps getting better and better for the ol boy.

Climbing on the back and securing yourself around him, helmets on and visors down, Simon takes off into the night. He can feel the pressure from your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing into his abs as you hold on, the warmth of your chest against his back, your thighs saddled up against his, and he wonders why you both don’t do this more often.

The lights of the city sparkle around you, cutting through the evening like stars to illuminate your way as Simon drifts through the streets, making his way to the highway like he always does. Your heart is beginning to beat faster as you wait for the opportune moment to implement your plan and you silently hope that it works.

On the highway, weaving in and out of traffic, Simon detects the first signs of something happening behind him. The movement is subtle at first and he almost misses that both hands aren’t pinned against his stomach anymore until he detects the warmth from your palm as it comes to rest on top of his thigh. He looks down through the visor of his helmet to where your hand lays as he wonders curiously to himself about the intentions of your actions.

Just what the hell is she up to? he thinks to himself as he turns his attention back onto the darkened road studded with streetlights.

The answer is quickly approaching as he feels your hand on the move again, now inching towards the middle of his broad thighs, moving and stopping, moving and stopping, to the crotch of his jeans and suddenly he understands just as you make first contact with the mass contained inside.

A shiver runs up Simon’s spine and you can feel his back shudder against your chest as you start to rub over the swell, your touches heavy and full of purpose. Over and over again your palm makes purchase with his crotch and you can feel the muscles in his back tense. A part of him wants to pull your hand off so that can refocus, but it feels too damn good to get you to quit. Fuck, the pressure from your hand and the vibration from the bike has him so hard he can barely see straight.

He needs to find some place to stop and fast; if he’s going to come in something it is not going to be his pants, it’s going to be you.

Up ahead he sees an exit fast approaching and he quickly transfers over to the lane and takes it, not having a plan, but hopeful that he will be able to find something satisfactory enough. Brown eyes dart from one side of the street to the other frantically searching for something, anything so that he can pull off. The sign for a large parking garage is illuminated just up ahead; it’ll have to do. He won’t be able to focus for much longer; the pressure of your hand rubbing against his cock mixed with the vibrations from the bike leaves him gnawing at the bit with a need that he desperately has to satisfy. It wouldn’t be safe to keep going, not with the way his limbs are starting to tingle.

Simon drives through the first couple of levels and is glad to see it relatively empty save for a few straggling cars spaced far apart. Perfect, that means no one will be around to disturb him until he has had his way with you. He continues on a couple of levels that are completely empty as he puts you both more in the middle of the structure just to be sure you will be all alone until finally he drives to the back of the garage and pulls into the shadow, parking the bike and shutting it off.

“Hop off,” he says and you immediately do as you're told, taking off your helmet and straightening your skirt as you make it to your feet.

You stand there close to his thigh as he removes his helmet and sets it on the ground on the other side of the bike, running his fingers through his short hair to fluff it up from being crushed underneath. As he sits back up his tattooed arm quickly reaches out behind your head where he grabs your hair into a ponytail in his fist, keeping your head locked while his opposite hand palms around your waist as he leans in with a smirk across his lips and a glimmer in those coffee-colored eyes.

“Whatcha think you’re doin’, sweetheart? Playin’ games, hmm?” he asks as he stares back into your face.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, your tone playful and coy. You know damn well what you are doing and he isn’t dumb enough to think you don’t.

He glares back at you skeptically. “Right.”

“What?” you dismiss him. “I thought you didn’t mind a bit of touching when we ride? Always grabbing me; thought you’d enjoy a bit of fun.”

There it is; this is payback for all the times he’s made his move while you were out cruising together. And fuck, has it worked to perfection.

Simon rips his hand from your waist and wraps it around your wrist so that he can pull your hand forward and place it right up against the stiffening peak straining against the zipper of his form fitting jeans.

“So this is whatcha fuckin’ wanted, yeah?” he asks, breathiness in his gruff tone as your hand makes contact with the rigid bulge. “Gettin’ me so fuckin’ hard I can’t even be bothered ta wait till we get back home ta fuck ya?”

Can’t wait? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? God, you hope so. “What do you mean?” you ask, faking your ignorance as you rub your palm over the swell while maintaining eye contact. “We aren’t going home?”

A deep hum echoes through the atmosphere as he bites his bottom lip; you’ve started something that can’t be stopped now and the way your hand continues to stimulate him, he doesn’t think you want it to anyway. “No,” he says with a shake of his head, “ya wanted to start all this on my bike, that’s fine. Guess I deserve it. But now…I’m gonna make damn sure I finish ya on it.”

As you stand there silently waiting to see what he does next, Simon shifts back in the seat and helps you climb back onto the bike, but facing him so that he can lay you over the fuel tank. He plants his feet firmly onto the ground to keep the setup steady and pulls your body down, those rough hands pushing your skirt up off your hips to your waist as he forces your legs open wider so he can get himself between them.

Thank God you’ve worn something easy to get into. Or was that your plan all along? Doesn’t really matter much now; he’s in.

Simon looks down and his eyes catch sight of a dark spot in the crotch of your panties. He presses his hand up against the mound of your cunt and the pressure makes you twitch, your back arching up off the tank as he feels what he had just suspected: you’re a little damp.

“Seems someone’s already stirred up,” he comments as his hand releases the pressure only to press in tight all over again in a pattern that matches his increasing heart rate. “Ya like it, don’t ya baby? The way tha bike vibrates ‘tween your legs? Like the way it hums against ya ‘till your clit is swollen?”

Simon’s hard-on throbs harshly against the zipper of his pants and into your naked thigh, tenting the fabric while he grinds it into the muscle as you wrap your legs around his hips; you have to hold on as you can’t stop the way your body jerks the longer his touch prods against those sensitive lips. Just the pressure alone after the drive is enough to make you whimper inside your closed mouth.

“Have ya been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ like this? Me fuckin’ ya raw while you’re on this thing?”

Releasing his hand, he walks those long fingers over the top of your clothed pussy to the waistband of your panties so that he can slip them inside and back down to the moist slit waiting eagerly for their touch and there it is, the unmistakable sound of his breath hitching as his hand makes contact. God, you always feel so fucking good.

He uses his two middle fingers to part the lips of your slit and run them along the length to gather all the wetness he can on his digits so that once he finds your entrance he can easily slip up inside while the tip of his thumb nestles against your clit. You’re very warm, nice and hot and soft against his fingertips and a pleasurable hum he gives in response to the feeling.

“Ya know, I know why ya started ridin’ with me,” he says as you squirm. “I could see it in your eyes the second I pulled in to pick ya up that first time: ya like the way I look on my bike. Don’t ya?”

Your silence is met with a heavy jab with the pad of his thumb to that sensitive little button, holding it down until you are forced to answer as he thrusts his fingers inside you up to the knuckle. Your body takes them in perfectly, gripping tight around the digits as you suck him in.

“Yes,” you say in a whine and buck as his stocky fingers give you a nice starting stretch. “You

look so f-fucking hot on this thing that sometimes I d-don’t know what to do with myself. That’s w-why I n-need…”

“What do ya need, sweetheart?” he groans as he curls his rough fingers up against your G-spot as his thumb begins to stroke concise circles upon your clit. “Use your words.”

You swallow hard while breathing heavily out of your nose as you clamp your lips shut to stop from audibly crying out in ecstasy at that first contact he makes. “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds as he pins his thumb down hard again. “Let me fuckin’ hear ya. Ain’t no one here ‘cept us.”

A desperate moan escapes your lips and echoes through the empty space as you let it all out. “I need you to f-fuck me on y-your b-bike,” you say as you vibrate under his skilled touch. “B-been daydreaming about it for a while. Didn’t know if you’d want to, but I’m desperate.”

Using a flick of his wrist, he begins to snap his fingers up into you faster and faster, those fingers vigorously working your cunt until your juices are starting to dribble down to collect on his palm and the sound of wet slaps reverberate off the concrete.

“All ya had ta fuckin’ do was ask,” he says. “Ya know I’d do anythin’ for ya, luv; my pretty girl always gets what she wants.”

You look so beautiful sprawled over his bike like this, disheveled skirt shoved up to your ribs, his hand plunged into the front of your panties so that they are stretched tight around your hips ready to rip, back arching as he again strikes right at the exact point of pleasure, tiny beads of sweat sparkling over the exposed parts of your flesh as you burn for him in the warm night air. It’s an image he’s gonna have committed to memory; every time he rides now he will remember the gorgeous mess he made of you.

If he thought he liked his bike before, it is nothing compared to how he will feel after fucking you on it.

Minute after minute each stroke draws you near that razor’s edge and threatens to violently throw you off. Your walls are fluttering around his fingers as they swell and become engorged the closer you get. Simon knows that it won’t be long now and his pulse races to feel it, that moment you come. But not like this, oh no.

He has still been chomping at the bit to relieve the pressure throbbing between his legs and now that he is sure you are ready for it, he isn’t going to waste time. You’re still in public after all, he doesn’t need this to end before you’ve both gotten off. Amidst your whimpered protests to keep going, that you are almost there, he pulls his fingers out of you with a squelch, your lubrication dripping along his fingers and glistening in the harsh lighting inside the garage.

You lean your head up as Simon pulls his fingers apart to watch the sticky fluid string between them before he brings them to his mouth and rams them into his lips to lick them clean, taking care of the mess he’s created from his touch. Just a taste to sait him, as if his face isn’t going to be plastered between those thighs later as he replays the memory of what happened here.

The sight of him sucking the lubrication off his fingers has you gasping for air. How can someone look so perfect doing something so filthy? You need him, bad. “Please,” you beg with a needy whine in your voice, “I want you inside me.”

Those words are like striking a match near a gas leak; suddenly he is scrambling to move as fast as possible. Feverish hands are clawing at clothing at breakneck speeds as his flesh begs to connect with yours and complete this union. “Ya can shoot me dead if I ever say no to that,” he growls as he moves.

Time is of the essence and so he quickly rips the soaked crotch of your panties to the side, securing them against your thigh and out of his way as his free hand ruthlessly yanks at the button on his pants to get it undone before he wrenches down the zipper and releases his cock that is throbbing and aching with his rapid heartbeat.

“Gotta make this quick, yeah?” he groans as the caress from his hand over the tip is almost too sensitive to handle. He’s falling fast. “Don’t want no one seein’ ya like this ‘cept me.”

Leaning down, he places a brief, heated kiss with his warm lips to the exposed skin near your belly button before he has you sitting up so that he can get at those lips he yearns to feel against him as he enters you. The threads of your panties are beginning to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way so he can move his hips in as he aligns the head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole.

Eyes closed and acting off of pure impulse and adrenaline alone, he mutters a rushed “Breathe” into your open mouth as a warning while his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. The tip prods the opening before it pushes through and slides up inside, the rest following behind in one steady, fluid motion until he reaches the base and there is no more to shove inside you.

Simon shudders at the overwhelming euphoria hitting him all at once and now he’s burning from the inside out, his bulky chest taut with each heavy breath that he releases between kisses as the feeling of you wrapped tightly around his phallus drowns out everything else that surrounds him.

