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heresthestorymorningglory · 2 months ago

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Together Bound In Madness - Part 7

Summary: There.....was...someone else…

A/N: This particular piece of work wasn’t meant to see the light of day and live its life in my WIP folder…it was supposed to….

Then I mentioned to @ken-dom that I might share and well…here we are…what can I say y'all? She’s mad encouraging and I love her dearly for it. Without her none of these would exist.

Y'all are getting an update because my internet Mama is the worst (read: best)

As always, this NSFW 18+ and has a few extra warnings attached; a kidnapping trigger warning being the biggest one, and approach this one with some caution….it’s consensual so it’s not technically rape, but the situation could make some uncomfortable.

The title comes from the Marianas Trench song The Killing Kind

Inspiration for this particular bit came from my recent rewatch of "You" on Netflix (Season 1 Episode 10 to be precise) See here (The first 2 mins or so) (Spoilers obvi)

Y'all should know by now I rarely post one shots…..so yeah, this will be multiple parts….I’m just not sure on the final tally yet. You can find previous parts here.

Enjoy my loves! <3

He sat at an empty barstool, finding this idiot was easier than even he thought it would be. Day drinking like the real winner he was.

He didn't even need to try, your male suitor, who had been so enamored with your lips. His lips. You were his.

He spent no less than twenty minutes next to this man before he started talking about you. It became very clear very quickly you were nothing but a piece of ass, a conquest.

The moment this waste of skin stood from the barstool, he saw red. Immediately pulling himself up from his own stool, following him out into the street.

***

You jumped hearing his keys outside the door as he opened it, stepping over the threshold.

You gasped, for the second time in as many days, his typically white jacket was stained dark red.

“God…please no” you whispered softly, dropping your gaze as he came to stand in front of you.

His shoes were blood spattered, you looked up slowly, your eyes taking in his blood streaked jeans, his stained shirt, his soaked jacket.

“What did you do?” You whispered, finally meeting his eyes. “Tell me you didn't”

He stood in front of you, his face emotionless and unreadable before he spoke with a small shake of his head. He reached behind you, snapping the zip ties apart; you winced, moving your arms in front of you, stiff from being held back for so long. “I can't”

You gasped, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs as you broke down sobbing.

He reached a bloody gloved hand to cup your cheek and you flinched away as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks.

He sank to his knees in front of you. His gloved hands resting on your thighs. “I did this for you,” he spoke softly “He wasn't good for you,” he reasoned, “You should have heard the things he said…”

“You killed someone!” You sobbed, your voice braking with emotion as you pushed his hands off your thighs and you got to your feet, desperate to put space between you.

Your breath caught in your throat when his bloodied hand closed around your equally bloodied wrist. You ripped it free from his grasp and took a few more steps backward as he got to his feet.

“You, are insane,” you cried trying to inconspicuously make your way towards the door. “The thing I need protection from is you!”

His shoulders dropped and he looked visibly hurt by your words. It almost made you laugh out loud.

“What?!” Your anger getting the better of you “You wanted me to be grateful that you kidnapped me?!” You screamed, not giving him a chance to answer before you continued. “That you've been holding me captive here for God knows how long?!”

When he still didn't speak you continued. “What did you want to hear?! That I love you?!” Your voice cracked again with effort as you strained your vocal chords. “You're sick,” you swallowed hard, taking a breath. “You need help” your voice had dropped to a shaky whisper. “I hate you”

That had been like a knife to the gut. Everything he had done had been for you. To protect you and keep you safe from people like that Facebook guy. And you had just lumped him in with the likes of them.

His blood boiled at the thought; how dare you accuse him of being anything like that.

He stalked forward, quickly closing the distance you had tried to put between you, but still kept his distance.

You glared at him, standing your ground; your heart still pounding in your ears. You parted your lips, taking a slow deep breath.

“You’ll never be like him,” you spoke; surprised your voice was coming out even and steady. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re not half the man he was”

“You don’t mean that” he shook his head slowly, continuing to close the distance.

You grit your teeth, your eyes laser focused on his movement “Like hell I don’t”

In a flash, his hands grabbed both your wrists, slamming you against the door, knocking the wind from your lungs, pinning your arms over your head, your knuckles rapping against the wood. Again, you fought to keep your voice even; you were certain your heart pounding in your chest was going to give you away regardless. He leaned closer, his bloody body pressed against yours; his breath hot next to your ear.

You winced in pain as his hands squeezed your wrists, but kept quiet.

His nose pressed against your cheek. “Did you let him touch you?”

You took a sharp breath in through your nose. “N-no”

He let go of your wrists, his open palm slapping against the door. Making you jump, squeezing your eyes shut.

“You're lying” his voice was harsh, but only loud given its proximity to your ear.

“So what if I am,” you snapped

He slapped you hard across the face and before you could think twice about your actions, you struck him back.

He gripped both your aching wrists in one of his hands; the other shoving between your legs as his knee forced your thighs apart.

Your cheek burned and his was bright red. His fingers work the soft fabric of the pyjama pants against your naked clit.

You bit your lips together and immediately released them; both were swollen and sore.

“Does he tongue fuck you well enough for you to brag to your friends about it?”

“Better,” you grit your teeth, fighting back the moan that threatened to spill from between your lips “He didn't need me to tell them’

You slammed your head back against the door with a loud thud as his bare hand slid inside the loose fitting pants around your waist. You hadn't even realized he had taken his gloves off.

Without so much as a breath of warning, his fingers plunged inside you, making your knees buckle, your hand instinctively grabbing his shoulder for support with a gasp.

You tried to squeeze your thighs together to no avail.

“Did he tell you how beautiful you look when you're fighting not to come unraveled?” He whispered, leaning forward to scrape his teeth along the line of your jaw

You squeezed your eyes shut, bucking your hips into his hand. “You’re fucking pathetic"

“And you're dripping down my hand” he whispered “I bet he never saw you like this”

Your eyes locked on his and he raised an eyebrow and you whimpered loud, going limp in his arms as he curled his fingers deep inside you.

Your hands wedged between your bodies, yanking the button on his jeans open, shoving them off his hips. A guttural moan as his cock sprang free, his fingers never stopped moving.

Your hand streaked with the sticky, drying blood on the waistband of his jeans, the open zipper biting into your own raw bleeding skin of your wrist, palming his pulsing length.

You whimpered, breathing hard, crying out against his mouth as he bit down hard enough on your bottom lip to draw blood.

You gasped as he pulled his hand from the confines of your pants before pulling them off. His short fingernails biting into the back of your thigh as he wrapped your leg around his waist. Before he pulled your hand from inside his jeans, slamming your wrists against the door; his fingers lacing together with yours.

He thrust forward, making the door rattle in its frame, again your head banging against it as you threw your head back, screaming towards the ceiling. He caught you before you could fall to the floor, both your legs now wrapped firmly around his middle.

He pulled away from the door, his arms wrapping around your back as your arms dropped around his shoulders. Your hips thrusting, desperate to feel the friction between you.

His weight came down on top of you as you landed on the bed, your legs came free from his hips, your heels digging into the mattress as you thrust your hips up into his, moaning shamelessly as you braced one hand against the headboard. The entire bed shifted as he thrust harder.

You screamed as he bit down hard into your neck. He moaned against your skin, his cock twitching inside you.

The hand not braced against the headboard, fisted in his hair, pulling hard before he moved to look down at you underneath him.

“You're a sick fuck” you breathed hard.

“And you're not going to have to finish yourself on the bathroom floor” he smirked.

The hand pushing against the headboard flew to slap him hard across the face.

He had hardly flinched, his blue eyes flared; a deep growl in the back of his throat sent a shiver through your body. Your shrill scream filled the room as his teeth sank into the other side of your neck. Arousal jolting through your entire body.

“You’re mine” he growled against your ear. “No one else's”

His hips snapped against yours as your hand dropped from his hair, only for him to immediately lace your fingers together, pinning your hand to the mattress.

You didn't answer, just whimpered and writhed underneath him. Your hand squeezing his; you gasped as his lips smashed against yours, your tongue twisting together with his as you moaned against his mouth.

He peeled his lips from yours and you gasped for air. “Say it”

You shook your head and his hand reached to squeeze your throat firmly.

“Now”

You glared at him as his hand squeezed, easing only enough so you could speak.

“No” His weight was heavy on top of you as he shifted. That hadn't been the answer he expected, or wanted.

He tipped his head with a frown

His entire body felt like you had set him ablaze.

His hand landed heavy on your cheek and you winced before letting out a heavy breath running your tongue between your swollen lips with a raised eyebrow.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as your body jerked with the force of his efforts; his cock still buried inside you.

You were fighting everything inside you to keep your orgasm at bay, purely out of spite. You weren't in the best position to make him angry, but fuck. The jealousy practically seeping from his pores over an old high school boyfriend who lived firmly in senior year where he'd peaked was stirring something in your gut, wanting to see just how far you could push.