You throw your head back, breaking the kiss to cry out as you are filled to the brim, being stretched to capacity with all he has to give. His hand grabs at the back of your head so that his lips can shoot back to yours as a tether to help you calm until your body can be allowed a little time to adjust; he’s not exactly small by any means of the word.

It’s a few seconds before he releases your mouth as he starts to thrust, trying to go slow at first even though he is eager for more. Hips rolling at a steady pace now he pulls back to watch himself pump in and out of you. “Look,” he says in a breathless growl as the hand on the back of your head directs your eyeline down in between your bodies. “This what ya been fuckin’ fantasizin’ ‘bout? I think it looks even prettier on my bike.”

The way his swollen, veiny cock disappears as it slides up into you is mesmerizing. You can feel it but still seeing it has you questioning…where does it all fit?

He keeps you close as he picks up the pace until the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the silent space. Panting into your face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Simon puts more into his thrusts so that even the bike itself begins to rock with you from the force. The longer he goes the more feral he gets, relinquishing any hold he had on his sanity for as long as he gets to have his body stay fitting so nicely into your cunt.

It’s building, the warmth in the pit of your stomach is gathering steadily as the epinephrine releases all those euphoric chemicals into your bloodstream. The risky nature of your endeavor, the stimulation he’s already produced with his fingers, the fulfilling of your fantasy, it all works together to fuel your passion and his strong thrusts have you ready to spill over the edge at any second.

Simon keeps his pace even as he is now struggling to keep it together. The excitement has gotten to him too so that if he lets himself lose control he is going to come and he can’t have that, not until you have. With each passing second, each pound of that deadly appendage inside you gets more and more desperate, until he finally hears those sweet, sweet words that make his heart skip a beat.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you beg, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to keep your volume at a reasonable level while he slams into you again. “So c-close…”

“Come for me, baby, that’s it,” he coaxes desperately through gritted teeth as he strains to hold on a little longer. Just a little bit more and you’ll finish and he can let go.

That’s when an idea is thrust into his brain and he knows what he needs to do to bring this full fucking circle for the both of you; complete the fantasy and give you even more to dream about for later. Simon moves over top of you to force you back until you find yourself against the fuel tank again.

Reaching above your head, he cranks the key and restarts the engine. The motorcycle roars to life, filling the garage with its sound, and begins to vibrate until it is pulsating through his body as he thrusts into you harder and harder. It’s like having your own living dildo that only intensifies the stimulation the longer he plunges into your dripping hole; a few more seconds of this and you will be coming on his cock.

And then he revvs the engine…

The stimulation is too much and suddenly you are forcibly thrown over that precipice as you come with such force, like a hot flash of white light, that your thighs clamp down around his hips as your head falls back. You cry out in choking gasps as your orgasm tears through you; so strong that you are shaking. Your walls are fluttering sporadically around his cock as your hips buck against him unrelentingly and he can’t hold back any longer.

“Where do ya want me?” he pleads as his fingertips claw at your hips, stabbing harshly into the muscle as he holds on for you to answer; he is about to blow.

“In me, in me,” you whine as you clamp your legs down hard to keep him in. What else were you on birth control for other than this?

He jerks violently as your pussy continues to flutter around him, making his limbs numb from the pleasure, and with a loud groan that is akin to the bellow of a wild beast, the pressure building at the base of his spine finally reaching its peak and he falls over the edge as he lets it go. His hips never stop, slamming into you as the thick, warm fluid coats the inside of your pussy.

“Fuckin’ hell, luv,” he repeats as he shuts off the engine while he milks himself dry, his thrusts slowing down after a few seconds until they stop all together and he stays with his cock still buried inside you to let your body finish off the rest.

An unknown amount of time passes as your unsteady breathing slowly returns to a more tolerable rhythm, all the while Simon just sits there admiring the products of his labor: the beautiful flush in your cheeks and the contented, glazed look in your eyes, until he can find his voice again once his heartbeat has settled.

“Ya know, I’ve gotten plenty a compliments about my bike, but I gotta say that you’re the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever rode, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls you in by the back of your head to press another breathless kiss onto your lips.

It is torture having to pull out of you, but even he isn’t delusional enough anymore to think that you can just stay like this for much longer. You’ll have to go soon and he needs to help you to redress as your legs are shaking uncontrollably. There’s no way in hell someone hasn’t heard the noise you’d been making.

“Was it everythin’ ya hoped?” he asks with a contented smile as he carefully moves you off the bike to your feet so that he can readjust your panties and pull down your skirt back around your hips.

You match his expression through the hazy afterglow of your ecstasy as he finishes you up and gets himself situated. A pretty sizable wet stain darkens the middle of his jeans, but he doesn’t pay it any mind; a risk of a good fucking time, that’s all.

“Better,” you murmur, satisfied.

Bringing his hand up he cups it against your cheek a second before he combs his fingers through your hair until he reaches the back of your head where he holds them wrapped in the strands. There’s one final thing he has to do before you get going and that is to give you one last kiss as praise for doing so well for him. With how strung out you still are from your orgasm, the gentleness of it makes your knees weak.

“Now how ‘bout we get back so we can go for round two?” he smirks against your mouth as he pulls away. “We can pretend I’m your bike and ya can show me how well I taught ya to ride.”

He gets you situated on the back of the bike, helmets and all, and restarts the engine. It bursts to life and that familiar vibration makes you squeeze your thighs together all over again. Simon smirks to himself before he turns to you with the visor still pulled up. He opens yours and leans in. “Keep your thighs tight. I want ya ta keep all that inside til we get back. I got plans to watch it leak out; I think I’ve earned it.”

With a mischievous chuckle, he closes your visor and his and takes off back out of the garage and into the cool night air. Good thing it isn’t far back to the house from here…if Simon doesn’t plan to take a detour first.

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cinnaminsvga · 1 year ago

Text

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so�� pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.��

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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galactic-magick · 5 months ago

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Cosmic Love: Viktor/Machine Herald x Reader

Summary: You try to resist your corrupted lover, but you ache too much for his touch that you can’t refuse any longer.

Words: 1.0k

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, no pronouns but reader has afab anatomy

Author's Notes: As promised, here is the galaxy quaking, star bursting, 5th dimensional, cosmic anomaly Viktor smut. Takes place between when Jayce tries to kill him and when he goes through the full Machine Herald transformation. Hope you enjoy.

He’s been calling to you.

You’ve been ignoring the echoes, ignoring the voices of those he controls. You told him you want no part of it, that you won’t stand by his side if he continues down this cultist path. But even still, he finds ways to continue begging you, sending his followers your way and speaking through them. He pleads for you to join him, to experience the higher awareness and power he has gained. But you must stay strong.

After several months, the cult followers completely lose their humanity, becoming lifeless white and gold husks akin to an army of mannequins. They all look the same, retaining no glimmer of individuality, only the great Machine Herald’s voice to be heard.

As expected, one of them attempts to gain your loyalty back once again, breaking into your house and talking as a mechanized version of the man you once loved.

“I give you one last chance to join me,” it says. “I want you by my side, my love.”

“Viktor...what you’re doing is wrong. You know I can’t do that.”

The form he possesses steps closer to you, metal fingers brushing your cheek. You shiver, but you don��t turn away. You’ve yearned for his touch again for so long, that even this form of him makes you question your answer. His fingers are placed so meticulously, gliding down your neck, your breasts, your hips. It’s so easy to imagine it’s Viktor’s face you’re gazing upon, covering up the blank slate that’s actually in front of you.

“If you won’t join me…” his voice rings clear in your ears. “Allow me to have you one last time.”

You squirm, begging every damn desire in your body to say “no” while the machine’s fingers drop ever closer to the space between your legs.

But you won’t say “no.” You want this as badly as he does, even if it means casting your better judgment aside.

“Please.” you moan.

He takes action at your consent instantly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and dropping you on the bed.

“Soon, love, I will show you all I’ve discovered,” his voice gives you chills while the white figure pulls off your pants and underwear. “But I must start with what you already know, mm?”

You nod and close your eyes, sighing heavily as two fingers tease your clit and slowly enter you. He curls them, pulsing them in and out, his thumb circling your nerves. He does it exactly like he used to, having memorized your body in such detail that he can unravel you through this other vessel. The touches are so like him, you almost forget he’s not really here with you.

You lose yourself to him like clockwork, humming as the machine’s hands crawl up to your face.

“Shall I show you what I see now, dear?”

His fingertips glow against your forehead, and you feel a shock through your system. You suddenly feel weightless, like your cognizance is no longer tied to a physical form. You see beautiful stars and nebula surrounding you, the city you came from now looking so small.

Then you see Viktor, ethereal with his hair aglow. His face is just as it used to be, his body free of worldly constraints. He takes your face in his hands again, something electric pulsing through them.

“You must understand, love,” he says. “This is my destiny. But I would hate to have to accomplish it alone.”

He caresses your form, every stroke and squeeze feeling like another orgasm. Whatever higher being or dimension your consciousness is in now, it’s too much for your physical body to process back home. It isn’t painful, per se, but it is incredibly overstimulating—eliciting more intimate sounds from your mouth.

Your fingers grasp onto his iridescent locks, screaming in ecstasy as Viktor continues to give you sensations you never thought possible. He makes love to you among the stars, your mind filling with the visions of an astral plane and glorious evolution beyond your comprehension. He wordlessly shares his dreams and desires with you and for you—a life of healing, immortality, and ascension. Stars burst around you, and your physical body has likely gone numb, with your current form not far behind.

“Viktor...it’s too much,” you cry out.

The sensations slow down, fading out of your body as you regain your ability to think again.

“This place does have quite the effect on the mind,” Viktor explains, pulling you close to him. “The longer you stay, the less overwhelming it becomes.”

“What is it doing to me?” you ask breathlessly, falling nearly limp in his arms.

“The feeble human psyche cannot grasp the transformation that must take place, and the body suffers from such extremes,” he kisses you softly, “If you are to join me, you must find me, and together we will complete the process.”

You stare into his heavenly eyes, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones, “How do I find you?”

“The Noxian has been keeping my physical body alive. You must go to her.”

“Viktor…” you exhale, his face leaning into your palm and kissing it. “I want to stay with you. I do. I just...all of this is so far beyond what I can understand…”

“I know, darling. I know,” he reassures you, running a hand over your hair, now golden just like his.

“Something just feels so wrong,” you admit. “I don’t want us to do things we’ll regret.”

He shakes his head, “Trust me, love. This is our destiny.”

Ignoring the shrieks of your conscience, you wrap your form around him, inhaling his lips desperately as you both plunge through layers of galaxies. Every nerve in your body is blaring with pleasure, chasing the high you had moments ago. It’s addictive—the sensations experienced as a cosmic power—and you realize now how Viktor could get so consumed by it. Your bodies aren’t limited to any constraints, intertwined and becoming one in every way. You feel him everywhere, his mind and matter melded with yours.

Indescribable pleasure washes over both of you in constant, unstopping waves. You feel his every thought, the need to speak quickly diminishing.

But you still yearn to hear his voice.