He pinned your arms over your head, using your own body as his leverage, his full weight on your wrists making your arms ache down through your elbows. The sting of your wounds familiar at this point, simply adding to your arousal.

You hated him, this complete fucking stranger.

The hot neighbour

He had kidnapped you and ripped you from your life.

But this is your fantasy….isn't it? You’ve watched him for months.

Not like this; you had just observed him when the opportunity presented itself; he had stalked you. Kidnapped you.

And yet….

You whimpered as he growled next to your ear, his teeth biting hard enough to pierce skin. The sharp sting quickly soothed by his warm tongue, making you shiver.

He was absolutely fucked in the head. This wasn't normal.

Normal is overrated

He had murdered someone. Probably more than once…

You don't know for sure….

There was no denying it. He was covered from head to toe in someone else's blood.

And now so are you…and he's SO good at-

A shudder rocked your entire frame as you fought the urge. It was getting harder and harder.

You gasped, fingernails biting into the palms of your own hands as you felt yourself being filled with his hot, thick release; his tongue filling your mouth as he rode out his orgasm and you broke, nearly biting through his lip as a strangled, muffled moan came from you.

“Tell me” he whispered, his lips moving against yours.

Still you shook your head, your lips moving against his. “No”

You cried out as his fingernails purposefully dug into your raw flesh before he pulled from inside you, forcing your legs apart before putting himself between them. You barely had time to recover, your breath catching in your throat as he thrust two of his fingers inside your throbbing core.

Immediately pumping in and out, making you twist in the sheets, trying to escape the onslaught. Both your hands reached between your legs, fighting to pull his hand away. His free hand closes around both of your wrists with ease, keeping them still as his fingers thrust harder.

You threw your head back against the pillow letting out a desperate cry. “G-god p-p-please”

Your bottom lip trembled as you fought against your primal instincts trying not to come unraveled again. But then he-

“Finish” he snapped, the two fingers buried inside you as far as he could get them, curled with a precision that made your orgasm jolt through your body, your hands flying to fist the sheets underneath you as you arched off the bed; a loud, desperate “FUCK” cracking from your throat.

And still he kept going.

He lowered himself between your thighs, looking up as you tried in vain to push him back. Your last orgasm had barely subsided as he pushed your weak legs apart.

He leaned forward, his warm breath on your over sensitive core making you jump before he locked eyes with you.

“Say it” he commanded

You opted for silence; much to his delight.

He licked a hot stripe up your centre, making you cry with pleasure. If his weight hadn't had them pinned, your legs would have snapped around his head.

You panted desperately as his warm skilled tongue lapped between your folds; his fingers bruising your thigh as he kept your legs spread wide. Your hands fisted his blond hair, your nails intentionally finding purchase in his scalp as you pulled hard on the fine strands between your fingers.

He moaned loud, it echoing between your thighs, vibrating against your overstimulated core, making you whine, thrusting against him. He liked it; of course he did, he was a fucking masochist.

You pulled harder on his hair, simply to elicit that delicious hum that made your legs feel like jello. Still though, you refused to give him what he had wanted; you whimpered, and gasped, and hummed, but those two words…

Again, you thrust your hips, shameless noises spilling from your lips. Your breath hitched in your throat as his tongue circled over that bundle of nerves. You moaned in the back of your throat, as you felt your bottom lip split open, trapped between your teeth. The coppery tang of your blood pricking your tongue as he fucked you with his.

He licked and sucked like you were the most delectable thing to ever touch his taste buds. He came up for air, giving you the briefest second of relief. His lips were wet and bright red, his chin glistening with your slick. You shivered, your body recovering only slightly before he started again, making you grit your teeth as you jerked forward; a knee-jerk response, but you wanted more, you needed more. Your abs clenched as he looked up, fixing his eyes on you as his tongue continued its assault. Another shiver quaking through your body, your next orgasm threateningly close. He was like a starved man eating his last meal. You squeezed your eyes shut, as your core clenched; like it was straining to reach your peak and it was just out of reach. You filled your lungs with oxygen, not realizing you’d been holding your breath. Your whole body instinctively relaxed and all at once, your orgasm shot from your core like an explosion right through to your fingertips. His hair in your hands subjected to the onslaught of your pleasure as you gasped out sobs; a mixture of pleasure and of sheer relief as tears streamed down your cheeks and he feasted on everything you gave him.

You collapsed on the mattress, desperate to take a full breath but your lungs refused; your body simply shaking uncontrollably with the aftermath as you released his hair from between your fingers.

You had never been absolutely ravished or worshiped like that ever. The thought made your cheeks burn hot as you still fought to catch your breath. He had been peppering your entire body with kisses; like something in him had flipped like a switch.

He braced himself over you as you shuddered, swallowing hard. The intensity of his gaze making you avert yours. His strong hand gripping your jaw firmly, forcing it back before he leaned forward, his tongue gliding slowly over the split in your lip before claiming your mouth in a possessive kiss…and you let him; melting into the sheets underneath you as his weight came down heavy on top of you; your arms to weak to push him off, your body too weak to protest…not that you would have.

You’d be lying if you said his undivided attention didn’t stir something inside you. He made you feel wanted. He made you feel desired. The thought alone made your aching core throb with a seemingly insatiable need.

When he had finally climbed from on top of you, you swallowed hard, your body finally able to relax. Forcing your eyes to stay open felt like the hardest task, but you had managed long enough to take notice that you were streaked with blood. Your t-shirt, your thighs, your hands; especially the one you'd had down the front of his jeans. Your eyes slipped closed as you succumbed to your exhaustion, trying hard not to think about what you'd just done…or worse, that you had maybe enjoyed it.

#fic #ryan gosling #not s f w 💀#drive 2011 #driver x reader

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soracities · 2 years ago

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could u maybe expand on the difference between reacting and responding

hi, and of course; at its core, reacting is an immediate response to something, whereas responding comes after taking the time to think something through and properly understand it (and how you actually feel about it).

when you're reacting to something as opposed to responding, the things you say or do--and crucially, the way you say or do them--are coming from an emotionally-charged place rather than a contemplative or intentional one; they are actions, decisions, presumptions and perceptions fuelled by a specific feeling arising in a particular moment, and these feelings could be anything: anger, irritation, guilt, indignation, embarrassment, sometimes even positive emotions like joy (when people say not to make big decisions either when you're utterly despondent or utterly elated, that's what they're talking about)

our feelings towards certain things are there for a reason, but that doesn't mean that they will always guide you in a positive direction--telling people their feelings are valid is an important part of acknowledging the effect something has had, but its also important to note that sometimes feeling a certain way about something or someone is not automatically a definitive Truth about that thing or that person (example: if i'm feeling exceptionally bad and am convinced i have nothing redeeming to offer those i love--perhaps that is a truth for me, in that moment, insofar as this is where my feelings are sitting right now; but i can also recognise that this is not a truth for them--i cannot see what they see, and i won't pretend that i can but i also accept that they do see it).

if you're in an emotionally-charged state (either because something genuinely hurt you, or something someone said annoyed you) there is very little room left, if any, in your mind to think your responses through rationally because whatever you're caught-up feeling is crowding out everything else and its very, very tempting to let yourself go along with that flow: the intensity of an emotion sometimes feels like its own justification, but that is a very dangerous trap to fall into. what will arise from this, more often than not, are knee-jerk responses or thoughtless (in both senses of the word) comments which can range from mildly embarrassing outbursts to something far more hurtful and damaging--to you and someone else.

obviously, this is not to dismiss incidents where something or someone hurts you, or to say that you have no right to feel those things, or other emotions for that matter (everyone gets ticked off by something), but when you're reacting you're basing the things you say and do and think off an emotional high that will pass, often within a few short minutes. and when it does pass and you think back on whatever caused you to feel the way you felt, it will either no longer be a big deal (because you have calmed down and your mind is no longer clouded by certain feelings) or if you're still bothered by whatever the incident was, you will now be in a much better place, emotionally, to examine what exactly it is you're feeling, and why you're feeling it and resolve it in a healthier way. if i see some particularly bad take online and it grates on me, my immediate response is not necessarily to interact with it; i either leave it or read through it a few times to be sure i know exactly what's being said. then i think it through in my own time if i feel the need to examine it further, but i'm very conscious of making sure my feelings, if they're suddenly loud for whatever reason, have calmed down significantly before i make any conclusions about what's being said.

i'm not saying everyone has to be perfect or that everyone is capable of responding 100% thoughtfully in any and every given situation in their lives and it's a failure of character if they don't, but in the context making of this post, and especially when it comes to being online in general where everything is designed to a) whittle down your attention span so that any sustained thought / engagement becomes an afterthought (if even that), and then b) gain traction and momentum by encouraging you to react emotionally instead of responding thoughtfully, i think it's vitally important to be extra conscious of the way you interact with content and other people instead of jumping the gun because it is so much easier to do that online; you fall more swiftly, here, into the trap of thinking that other people aren't people but abstract concepts you can ignore who won't be affected by your actions. not everything you see or come across requires you to have an input or to interact with it, and if you feel an overwhelming need to do so i think it's important to at the very least take a few minutes and check in with yourself to ensure whatever you feel the need to express is coming from a thoughtful place as opposed to a presumptuous, hurtful, and reactive one. does this make sense?