“Viktor?”

“Yes, darling?” his hands never leave you, again pulling you into his magnetic essence.

“I’m going to come find you.”

A smirk pulls at his lips, his voice going low.

“I look forward to it.”

#viktor arcane x reader #machine herald x reader #viktor arcane #machine herald #arcane x reader #arcane

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alasthegeese · 1 month ago

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reid x reader fluffy fic where they’re at readers place on the couch after a case and get to talking about relationships and love - reader can’t believe spencer has trouble dating because he’s attractive and maybe spencer is confused as to why reader isn’t in relationships with men like derek etc

a heart full of yearning (i just don’t know it yet) spencer reid x reader

summary:

during a repose from a case, reader asks about spencer’s relationship status. spencer gets insecure and has questions of his own.

tags: pre-relationship, fluff, probably incredibly awkward, lots of hand holding, possibly unrealistic long dialogue, maybe rushed ending?, oneshot, use of y/n (one time), there may be grammatical issues

a/n: omg this sounds so cute, hello??? i hope i do you justice, this is my very first request and my first complete fanfic / oneshot that i’ve done in a while. i changed the plot a little, but i hope it still suits your tastes, anon <3 P.S. the hands are meant only for aesthetic, they are not meant to depict the race or size of the reader. special thanks to @lesbianvampirefanatic for helping me with the ending <3

It’s silent.

Not the trapping, anxious filled kind. The kind of silence you would expect after a case as grim as the one that we were taking a break from for the night. It was just a comfortable silence, only ever being interrupted with a small sip of tea or the wind pushing against the window that was beside the couch we were sitting on.

I should really get that prepared. Maybe the next day, or the day after.

Most definitely did not tell myself that a week ago. Totally not.

A cough interrupts me from thoughts of reading into silence and of needing to repair a broken window that most likely won’t be repaired until it’s falling off of its hinges. Setting my cup of tea down on the table beside me, I look up and stare at Spencer.

Oh no. Now my thoughts are full of doe eyed deer and of the need to run my fingers through his hair. Maybe even braiding the front of his hair in a cute little braid.

Shaking the thoughts away, I hum a soft, “Yes?”

Spencer pauses for a moment, then breaches into what he was planning to say, “You were acting as if me not being in a relationship is, objectively speaking, like if I were trying to explain how unicorns are an existing species. I don’t understand how it’s to that level of surprising. I am not that attractive, especially if compared to other guys,” he finishes quietly but assuredly, as if this is some statistic that was studied for years and proven to be true.

I grab onto his hands, his eyes widen for a moment then soften. I take a deep breath, preparing for the rant I am about to do, then start.

“Look, I have no idea where that root of insecurity came from, but that cannot be the furthest thing from the truth. You’re genuinely one of the most attractive men I have ever met, let alone person. You have the most beautiful of hair, do you know how many people most likely have looked at it and longed to have even one touch? Those eyes, too, they’re the most softest of browns,” I let out, maybe a tad too quickly as I feel myself lacking air. I give myself time for the much needed air and to examine Spencer’s face.

I pause, removing my hands from his.

His face looks as if its frozen in place, his lips parted and eyes wide yet again. Should I be worried of the amount of times Spencer’s eyes went wide? No, not the time.

“You think I’m attractive?” Spencer questions, awe evident in his tone of voice, which completely derails my thoughts.

It feels incredibly warm, uncomfortably so.

Glancing away, I never noticed how interesting a couch’s texture could be, I argue, “I mean, of course, anyone with eyes could tell.”

Spencer chuckled nervously, looking at me as if he was looking at me for the first time. He hesitantly moves even closer to me, waiting for any notice of me being uncomfortable. Whatever I did must have answered his question, as the next thing I know my hands are intertwined within his again.

“Then should I bring up how you confuse me just as much?” he inquires, smiling softly.

Gazing at him quizzically, I reply, “I confuse you?”

Spencer’s lips lift a little. “Well, for one, you could be spending time with any man in the world right now. Those even better than me, take Morgan for example,” he trails off, his irises looking away from me.

Well. That won’t do.

“Morgan is an amazing person, do not get me wrong, but why would I rather hang out with him when you’re right in front of me? He doesn’t give me random facts or statistics, he doesn’t give long rants of things that I would have never noticed without you pointing it out,” I waver, “He isn’t you. You’re amazing in your own right, and I would never even think of ever replacing that,” I finish, letting my eyes map out his reaction.

Spencer’s face is pink, his pupils dilated. His mouth opens and closes, before finally being able to form words.

“You-” his voice cracks, which makes him instantly pause for a moment. He squeezes his eyes shut, most likely from embarrassment. I wish I could tell him that it’s adorable, but I don’t want to interrupt and make him lose the confidence to finish his sentence.

“You really think that?” he stresses.

I smile warmly at him, squeezing his hands before responding, “Of course I do, Spencer. I cherish you.”

Relaxing, he airily answers, “Me too. I cherish you, that is.”

We look fixedly at each other for a moment, our brains processing the discussion.

Opening my mouth to continue the conversation, a sharp ringing popped the peaceful bubble that had surrounded us.

It was coming from Spencer’s phone.

There’s a vexed look in his eyes before he’s pulling away and grabbing his phone from his pocket, “Hello?”

I tone him out after that, trying to fully wrap my head around what just happened. What would have happened if we weren’t interrupted? Would the bubble that had surround us gotten even smaller?

“Hey, Y/N? That was Hotch. There’s been a new report with the case, he’s said that it’s important we all gather together,” Spencer announces gently, cutting me away from bubble filled what ifs.

“Right, of course. We should get ready to head out, yeah?” I suggest, feeling caught even though there’s nothing to even be caught with.

Ignoring the warm feeling in my stomach, I haul myself up from the couch.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfic #oneshot #spencer reid scenario #fluff #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #pre relationship

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hwajin · 5 months ago

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☆°. — 2024; in fics !!

since the year is coming to an end (and spotify wrapped finally came out) i wanted to make a short, personal tumblr wrapped, shouting out my fav fics i've read this year; to both recap AND animate other ppl to read them as well!! it's not a ton, but it's the fics that stayed with me the most <3

one shots

☆ ; 22 strokes ; @cb97percent || MYYY fav piece of short erotic literature this year. i've grown out of reading pure smut/ porn without plot and i get soo bored scrolling the smut tags lately, but god THIS was absolute perfection. personally, for me, good smut is when i'm reading more than just nasty fucking; and this definitely delivered. i also remember the visuals so well, like the first sentence i read i was instantly pulled into the same view i had when i first read it!! 10/10 would reread it a million times and not get bored!!!

☆ ; starry night ; @astraystayyh || AHHHH i remembered the feeling i had while i read this INSTANTLY like it catapulted me right back!!! like this is JUST the romantic shit i LOVE and yearn and long for, and reading it tore my heart APART i loved it so so much omg. i kept remembering this one shot from time to time when i visited museums OR looked at my starry night print above my bed!! i need to reread this fully next time i see a van gogh hehe

☆ ; wherever you are ; @hyunverse || god i remember this hurting me just in the right places and then flicking my heart back again. friends to lovers will always be my fav genre of anything EVER but the little twist added to this made this fic SOOO unique and fun?? like the way it's written in parts i enjoyed SO much, the continuous timeline of them growing up together, the writingggg??? this one shot inspired me to a fic of my own (which i've never finished </3) and i feel like that says enough about how much it affected me 🫶🫶

☆ ; the snow falls apart, we fall apart ; @/astraystayyh || i sobbed over this one. SO so much. the time where 'long for you' came out was so crazy because everyone wrote their hearts out and this was amongst my favourites i've read. the visuals are so impressive because i (once again) remember this one shot so vividly before my inner eye, like i remember laying in bed and reading this, close to tears and everything. the longing and unsureness and the unspoken love in this has haunted me for soooo long it all came right back when i saw this fic in my reblogs. i wanna reread it so bad actually especially since it's getting so cold and grey now 😭

serieses

☆ ; super bored ; @straywrds || okay. OKAY. mari, you're already fucking know what i'm about to say because i am annOYING when it comes to this series; but it is, no lying, the best i have ever read. if this was a full on novel i wouldn't even question it a second, and it would be no doubt one of my favourites. when i scrolled through my reblogs to check what fanfictions had struck with me i already knew super bored would be included because it would have been ILLEGAL not to. it was also the only piece i knew by heart, with no need of rereading a first sentence to remember the feeling i had when i first discovered it; i only need a quick glance at blue hydrangeas and frogs for the feelings to come back. or when i think of paris. or when i listen to this and this song (je l'aime à mourir was my most listened to song this year... like hello). like this piece has struck me SO incredibly deep and i so so hope that you know that!! (i doubt that you don't.... i was and still am in your asks about it like a leech jfjejd) like i truly and genuinely don't believe that there's another reader who loves super bored as much as me, the way my throat formed a clump when i skimmed over the tags i wrote!!! i miss the universe so so much, i hope (without any intended pressure, of course) that you get the time and motivation to finish it at some point, even if it's in 10 years time!!! after yapping so much i wanted to truly thank you for writing and sharing this piece with us; i hold it dear to my heart, every single day <3

#skz #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic

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hotchnersangel · 2 months ago

Note

Hi Hi! So i saw few of your Aaron fics were based off of songs and Ive wanted an I can see you by taylor swift fic for him for so long.

Specifically the, “I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note, saying meet me tonight.”

ITS JUST SO HOTCH CODEDD

okayyy thanks queen😋

I CAN SEE YOU

Aaron Hotchner

A/n: omg this is my first request so im screaming and kicking my feet right now, i hope i do you justice my love!!!!!!!!! ps, I LOVE TAYLOR AND THIS WAS MY SURPRISE SONG!

cw: implications of sex, dadbod!hotch, pining, kinda objectifying hotch but goddamn hes so hot, bau!reader probably some more but i cant think xxx

Finding your person was never as easy as it came across, in fact, you had a chronic fear that maybe that day would never come. The overriding question of if someone would ever be able to see you so deeply, so intimately and trace your being so intricately with nothing but the kiss of their heart. That was until Aaron Hotchner stood under a strobe light and shon a lifeline when you were in complete darkness, consumed by the ache of your despair.

The relationship between the two of you was… well, flummox. Especially recently; Aaron had become more comfortable around you and it was visible to a watchful eye if you studied every intricacy and atom of his being, which you did. Though, he never let his poker face fall in-front of the rest of the BAU. He was incredibly skilled at the art of deception, which made his yearning of desire towards you that much easier to conceal.

The feeling of his shoulder brushing past yours in the hallway sends one thousand hot electric bolts through your body causing a full body reaction to his touch. Your cheeks mirror a gentle shade of rose as you duck your head down, suddenly finding appeal in the stone flooring. Despite what feel’s like your obvious flirting, Aaron isn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated. There was certainly a tension between the two of you, but of what nature led you to disclose such information. Was it simply lust, was it… friendship? Was it loneliness? Or simply, was it love?

The feeling that you get when he is near you sends goosebumps down your spine. The way your smile brightens just wide enough for it to not hurt when you smile when he is near, or when he cracks a joke which was awfully rare nowadays, though when it happens you feel a warm and fuzzy sensation inside your belly. He makes you feel a sort of creeping sensation… like something is crawling across your chest, maybe a feeling of a fly or nat, but no- realisation kicks in and you are simply faced with the love-bug.

He similarly feels an alike reception of feelings towards you, though verbally he fears he cannot communicate them with you in fear of getting a reply. He tried for so long to deny his feelings, deny deny deny that you even existed in a romantic sense- but everything he ever did led back to you. No matter how many times he ‘picked up’ a girl in a bar, how many times he was goggled by women around him, no matter how many times he found different ways to infiltrate you out of his mind, it would always run back to you.

You are currently sat at your desk, gazing at Aaron Hotchner as he is sat on his desk, filling out paperwork. The way his eyes skim the page so tentatively makes you wonder what they would feel like when they landed on you for a long duration of time… maybe in a scenario where you were alone in the tension between you- with nothing left to yearn upon apart from the worshipping of one anothers bodies. What would he do, if you went to touch him now? God, it’s all you could think about. The feeling of running your hands across his broad chest and big big arms. Those huge, delicious arms.

You can imagine the way his hands could hold you trapped to the wall while his body boxes you in until you have no option but to submit to him. Your eyes catch his as his gaze wanders away from his case files and back onto you. The feeling of drunken giddy fills both of your stomachs as you narrow your eyes daringly at him, a small smirk lifting the left side of his face. His eyebrow perches upwards as he inspects you, like he was reading every invasive thought going through your head and in return… he retaliates with similar thoughts. The way he could caress your body and how the small gesture could make him want you even more, which he never deemed as possible.

He wished you knew how you made him feel, how your cheeks may flush a little more deeper at the confession that he could see you. Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, what each micro-expression of your face meant, what your movements implied about your mood, what you need in each and every moment. He saw everything. He saw you.

You see him walk out of his office, his very large and veiny hand holding a stack of files that would take you two to carry. He walks down each step like he was entitled to the world, like the sight of him in his suit and his necktie wasn’t driving you insane.

You couldn’t help but goggle at the sight of him. He always looked… beautiful but today, well today he looked scrumptious. Like he was sculpted by the greek gods and dressed in robes fit for roman emperors- with a little more coverage, unfortunately. The way his black suit hugged his bulky arms and larger waist made your mouth water. The quick glance over his neck tie was enough to send your mind spiralling into where else that could be used. Tying your hands together maybe? Please.

He walks up to your desk, stopping besides you, arguably closer than he should have. His knee was brushed against yours as you looked up at him through your lashes, your innocent eyes hiding the most hideously devilish thoughts of what you want to do to the man in-front of you.

“Your caseload.” He puts simply, placing the folder down in-front of you. Can he hear the way your heart is racing in your chest? Because you start to contemplate if you’re going through a severe heart condition like AF with this irregular pattern.

“Thanks.” You smile up at him, which he catches and nods in return.

“Oh,” he pauses as he turns to walk away, looking back in your direction and moving his hand on top of yours, the touch unraveling a relentless fire spreading wildly through your body- guiding your hand towards the file.

“Have a thorough read on page 3, there is some serious information.” He singles into you eyes, making the world around you spin. You nod, losing your words as you watch his lean figure clamber up the steps and return to his office.

You open the file, starting on page three- your eyes greeted by a small note written in his cursive hatching. ‘Meet me tonight.’

You stomach flips and suddenly, the rest of the day seems to fall into an extremely long and painful blur, over and over, constant reminders that you had to wait, had to restrain yourself to not climb onto hid body like a child in a wild play. Instead, you stayed composed for the rest of the day until the inevitable time occured and suddenly you wished it was a few hours ago, again.

You swallowed your nerves and followed him subtly out of the building, until he opened his car door allowing you to take a seat before heading to the drivers side. When he does, he looks over to you intently and smirks.

“You can follow my orders?” He speaks with a decided tone of smugness.

“When you have orders I agree with, yeah.” You shoot back, looking at him through your naturally glassy eyes. Your lips softly plumped with the lipstick combination defining them. Which, drove Aaron crazy. The urge to smother his body with your lipstick felt overwhelming but he simply just sat and stared.

“Fuck, I can’t do this any longer.” He sighs and looks at you intensely, his eyes singling onto you with intent.

“Do me instead.” You shrug casually and he lets out a strong sigh, moving forwards until his forehead rests against yours. A deep, breathy sigh escaping from his lips as his hand moves to cup your cheeks.

“Say the word and I will step back and let you out of the car.”

“You clearly aren’t very good at your job if you think that I don’t want this, Mr Unit Chief.” You tease him with a playful grin.

He tilts his head at you, hitting an angle that excites you deeply. The sight before you simply knocking you off your feet. Taking your breath away. All the clichè’s.

“I know you want this,” he repeats and finally attaches his lips to yours. Your body moving into a panicked state, flushed with excitement, nervousness, anticipation and lust. A soft shudder attacking your nervous system sending your body into overdrive, making you wonder if this is a dream or not. But, as you feel Aaron pull away, your lip between his teeth.

He looks at you and says, “I can see you, baby.”

And suddenly, the world around you stopped and the silence carried the passion between you and Aaron Hotchner.

#aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x reader #agent hotchner #hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #hotchner x you

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lorelune · 1 year ago

Text

O4O: part i

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega for omega, soft smut || wc: 10.3k || ao3 ||

Jing Yuan has been content riding out his heats alone for centuries. You, despite being another omega, are happy to lend a hand if Jing Yuan will have you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

✨O4O masterlist✨ // part i — part ii — part iii (part 1 & part 2) //

notes: hello omega jing yuan omega jing yuan save me... the way omega jy has haunted me for months. MONTHS. this fic is incredibly indulgent soft, needy smut with non-traditional a/b/o dynamics. THANK YOU to the lovely @owlespresso for beta reading!! please read the tags and enjoy!! <3

CW: a/b/o dynamics, omega jing yuan (with afab and amab anatomy), omega reader (afab anatomy), past yingxing/jing yuan/dan feng, bottom jing yuan flavors (though reader does not do any penetration), use of toys, worldbuilding around omegaverse, lots of biting, milfy jing yuan, mommy kink without the word mommy (at least not in this part 👀💗!!),

Jing Yuan has not shared his heat with anyone in a very, very long time. Centuries, most certainly. Jing Yuan doesn’t find it very useful to keep track of that length of time— he finds it cumbersome if anything. There’s no use holding onto a past that only forces him to redigest pain.

Jing Yuan rarely has heats. He keeps a diligent schedule of medication and only has to go through them once every decade or so. Occasionally less, if the Luofu is passing a particular star system or comet field. His heats are always cumbersome. He can conceal his omegan sensibilities often, but it is more difficult prior to a heat.

Preheat is a different beast.

When Jing Yuan sequesters himself in his estate for the better part of a week, anyone who knows he’s even there assumes it is to go through a rut. A week is a standard amount of time to take off for a rut and is expected. However, a heat has a standard time off of about two and a half weeks. Much longer to accommodate preheat and nesting needs.

Jing Yuan rarely indulges his own.

The Luofu, at large, assumes he is an alpha. This is manufactured, however only partially. Generally, the citizens of the Luofu assume, given that he is the General and he has a larger, broad-shouldered stature, that he is an Alpha through and through. He always wears scent patches in public, which is normal for both omegas and alphas. Betas, too, occasionally. Depending on the subtype. The Charioteers know that he is an omega, but they are committed to some amount of discretion and guard the information as a secret. Lady Fu, an alpha, will occasionally scold him for being so secretive. Like he harbors some sort of self-hatred that he is an omega.

It is simply more convenient for him to be seen as an alpha. Jing Yuan doesn’t wish to disturb this perception.

And therefore, it is much easier to wait as long as possible between heats and bear them alone. Whatever instincts he has can be satiated with toys and a half-decent nest. Jing Yuan has always considered this enough. ‘Enough’.

(It’s not sating. Jing Yuan cannot lie to himself about this. He remembers laying with Yingxing, and how the alpha made him feel more full and content than Jing Yuan had ever thought possible during a heat. Or ever, truthfully. He remembers how calming Dan Feng’s presence had been— grounding and reassuring, too. Jing Yuan was fucked, filled and protected. An omega’s dream.)

Jing Yuan... copes with what he has. A large, plush bed with a downy mattress, a few donated, alpha-scented garments, and a collection of inflatable, knotting toys. He always leaves his heat with lingering cramps, a brutalized hole, and a yearning that takes a few weeks to quiet itself.

It is natural that he craves his mates. Even if they are long dead (not dead. Not really. Not the same as they once were, anyway.)

And certainly, never to be his again. The mating mark on his neck has long faded.

Jing Yuan tracks his heat so such yearning can be anticipated and planned for. He knows when his heat is approaching, down to the specific day it will occur. He titrates off his suppressants carefully, and maps out a portion of time off for himself a year or so in advance.

Which is why it is very odd that he starts exhibiting preheat symptoms in the middle of the day, a random day, during a tactical meeting.

Even if he had been titrating down his dose in anticipation for a planned heat in a few months time, it is far, far too early to begin feeling symptoms. The familiar itchiness prickling under his skin is entirely unexpected. Jing Yuan has to put a particularly large amount of effort to get through this unnecessary meeting without letting a single symptom slip. He can only adjust in his seat so many times before it is improper, or juggle the cradle of his jaw from one hand to the other before it is clear something is wrong.

If any of the Charioteers and their advisers notice anything amiss with him, they say nothing. The only one who looks off-put is Fu Xuan. She’s a spitfire alpha herself, and perhaps she’s keen enough to notice that Jing Yuan is beginning to feel... unwell. Though he is masking his scent as he always does, he imagines that the flush in his cheeks is becoming increasingly obvious.

Fu Xuan gives Jing Yuan a wary look as the meeting is dismissed.

“General,” She says curtly. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” He gives her a rich laugh as he stands, muffling a groan as his stiff back and knees ache. He’d sat for too long. He feels light-headed as he rights himself and Fu Xuan glares at him.

“I doubt that,” Fu Xuan huffs. “I will not interrogate you in public, nor do I think you would give me an honest answer even if I did—”

“So little trust in me, Master Diviner—”

“ However, I will urge you to go home. ” She takes a step closer and sniffs the air. It’s just the two of them in the meeting room now, the rest of the parties in attendance having filtered out. Subtly and without fanfare, she takes his hand in her own, and presses her wrist to his. Jing Yuan keeps an easy grin on his face but can’t help the way he tenses his fingers, flexing them at the contact. “Do you need an escort?”

“Is Lady Fu worrying for me? How kind.”

“I’m— not, ” Fu Xuan huffs now and more roughly smears their wrists together. The scent gland she is almost abusing is swollen and hot to the touch. It takes all of his composure not to squirm with her treatment. “I’m no fool. If you have a heat starting, you should be comfortable at home, not in a war room.”

“Master Diviner, you think I’m an omega?” Jing Yuan says with a smile. He knows she is already privy to this, but he can’t resist teasing her a bit.

“You are insufferable. Even in this state. Go home. I will take you there myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t return home just yet,” He hums. He imagines he has a few hours before proper pre-heat sets in. “I have a lunch date that I cannot miss.”

“You— a lunch date?”

“Yes, of course. It’s a scheduled event, dear Diviner.”

“Do not patronize me.”

Jing Yuan laughs as she fumes. He has the urge to ruffle her hair, but thinks better of it. The complicated updo would surely be ruffled, and Jing Yuan is already getting an earful as it is.

“I would never.”

Fu Xuan yanks her arm away with a growl. She wears some type of masking perfume, she always has, but with her frustration swirling, a bit of her actual scent peaks through. It’s light on the back of his tongue, floral almost. Nearly inedible, but the kind of scent Jing Yuan that makes him nostalgic—

(For a master with a scent like frost-covered roses, and a packmate with a scent filled with springtime lilac blossoms in fat clusters.)

“If this lunch is really so necessary, may I escort you there at least? Or will your alpha be meeting you here?”

“They’re not an alpha.” Jing Yuan hums. His stomach feels warm regardless. “And I’ll be just fine getting there myself.”

Fu Xuan looks at him, questioningly. Her lips open, then close once more. There are questions she clearly has. And for all her brashness and hot-blooded fervor, she understands decorum better than most. She pries out of care and her good intentions, and Jing Yuan can respect that if nothing else.

“I’ll concede,” Fu Xuan sighs. “ However, please let me know if there’s anything else you need. You have my number.”

“Noted.” Jing Yuan rises, and feels the heat clouding his head sink lower in his body. He’s being engulfed.

Fu Xuan deadpans, “General—”

“Have a good rest of your day, Master Diviner,” He calls with a light laugh, slipping away before Fu Xuan can give him any further grief.

...

As the Arbiter General of the Luofu, Jing Yuan knows its streets and secrets very well. There’s more than one way to arrive at his favored terrace garden without being seen or smelt by the public. It is helpful that this path is lined near an aqueduct stream, surrounded by lush greenery and clumps of fragrant azure asters. This path is tucked away, straddling an external tunnel of the Luofu’s inner tunnels. Really, only the Calibrators aboard the ship use it, and as there are only a few and they tend to keep to their delve, Jing Yuan has very little fear walking this way at his own leisure.

He is glad you tend to take your lunch dates in the privacy of this particular garden, under the gazebo and nestled atop its many silken blankets and pillows. A conventional restaurant in this state would be doable, but unideal.

Jing Yuan can smell you as he approaches. It makes him pause, just outside the gate. His hands hovers over his jade abacus as he opens his mouth to taste you in the back of his mouth.

(Warm, a familiar scent that he associates with the rare indulgence of relaxation. It’s not overly sweet or ripe, but balanced and full-bodied. Not quite floral or fruity, and not deep enough to be akin to an aged black tea. Perhaps like the roll of a hearth or the beeswax of a lit candle.)

He’s sighs. It calms him instantly.

Even if you aren’t an alpha, you are familiar, as is the current setting.

You’re sitting at a low table in the shade of the gazebo. There are several plates of cheeses, cut fruits, salted meats, and nuts laid out. You’re ladling sticky honey into a small dish as he enters, and look up at the sound of the gate closing.

You smile when you see him.

“General,” You smile. “I apologize, I started setting up lunch without you. Everything should still be chilled.”

“No need to be sorry,” he laughs gently, brushing a hand against your shoulder before rounding the table, and taking a seat across from you. “I could never complain about your diligence. You have chosen quite the spread today, haven’t you?”

You flush with a nod, and gesture down to the table, “The markets were lovely today, I had to splurge. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

“Only if you do the same.”

“I-I can do that,” You smile at him softly.

Despite your familiarity, you still regard him with some amount of anxiety. Jing Yuan has long since placed this has less to do with his status as General, and more than likely due to a deepened amount of affection that Jing Yuan... entertains. Enjoys. Thrives off of, even. He perhaps returns it, though he hasn’t told you that explicitly.

Besides, you believe him to be an alpha. He’s sure that, if you did know his secondary gender, such affections would fade quickly. The allure of what he could provide as an alpha is quite different from what he can provide as an omega.

Jing Yuan takes a sip of sparkling juice, and as he lowers the thin-necked glass, you look at him strangely. A crease knits itself between your brows.

“Did I get some on my face?” Jing Yuan chuckles and wipes at the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

“No... you just,” You stumble with your words, hands flexing in your lap. “Are... are you alright? Your cheeks look quite warm, and you’re sweating around your hairline.”

You always have been keen to bodies other than your own. It’s not the most common trait.

“... Am I?” Jing Yuan could choose to lie at this moment. It would be easy to say he was using a new brand of suppressants, or blame it on a stressful day. However, he doesn't like lying to you, only twisting the truth when entirely necessary. “I do suppose I’m at that point in my cycle.”

“Oh!” You startle and sit up more straight. You push a plate at him. “Pre-rut? You should eat, then. You’ll need your strength. Do— do you have someone I can call? I don’t mind.”

Your worry is cute.

Jing Yuan can’t help thinking about it. You are an omega full of so much care and urge to help. Jing Yuan has seen it and experienced it many times, and has also seen how it has gotten you into unfortunate situations. You have a trusting mind and spirit, and more than once, it has been used against you.

Jing Yuan likes keeping you close, so he can look after you, even if it’s from a distance.

He stares down at the plate. There’s a pile of glistening orange grapes, a few roses of sliced, cured meats, a chunk of honeycomb, and buttery looking crackers. It does look delicious, however Jing Yuan has always struggled to eat in his pre-heat. When he looks up at you to decline, your expression looks even more worried, almost sour.

Before he can speak, you are. Petal-soft lips lips downturned. “Are you... not in pre-rut, General?”

He deflates, slightly. He is old— and. He does not wish to steer you away from what is a correct assumption. You are his most trusted companion.

“I am not,” He says softly, and picks up one of the grapes. He squeezes. The skin is taut and tight. “And, please call me Jing Yuan. Formalities can be dropped, yes?”

“I— yes, of course.” You look from his plate to him. “So, you’re... pre-heat?”

“I am, yes.”

“Oh!” You immediately heap his plate with several other kinds of fruit, and grab a clean glass and pour ice water from a pitcher into it. “I apologize— for. Making such an assumption.”

“No need to apologize.” He soothes and lays a hand over yours. “I’m aware of what the vast majority of the Luofu assumes my secondary gender to be. It does not bother me. If it did, I would have corrected the greater public long ago. I apologize for not telling you directly until now.”

“It’s— okay,” you reply. Perhaps a bit hurt. “I never asked. I just— I just thought. Wrong.”

(Please be kinder to yourself, he thinks. It hurts to see you saddened on my account.)

“Nonsense,” he laughs and gracefully takes the water you offer. He downs the glass down his parched throat. He— hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. “No harm done. If anything, I’m grateful that you now know.”

(Regardless of how it could change your feelings toward him.)

Jing Yuan has tempered heartbreak for millenia. Another one— is not nothing, but it is manageable. Perhaps not during preheat, but he still has time to mourn.

“I’m glad too,” you tell him, and squeeze back his hand. You only scent him sometimes, always so shy about it, but now you firmly rub the scent gland in your wrist against his. His aches, and the sensation and exchange of pheromones nearly makes him wheeze. He straightens his spine.

“Was that—?” You almost pull away.

“No, it’s very welcome.”

You stare at him, intent and soft, before settling. Tentatively, you rub at the gland in gentle circles.

“You should eat,” you say after a moment. “Do you have an alpha I can call? Or— um, anything you need me to pick up for you?”

“I am fine.” Jing Yuan will text Qingzu for the essentials, rather than troubling you. “I’ll finish lunch with you, and then see myself home.”

“... No alpha to pick you up?”

“None to speak of, no.” Jing Yuan manages a smile.

(It has been— centuries since Jing Yuan had an alpha to care for and stake a claim on him. The notion of finding another has been put out of his mind since he himself had to confine Dan Feng to the Shackling Prison and exile the man Yingxing became. Even after meeting them as they are today, Jing Yuan knows they are no longer his mates.)

“Oh.”

Every one of your emotions is so clearly on your face. You look so sad for him and you squeeze his hand. He has half a mind to pull away, and remind you that he does not need your worry. However, he is in pre-heat, and by Lan, he is craving worry.

“And... heatmates?” You ask. “I don’t want to pry, but it’s hard to spend a heat alone.”

“Once again, none.” Jing Yuan replies without hesitating. The silence that follows is poignant as you study him.

“I see.” You frown again, clearly thinking. Jing Yuan can see the thoughts turning around just behind your eyes. You pile on even more fruits to his plate. “Eat, eat. You need it.”

“This much fruit will give me a stomach ache, I fear.”

“Some of it, at least!” You huff at him. “For me, please?”

Jing Yuan meets your gaze, easy and soft. There’s no threat, only the heat that matches your scent and the feel that radiates in his chest.

(You are not his alpha. You are something entirely different— something that he wants so badly to hold.)

“For you.”

...

By the end of lunch (in which, Jing Yuan does manage to eat a decent amount of the fruit you’d put on his plate), Jing Yuan’s pre-heat has begun to simmer into a more uncomfortable territory. He desperately wants to shed his uniform and armor, and slip into a robe and no bottoms. He hasn’t begun to slick yet, but he will surely start to by sundown.

Jing Yuan stands after the meal, stretching. It’s proper afternoon now, and the birds of the garden chirp eveningsong.

“Jing Yuan?” You ask as he stretches his arms above his head. His name sounds lovely in your mouth.

He hums, “Yes?”

“Do you want a heatmate?” You ask quietly.

He looks at you.

You’re fiercely meeting his gaze, even though you’re clearly struggling to. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth, and you’re fighting a frown from the crinkles on your forehead. Regardless, you stand your ground and ask a question that is surely difficult to broach, especially so directly.

“I—I am offering.” You stammer. “To clarify.”

“To be my heatmate?”

“Yes— I hate to think of you suffering alone, Jing Yuan. If I can be by your side to ease it, if only a little, I would like to be.”

“That is very brave of you to ask.” He smiles with a tilt of his head. “And bold.”

“I— I’m being honest.” You almost whine. It’s so cute. “Is that a no?”

“No, not at all.” Jing Yuan replies. “However, I wouldn’t want you to help solely for my benefit. If you wish to enter my nest exclusively to be an aid, and not out of... personal wants, I would feel guilty.”

“It’s— it’s personal wants too.”

“... Is it now?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Even though I’m not an alpha, as you thought?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain.”

“ Yes, Jing Yuan.”

“I cannot give you a knot—”

“I do not need one!” You break, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. “I am happy to be by your side, regardless of that! If anything, I’m more than happy to share a nest with you without the assurance of a limp and a potential pup.”

Jing Yuan smiles, almost unrestrained, and your cheeks heat deliciously.

You stammer, and poke at his chest, “You’re teasing me—!”

“I apologize, you must forgive me—”

“ Rude—!”

Your bury your face in his chest and nuzzle there. It’s— clearly a self soothing action, one you realize a moment too late isn’t quite proper. You stiffen, beginning to draw away, before Jing Yuan catches you by your scruff and holds you there.

“You’re alright,” He holds a wide palm there. “I apologize for teasing you. I mean so warmly.”

“... Scoundrel.” The sound muffles into his chest.

“Am I?”

You peer up at him, so warm in the cheeks and eyes... almost watery. Something in his chest feels sticky and molten.

“ Yes—” You dare to meet his eyes again. “But, one I’m very fond of.”

Jing Yuan steels himself.

You are an omega. It is not your pheromones addling his mind. There is clarity in the attraction and affection he has for you, one not influenced by the urge to be knotted and bred. Though, Jing Yuan wants that, maybe part of him needs it. There is a trunk full of toys and implements he has tucked away that will sate the urge. The feelings that he carries for you will not so easily be placated.

“I would like it very much if you were to share my heat with me,” He speaks softly, just for the two of you to hear. Not even the garden birds will know his words. “If you are still offering.”

“Yes,” You say quickly, tentatively wrapping your arms around his waist. “Yes.”

He chuckles, easy and low, and presses his nose into your hair. Perhaps it’s pre-heat, making him sentimental and mushy. He usually hides out and bears it alone in his comfiest nest so these feelings typically do not get expressed in any other way other than delirious, anguished cries while a knotting toy takes the edge off.

Jing Yuan finds these are nice to indulge, as your scent envelopes him.

...

“I lied earlier,” Jing Yuan says as you enter the threshold of his estate. “I apologize sincerely.”

“Oh?” You ask with a tilt of your head, accepting a pair of house slippers eagerly. “... What about?”

“I am in pre-heat unexpectedly. Though I have been tapering suppressants for an anticipated heat, it has come far earlier than planned . Things are... not as I would like them. You’ll need to excuse me for a few moments.”

Jing Yuan, like any omega, is particular about his home and nest, especially around his heat. He knows his home and inner chambers are not to his liking and he’ll need to prepare them. Even if you aren’t an alpha entering his nest, you are a guest and companion he is very fond of. You deserve only the best.

“Of course, whatever you need,” you assure him. “Do you need me to grab anything while you do so? I don’t mind running to the market—”

Jing Yuan turns on his heel, grabbing your arm firmly, “You’re not leaving.”

“O-Oh.”

Your eyes widen, and heat rises in your cheeks. Your throat bobs as you swallow and nod. Jing Yuan— were he not in pre-heat, would perhaps be a bit embarrassed by his brazeness. However, now? The idea of you leaving his home sends him reeling. You cannot leave— not until you smell like him and his nest. Not until— not until this is over.

“I sent a request to Qingzu to fetch us a few things during the walk over. She’ll be here shortly. I do, however, have a bowl of fruit that could be cut up while I get myself sorted. How does that sound?”

You nod eagerly, happy to follow instruction. Jing Yuan knows this about you and enjoys it thoroughly.

He sets you up in the kitchen with a bowl of sunsiettas, a box of meldberries, and a few bunches of perfectly ripe, round kaishen grapes. Jing Yuan leaves you to the task, which he can already tell you will do dutifully. You thrive off of praise and direction. It’s a dangerous trait of an omega to carry, even more terrifying to hold openly as you do. Jing Yuan knows it has burned you before.

However, he intends to indulge you well and kindly, as it pleases him very much.

His mind, far-too warm and itchy, yearns to spin fantasies as he locks himself in his room with a shake of his head.

He must keep it together. Just for awhile longer. His bed is— not a nest. Not the nest he wants (needs) it to be. His duvet, thick and luxurious as it is, needs a fluffing and a fresh scenting. His pillows are not arranged to his liking, and he needs to poke through his linen closet and add some extra layers as well. He needs to make sure there’s lube nearby with clean toys. Water out. His phone charged and volume on— (though, he already sent a message to Qingzu stating his heat has hit and he’ll be out for at least a week. ‘Defer to Diviner Fu :3’ , which is Jing Yuan’s payment to Lady Fu for the list of errands he had sent her.)

Jing Yuan shakes his head with a laugh. The little alpha will certainly be pleased when she hear she’ll get to play General for a while.

Pre-heat drives him forward. He sheds his many layers (without aid, which is objectively a headache and he regrets not asking you for assistance initially. However, Jing Yuan is fairly certain that if he were to be fully bare around you, regardless of his pre- heat or not, he may jump you and drag you into his nest—)

Pre-heat is also making him somewhat irrational.

He throws on his favored robe, a silken, cream-colored garment with delicate gold and red embroidery around the hems. The sleeves drape at his wrists and a sash ties it snugly around his waist. The itch that’s been rolling around just under his skin feels duller, with the less restrictive garment. The fabric crosses over his chest in a way that is... revealing. Probably too revealing, under any other circumstance, especially given that you have never seen him in anything less than his daily regalia.

The thought of looking so indecent around you has its allure to it. One that Jing Yuan lets himself entertain with a smitten smile as he works.

He is attracted to you, surely. This he knows and has known.

Jing Yuan acknowledges that this is both emotional and physical. You are dear to him, truly. In a way that is unique to any of the connections, he holds in the present. Your presence is one he thoroughly enjoys, and, more than once, (many times), has craved during his late-evening ruminations in his courtyard. He— has thought about inviting you over, if for nothing else than a chat in the moonlight and tea or wine to your preference, however—

He has always stopped himself.

Yearning, he will allow in the ways he has learned to manage it over the centuries. Small doses of longing that can be enjoyed and swallowed down, without festering. Being brazen with his wants and feelings is... slipperier. Especially concerning you, as you are dear to him, and Jing Yuan, for better or for worse, would like to share space with you for as long as he can manage.

This attraction is regardless of secondary gender.

Jing Yuan has not cared about secondary gender for a great while (since he shared a bed with a short-lived alpha and one of Long’s Scions, who, like all Vidyadhara, did not have a secondary gender at all.)

Your presentation as an omega was never a deterrent to him. If anything, it was something of a comfort. Jing Yuan was claimed long ago, and he knows that no alpha’s claim will feel the same as Yingxing’s and he wouldn’t want anyone, especially you, to attempt to emulate it. The ownership of a claim was not something he sought. Jing Yuan has had his heart broken enough for this lifetime. He is sure you could rend his heart asunder, however it would not be in the way of losing a mate that he is biologically tied to.

Statistically, Jing Yuan is lucky that such a loss did not cause him to become Mara struck five hundred years ago.

He is very content with whatever your relationship could become. If nothing else, the prospect of it allures him. Especially now that you know his presentation and clearly seem undeterred yourself. If— if anything. Your scent calmed and cooled when he’d told you on the terraces.

Another thing that Jing Yuan will have to parse when he isn’t so wet that he’s leaving puddles in his wake.

For now, Jing Yuan’s nest is satisfactory aside from a few personal items.

Now, all it’s missing is you.

...

Jing Yuan does not find you in the kitchen, but rather the foyer, wishing Qingzu a goodbye with a wave and shout.

Jing Yuan must—

(Temper his instincts because you are far too close to the door and you need to be in his nest and his teeth need to be in you and his scent on you—)

“Jing Yuan,” you say to him warmly, with a smile. There are a few canvas bags on your arms. “How are you feeling—?”

Jing Yuan can’t stop himself from dragging you away from the tall set of doors and back to the kitchen. You squawk at his firmness, but don’t reject his touch. He helps you heft the bags onto a low table. His own arms shake, with both the strain and his own heat-induced weakness.

“It’s really progressing, huh?” You tentatively raise a hand, and place it on his forearm to stroke there.

Jing Yuan practically purrs when you rub over the silken fabric, “It is. Quickly. However, my nest and appropriate supplies are ready. Did Qingzu deliver all that I asked?”

“It seems so.”

There are— three more bottles of lube. A few pearly-looking medicine pills, a specialty item from the Alchemy Commission. Several stacks of ready-made meals and electrolyte powder. There are several vials of milky-looking oils he had her grab for more scandalous purposes as Jing Yuan would like to avoid any type of friction abrasion. Lastly, there are few unmarked boxes with new toys.

“You’re so well-prepared.” Your eyes are wide as you take stock of the haul. Jing Yuan bundles things into a basket and ushers you to his nest.

“I have gone through many heats,” he chuckles. “I have learned the best tricks.”

“I-I can see.”

As you enter his bedroom, you stare at his nest with wide eyes. You jump when Jing Yuan locks the door.

“... Is that alright?” Jing Yuan asks.

“Yes, yes, of course. I just—” You swallow. “I haven’t ever helped another omega through a heat. If you have any pointers or preferences, let me know while you’re still in your full mind, please? I’d like to make this as comfortable for you as possible.”

Jing Yuan thinks for a moment. With a tilt of his head, he rests his hands on your shoulders. Your scent is spiced, a bit nervous, but also undeniably aroused. Your gaze darts down to his exposed collarbones and chest, then quickly back up to his eyes. Heat rises fiercely in your cheeks.

“Your presence will be helpful in and of itself,” he assures you with a squeeze. Carefully, he hooks his thumbs on your outer garment and pulls it down, undoing buttons and ties along the way. Your lips part, breath hot. “I’ll guide you as I need. My heats tend to be mild, though they do last a full week. There will be lulls, which I tend to be quite worn out during. I’ll need your assistance more than anything.”

You nod, taking in his response.

Jing Yuan— he’s holding it together. Slick is beginning to drip down his inner thighs and there’s an ache in his core that feels heavier and hotter by the minute. However, he does want to do this part slowly. He prides himself on his patience. Piece by piece, he takes off your day clothes and tosses them into his nest. Without them, your scent is stronger. Your neck is bare from any topical or adhesive blockers.

“During the rest of it though?” You ask, softly. “When you’re in the throes of it.”

Jing Yuan hums, letting a shaking hand rest on the curve of your waist, “I’m not certain. It’s been quite some time since I’ve shared a heat with anyone.”

“... Really?”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan presses his lips to your forehead without thinking. The heat of it, of you, sinks into his own. He feels like he’s going to burn up. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You answer, and push yourself closer to his neck. Your lips part to taste his scent on the back of your tongue. “You are a catch. I know you have quite the lineup of suitors... I just assumed.“

“You also assumed I was an alpha.”

“The General is a skillful liar.”

Jing Yuan clicks his tongue, sliding a hand below your last garments. Satin, lacey things that are almost sheer. Thin. He could tear them easily, but doesn’t. His touch lingers.

“ Jing Yuan,” he reminds you. You stammer before pitching into him. He carefully walks the two of you backwards. His legs are close to giving out. “And I’d like to think of it as a skillful withholding of unnecessary information.”

“ Jing Yuan is very good with his words,” You murmur into the soft skin of his neck, lingering around one of the scent glands there. They ache, sore and unstimulated.

So carefully, you stretch up on your tiptoes to nose at one of them. Your scents bloom together and his eyes almost roll back into his head at the meld of it, the relief and rush of connection.

It’s the last push Jing Yuan needs before dragging you into his nest with a stifled moan. Coherency is shattered and all he can do is crave, crave, crave.

...

You are a good heatmate.

Astoundingly good. Attentive, kind, and so soft. It’s a relief to Jing Yuan, who’s heat-addled mind is so used to loneliness and cold. You do not have the scent or knot of an alpha, but you’re more than enough. It’s presence and comfort in a way Jing Yuan so, so missed. It’s enough in a different way— and that difference is good.

(You are not Yingxing or Dan Feng, and Jing Yuan is grateful that you aren’t.)

Jing Yuan finds himself on his back, with you wrapped around him. You let him pillow his cheek against your collarbone. His nose presses against your scent gland, and he pants against it with an open mouth and spit slicked lips. Your hand lays over his chest, cupping his breast while gently thumbing over his nipple. He’s so swollen there, aching.

He cries out as you pinch, as if it could relieve any of the pressure roiling around under his skin.

You curl closer into him with your lips against his temple. “Does that feel good?”

He can only keen and hope you understand that it’s a plea for more.

You must because a moment later you’re squeezing with your entire hand. It’s— too big of a handful for you. Your fingers are soft and your touch gentle. The visual of the plump flesh of his chest bulging out from between your fingers rewires Jing Yuan’s brain for a craving he never knew possible. A rush of slick gushes from his cunt and— it’s so much. He lurches into your neck, licking blindly at your scent gland. Vaguely, he notices you stiffen and your scent grows a little sharper.

It’s worry. Jing Yuan can’t have that.

With every ounce of his strength, Jing Yuan rolls you below him, and sits on your hips. You let him, so pliant and agreeable, and lay below him. Jing Yuan’s breath catches and drool slips to the corners of his mouth.

You are beautiful. You look debauched, and you’re not the one in heat. You’re flushed and damp with sweat, just as he is. The robe he’d draped you in is mostly open, revealing supple skin and your last bastion of modesty in the form of a cute pair of panties that Jing Yuan will fantasize about later.

You look up at him in awe, lust-hazed just like him. There’s little composure to be had as your fists ball up in the sheets around his thighs. Your gaze goes glassy as you look from his face down to where he’s seated atop you and back again.

“No teeth,” he assures you. It is the last coherent thought he has, if only to provide your some comfort.

You look up at him sweetly and nod, grabbing the plump flesh above his hips. “No teeth.”

(A claim wouldn’t take, anyway. Not really. Omega-to-omega pairings lack the necessary pheromones to stake a claim on each other. The most it would do would indicate that whoever has been bitten is a submissive-leaning packmate. Which— Jing Yuan actually would not mind biting you. He would like his teeth in your neck if you would ever allow him.)

He groans at the thought, lowering his head as a silver mane of hair spills around his face.

Jing Yuan is drenched and hard, leaking from the tip of his cock and seam of his cunt. It’s— filthy. You’re soaked too, with a mix of him and undoubtedly yourself too, though Jing Yuan can’t scent it over the smell of his own heat. It’s regrettable as he is sure the mix of you must be divine. Heavenly.

He wants it in his mouth.

Jing Yuan slinks down your body, licking and sucking at patches of your skin. You try to bat him off, haul him up and away from your own leaking sex, but he resists. He needs a taste or he’ll die, probably. His heat can be quelled in a number of ways, he presumes.

With his face buried in your cunt, surrounded by your scent, the ache for a knot is dulled. When you cry out on his tongue, it is almost deafened.

Jing Yuan drinks you up— he should pay more mind to your clit, probably, if he wants to get you off properly. However, he is so immensely distracted by your entrance and the essence of you that’s leaking out. There’s a rapidly widening damp spot beneath your ass. A steady flow that Jing Yuan needs in him.

He seals his mouth over your cunt, and prods his tongue inside of you. He presses so close, suffocating with his nose tight to your clit, to lap at your insides.

You— you wail above him. Your hands bury in his increasingly tangled mess of hair for any sort of leverage. Jing Yuan doesn’t let up; he doesn’t think he can. Your tone crashes into one that’s softer, more airy, begging for more. For less. Jing Yuan can’t entirely tell. He isn’t sure he cares, truthfully. All he knows is that your thighs tighten around his head with each suck and slurp.

The sound of it is heavenly.

Your thighs press around his face. Flush to his cheeks are the scent glands in the apex of your inner thighs. Not everyone has them, as they’re something of a recessive trait among all secondary genders. The scent that comes off them is your own, however muskier and deeper. It sticks to the inside of his nose and pours down his throat like a nectar. You mewl when he breaks away to lap at one, coaxing out more of the scent. He gluts himself on it.

He needs, he needs, he needs.

“Jing Yuan,” you pant above him, propping yourself up with one arm while the other blindly reaches among his nest. “Do you need it? Knot?”

He—

(He needs to be filled. He isn’t picky if that feeling is quenched with his cunt, ass, throat, or nose. The scent of you is almost enough, even if he clenches down on nothing and feels hollow in his belly. The sensations are so dull with you nearby. He feels heat incensed, but in a way that craves closeness with you and not the manic pursuit of a knot.)

It’s refreshing. Jing Yuan regrets not propositioning you for this treatment sooner.

“Are you offering?” Jing Yuan purrs. He places his thumbs over the scent glands of your inner thighs and presses down on the swell of them, just under your skin.

Your back bends off the bed and you throw your hand over your mouth. Teary eyes meet him and you nod. From the folds of the nest, you pull forth a knotting toy with a shaking grip.

It’s beautiful for a toy. It’s a model that Jing Yuan had seen in a few high-end adverts on the few social medias he moonlighted on. It’s a flesh-like plastic cock, with an inflatable knot at the base. A little, wired remote drags along the blankets of his nest as you hold the phallus out to him. The plastic of the toy is a light gold, cut with veins of blue. It looks otherworldly and unreal. Jing Yuan has never cared for much realism with his toys, though this one is human enough.

He makes a mental note to get Qingzu a bouquet for purchasing it for him on such short notice.

The head of it feels cool against his cunt. It’s a welcome sensation as it feels like his body is burning up from the insight. He lays over you, wrestling you a bit to be flat below him, with his thighs caging yours. He growls when you try to grab the toy from his hands to assist.

It makes you pause.

Your soft palms cup his cheeks, “Do you not want me to help?”

“The angle—” The angle won’t be right, Jing Yuan wants to say. His words feel lost in his throat as he slowly begins to push inside himself. He gasps and tries to duck into your neck, to like and suck at the gland there and feast on your scent.

“I can try—?”

“ No.”

Jing Yuan wants you just like this. In his nest, smelling like him and arousal and safety. The toy that’s sliding into his cunt is mostly irrelevant, as is the twitch of his cock as he slowly and methodically fucks the toy into himself. Little by little, he bullies it into his underused hole. The stretch is— is not bad. It would be far more uncomfortable if he weren’t in heat and pouring slick.

You ask more quietly, just as he bottoms out. You still haven’t let go of his face. “Are you sure?”

He is, but he can’t find the words to say so. Instead, he nods and tucks himself closer to you. You pet down the back of his neck and push on his scent glands. They ache with his heat. The pressure and direct contact makes him grunt as he adjusts to the toy in his cunt.

You hush him and nuzzle in his cheeks, “You’re doing so well. So good, Jing Yuan.”

He keens and pulls back the toy cock, only to shove it back into himself a moment later. Praise from you is a drug. He’s sure. You’re unbearably earnest and sweet and you are too kind to him. You whisper more of them into his ear as he fucks himself, deep and slow. He feels the sentiment of your words more than he hears it. Deeply affectionate and caring. If he were more lucid, he would be disarmed by you, speechless even. Perhaps he is already speechless, but he blames that on the heat haze and how the head of the toy is pressing deliciously into his sweet spot.

He narrows his focus on the spot and fucks him on the toy in earnest.

Jing Yuan will have an arm ache after this. Many aches, actually. It will be worth it. It is easiest to bear with you underneath him, tilting your hips up to grind against his dripping cock. It’s not the friction his body craves, but it’s welcome. It sends sparks down his spine and he whines into your neck.

You nip at his neck, high on the side of it, and Jing Yuan lets loose a cracking moan. It’s almost embarrassingly loud. Were Jing Yuan able to feel shame in that moment, he’d be red-faced.

Instead, he tips his head to the side, allows you room to mouth and suck marks as you desire. You catch on quickly, and hum, licking broad stripes and soaking him in your scent. Your marks. It surrounds him.

He fucks himself on the toy faster.

(It’s nothing like the heats he had while he was mated with Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not at all. They were shorter, back then. Perhaps it was his youth or the relentless pace and haze Yingxing kept that burned Jing Yuan out faster. Or, maybe it was that Dan Feng always made sure he was wrung out, despite not craving him in the same way Yingxing had. It was carnal then. It still is now, but it does not feel as manic. You are gentle without qualifiers, sweet without expectation, and happy to let him rut into you and back onto the toy as much as he pleases. Your kisses are bruising, but not bloody like Dan Feng’s. There’s a different pace, a different scent, and a different intent.)

Jing Yuan once enjoyed the desperation that Yingxing put into everything he did (including him). He had fallen in love with Dan Feng for his poetics and distanced care. You have neither of these. It is unfair, ultimately, for Jing Yuan to draw comparison.

Perhaps, he’ll feel guilty over it later. For now, his arm gives out and he falls into your chest with a keen. His back arches, hips raised, and the new angle is so, so good. You run your hands through his hair, and move your thigh, just right, so he can grind on it to his heart’s content.

He’s close; he can feel it in his belly.

What sends him over the edge is the feel of your lips against his hairline, the way your lips have curled into a soft, easy smile as you kiss him there. You stroke down his back, like how a good lover would.

You are a good lover.

He shudders as orgasm grips him. The sound that rips from his throat is shattering, as overwhelming as the heat that boils over in his guts. And you are such a good lover, that the little remote must have already been in your hand, as in the moment he comes, the knotted base of the toy begins to swell. Jing Yuan can’t— can’t chase his orgasm. He can feel his eyes growing wet while his body feels out of his control (he hates that, he really does). You, however, are a good lover and reach and stretch, matching his angle with the toy and fuck him through it yourself. The knot catches once inside him, then a second time, and with the third, it locks him and the toy together.

And with what can only be called a sob, Jing Yuan fully collapses on top of you.

He can’t keep himself upright, he realizes. His thighs tremble terribly, and his arms are the same. His eyes are filled with tears he didn’t expect and doesn’t know what to do with. It feels vulnerable. Too vulnerable, in a way that Jing Yuan has avoided for centuries now.

Before the feeling can consume him, you’re coaxing him onto his side and wrapping yourself around him. A sheet gets pulled atop the both of you and you’re nosing into him wherever you can.

“It’s okay,” You tell him. “You’re okay, I promise.”

A muffled sound that comes from your throat, followed by the low roll of a purr.

Oh.

All for him?

He shoves himself closer, skin to skin in all the spots he can reach. His tongue laves at your scent glands as his cunt flutters around the toy. He claws at your back before locking his arms around your waist.

You’re purring for him.

He can help but do the same, even chirping without meaning to as he nips at your jaw. Jing Yuan trails his lips to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You curl and laugh at his touch, and Jing Yuan steals the lovely sounds from you with a kiss. It’s something deep and consuming, and Jing Yuan needs more of the taste of you. You squirm into it, gasping and opening your mouth for him to explore as he needs. Your openness continues to undo him.

It’s all the reassurance he needs. Any poisonous feelings fall away, and Jing Yuan, for the first time in far too long, finds himself content and knotted.

...

Jing Yuan has never had a heat quite like this one.

It is certainly more mild, and certainly a bit shorter than what he was expecting. The worst of it lasts five days, followed by three days that he can’t quite call post-heat. Though the desire in him is less feverish, he still craves your presence so much it hurts, and the idea of you being out of his nests sends him into a toothy panic those days. The ‘no teeth’ rule is modified to allow some biting, as long as it doesn’t involve any scent glands.

(However, Jing Yuan still would not mind putting a claiming bite on you. He makes a note to bring this up when he’s feeling some clarity of mind and can... attempt to court you properly.)

The most intense days of his heat are spent with a knotting toy in his cunt, rutting against your soft thighs, or with your hands wrapped around his cock. He eats you out whenever he can muster up the energy to shimmy between your legs and luxuriate there. Any down time is spent dozing in the warm sun rays that his bedroom is perfectly placed to receive.

The latter days of his heat, Jing Yuan is more lucid.

It’s in those days he truly enjoys his heat. Though the burn of arousal still lays within him, it is easily tempered with your presence in his nest and your many shared bite marks. Your time awake is spent lazily kissing, speaking in low voices, and sharing laughter and cups of cool water, one after the other.

Jing Yuan, partially, did not think he would ever get to experience this type of connection again. with you or any other partner. The intimacy of the act is so deeply vulnerable, and after the spiritual loss of both Yingxing and Dan Feng, he never endeavored, or wanted to endeavor to, open himself up in that way again.

He, perhaps, convinced himself he did not need to.

(Nevermind the many nights, both heat-addled and otherwise, Jing Yuan spent craving nesting companions. Nevermind how many nights Jing Yuan lay alone, accepting his losses and mourning mates he’d never hold again. Jing Yuan could never choose to be selfish.)

It helped when Yanqing was little. He was just a small pup with golden eyes like Jing Yuan’s and a fiery spirit, even when he was so small. Jing Yuan had never considered himself maternal, however having a pup to take care of brought out latent instincts he’d spent the better part of his life pretending didn’t exist. As Yanqing aged, however, he was less receptive to such affections and connections. After presenting (far too young, poor thing, traumatized body), Yanqing wouldn’t share a nest with Jing Yuan unless he fell ill. Even then, Jing Yuan would have to coax him into it.

It quenched something in him. It allowed Jing Yuan to let himself care in the direct way he craved. With his position as General, how often does get to show care with his hands, and not with his words or stratagems? Not with sacrifice or poetry, but with his body and scent.

Jing Yuan realizes now that there truly have been so many urges and behaviors Jing Yuan simply did not indulge.

And as his heat breaks, Jing Yuan thinks he’d like to start indulging them more.

...

On the last day of his heat, you stir around nightfall. You are exhausted, Jing Yuan knows this. Though his heat has provided him with a surprising amount of stamina, you are in standard condition, and looked wrung out halfway through day two of his heat. Jing Yuan’s grateful you’re as fond of midday naps as he is.

You are cradled against his chest, your cheek pillows on his breast. He’d thrown a robe on while washing up, and hadn’t elected to remove it. The silky texture of it feels lovely against his flushed, sensitive skin. You seem to enjoy it too as you grip at the fabric of it in your sleep, nuzzling into his chest.

Your brow scrunches and a little sound pops from your throat as you try to burrow closer. It’s a hopelessly sweet gesture, desperate and honest. Jing Yuan can’t help but chuckle and smooth a hand over your mussed-up hair.

When your eyes crack open, your voice is raw, “‘S morning?”

“No, nighttime.” Jing Yuan nods to the darkened window.

You raise yourself up just enough to look, hum, and then fall back on top of him, “Feels like it should be morning.”

“We haven’t been keeping a very consistent sleeping schedule,” Jing Yuan rarely does, but he imagines that you and your position with the Sky Faring Commission have quite a regular routine. “You can keep resting.”

“I don’t wanna’,” Though, you shove your nuzzle into his chest, smearing him with your scent. “I wanna stay up and talk to you.”

“Me?” Jing Yuan smiles, smitten. He pinches your cheek. “About anything in particular?”

“... Not yet.” Your eyes slip closed. “Maybe later. I want to say things to you, but I feel... mushy. Inside my head.”

“Pheromone drunk?”

“‘Something like that,” Your words slur. “Not that I’m complaining. You smell so good, Jing Yuan.”

When you say his name, he shudders. The hand that’s been playing with your hand slips to your nape and squeezes. You keen at the contact and tangle your legs with his. It’s an impossible amount of closeness you are seeking, but Jing Yuan must attempt to give it to you. It’s abashed and honest, and in the stillness of night, how can he not indulge?

“Do I?”

“ Mhm.”

“Like what?”

You’re falling asleep, clearly. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open even as you inhale deeply. Your lips part and you take his scent into your mouth.

“Earth after rain,” You hum. “Sunbeam and linen. Warm milk.”

He squeezes you.

(A long time ago, Yingxing had complained about his scent. ‘Complained’. His face had been flushed crimson, telling him how distracting his sweet, rich scent had been. Dan Feng thought it was the funniest thing, considering Yingxing so clearly enjoyed Jing Yuan’s scent, as did he. They’d described it similarly— “petrichor” Dan Feng had told Jing Yuan while sweeping his mane back from his neck— “the smell of sunshine” Yingxing had told Jing Yuan after berating him.)

“How complementary.” Jing Yuan purrs and pulls you closer by the waist. Your face is smushed against his chest, but you don’t complain. You keep your lips parted to enjoy his scent. “And you like it?”

“So much,” You assure him, droopy-eyed.

So good for him, so so good.

Jing Yuan presses the tip of his finger to your lips, a bit chapped from the dehydration and exertion. You chirp with it, a bit more awake.

He hushes you, and pushes his finger further into his mouth, “Sleep now, dear. You need to rest.”

“‘So do ya’,” You try to say, though it comes out garbled as Jing Yuan lays his finger on the flat of your tongue. Your eyes widen and go a bit crossed to look at his wrist, then up to his eyes.

Jing Yuan isn’t entirely sure what compels him, but something does. Gently, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. He idles there, and pets down your side.

“I’ll sleep soon, I’m sure you know.” Jing Yuan says softly. “Will you indulge me?”

(He asks to be selfish.)

Without hesitating, you nod.

(And you let him.)

Jing Yuan doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s the specific sweetness his scent must take on, or the night air in contrast to the warmth and comfort of his nest, but you understand what he wants and give it to him without so much as a word.

Your lips open a little wider and Jing Yuan slips another finger inside. You stroke your tongue on his fingers as you close your mouth, eyes going dazed and heavy-lidded. You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent into the deepest parts of your lungs. You suck on his fingers gently.

Jing Yuan watches with still, even breaths.

Later, he will analyze why this scratches so many itches in his brain. Why his post-heat mind feels more calm and sated than he thought possible. Why he wants more of this, always, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet.

For now, he is so, so content to have you this way. You are lulled back to sleep so easily, sucking on his fingers with your cheek still smushed against his breast. Even as you sleep, Jing Yuan doesn’t remove his fingers. He explores the inside of your mouth with gentle, easy pressure, so as to not wake you. It’s exploratory, more than anything.

He plays with you in such a way until he’s too drowsy to continue. Satisfied and warm, he drags you under the covers and holds you close, scenting you one last time before letting himself fall into a contented, new kind of sleep.

...

You depart suddenly, while Jing Yuan is in the kitchen deftly chopping fruits and assembling little parfaits.

You had been in his bathroom, freshening up with whatever products you’d like from his stash. Jing Yuan had left you your own robe for when you exited, quietly beaming that he’d have yet another article with your scent on it.

However, when you do leave the bathroom, you are fully dressed in the day clothes you arrived in a week ago. You stand at the doorway of his kitchen, pausing, wide-eyed.

“I n-need to go,” Your voice wavers, like you’re going to be ill.

Something squeezes in between Jing Yuan’s ribs. There are thin, transparent patches on your neck on either side. Scent blockers. Your eyes look watery. Jing Yuan immediately sets down the knife he had been working with.

“Is everything alright?” asks Jing Yuan. He knows something is wrong, even if he can’t smell you, you’re clearly distressed and disheveled.

“It’s— it’s nothing. It’ll be okay.” You tell him. Your voice trembles and you shake your head.

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“It’s— it’s really nothing. I need to leave. I-I’m really sorry.”

You look from him to the foyer that leads to his front door and back again. There’s a desperate look in your eye that Jing Yuan has never seen with such an intensity before. It makes his heart ache and his hands feel clammy. He sighs.

(And a quiet, ever-present voice in his mind says, “they all leave, eventually.”)

“Alright.” Jing Yuan gives you a smile, the best he can muster. He knows it must be sadder than intended, as your expression falls and you look like you’ve been punched.

“I’m so s-sorry.”

“It’s alright,” It isn’t. Not fully. “Handle whatever it is that you must. I’m only a call away. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath and shudder out the exhale. You’re trying not to cry and it takes everything in Jing Yuan’s being not to rush to you and attempt to mend whatever is causing you distress but—

(He can’t. He can’t do that. You have asked him to leave you be and Jing Yuan has spent his entire life honing his ability not to chase, even when he so, so badly wishes to.)

You give him one final, fleeting look, “Thank you. I— I’ll see you at our next lunch, okay? I’m sorry.”

It looks like there’s more you want to say, but you’re already out the door before you can. Jing Yuan hears it open and shut with a soft thud that vibrates throughout his home. It leaves Jing Yuan standing alone in his kitchen, frozen, while the robe he wears slips down his shoulders. He bears your marks, and reeks of your scent. His nest grows colder each minute. And though his heat has ended, the yearning for you has not.

If anything, the feeling is far stronger than it was before.

He latches onto the fact you will have your lunches. That— he will find some clarity then. That he can inspect you for damage during the next sunshine-filled meal you share, and prod to see if the last week and half did not carry the same type of... meaning for you, as it did Jing Yuan. He will need to make sure you’re well. He’ll fret until then, he knows this.

(A more dormant, possessive part of him wishes he snatched you back from his foyer and threw you back into his nest. If something was wrong, he could. If something needed fixing, he could help. If it were anything official for your work, Jing Yuan would pull any and all strings to get you out of the obligation. If you were hurt, Jing Yuan would do anything to see you better.)

Instead, Jing Yuan idles in his kitchen, feeling struck and helpless. Something in him aches, deep and low, and Jing Yuan lays a hand over his chest and squeezes it into a fist. He had thought he had become used to this type of loneliness, but it aches all the same.

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x reader #cw omegaverse #ITS HERE... ENJOY!!#part one hehe <33

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