#ask #anonymous #notes from elsewhere

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patchofgrey · 7 months ago

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Head Cannons One-Shot:

Nejiten Headcannon explanations: part one Nejiten Fanfictions by me: ffdotnet | A03

Headcannons: There was no way Hiashi didn’t pick up on his nephew having a crush and Neji confided in Hinata about his feelings on Tenten. Tenten’s family has done business with the Hyugas for years prior to her birth.

She wasn’t a Hyuga, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed into the Hyuga estate. When they had become gennin, Team Gai was given the task to get to know each other on a personal level. For Tenten, the boys had met her older brother and parents. To the group’s surprise, Tenten’s mother was not from Konoha. Rather, her mother’s side was in the Land of Rivers, specifically Takumi Village. Both of her parents were shinobi, her father specializing in weaponry and even handled the family business of weapons crafting and trading. For Lee, his mother gave a very warm welcome, she was a civilian and loved her son very much. When Tenten and Neji visited their home, she was very quick to greet them with hugs and snacks. When it came to Neji, he had settled on only having his teammates interact with his step-mother. His father had remarried to a civilian after the sudden death of his mother, two years after Neji was born. His step-mother was a lovely woman and found Rock Lee in particular very interesting. When the prodigy had introduced her to Tenten, she immediately noticed the air surrounding her step-son and his female teammate; it made her smile.

As the two of them became closer friends, Neji would handle business with his mother at the main estate and tell Tenten to meet him there so they could train or hang out afterwards. Shizukana Hyuga had mentioned to her brother in law the fascination she had with his female teammate; encouraging him to meet her.

Tenten had already met Hiashi Hyuga as a child. Her father’s business extended to transactions with the Hyugas, however she was not formally introduced to the Lord. Whenever she would come to the estate with her father, she would give a very formal-yet quick greeting before being whisked away to be entertained by a Hyuga maid. One day, she got her chance to. Neji had informed his step-mother that he would be leaving the estate early in order to train for the chunnin exams with Tenten. Hiashi stopped him and told him to bring his teammate inside to formally meet him. When questioned, Hiashi simply stated that he was curious as to who this teammate was that he was always out training with. Begrudgingly, Neji complied.

“Wait…what?” Tenten blinked. “Why now?”

Neji rolled his eyes. “I am not sure. Honestly, it was my mother’s idea.”

“But, Lord Hiashi knows my father. Why does he need to know me specifically?”

“Let’s just make this quick. I don’t want to be here longer than I am supposed to be.” the Hyuga groaned. “He loves to make my life difficult.”

Tenten pursed her lips together and followed her teammate into the estate. The Hyuga relatives looked at her in curiosity as she walked behind Neji, their stares obvious and heavy. Neji kept his gaze sharp as she noticed his relatives looking at her, sending a dirty look back at them which caused various reactions. When they had reached the main tea room, the Hyuga gennin let out a loud sigh and turned to her.

“It’ll be just a few minutes. Then, we leave.” he said flatly.

The bunhead nodded and whipped her palms on her navy pants. She was a bit nervous, mostly because she was in her shinobi gear and about to meet the head of the most prestigious families of the Land of Fire. Tenten wondered how her father felt when first meeting Lord Hiashi. Neji had only mentioned that his uncle was a pain to deal with and was doing nothing to handle the rift between the main and branch families. The bunhead would avoid provoking such subjects with him, but if he needed to vent, she would listen. Neji was grateful for that; being able to have someone to listen to him and share his thoughts with without judgment.

The two stood before Lord Hiashi. The older Hyuga was sitting at the tea table with Neji’s step-mother and two younger Hyuga’s whom Tenten has not met before. One looked to be about her age and held a very soft expression as she looked at her. Hiashi’s eyebrows shot to his forehead upon seeing the bunhead.

“Uncle,” Neji cleared his throat. “This is my teammate, Tenten Hua.”

“Yes,” Hiashi mused. “Your father and I do business.”

Tenten bowed respectfully. Shizukana offered Tenten a sweet smile and gestured for them to join them for tea. Neji shook his head stating he wanted to get to training and didn’t want to spend more time here than necessary. Tenten pursed her lips together, surprised at how rude he was being. Yes, he thought poorly of the main branch, but he did not have to brush off his step mother. But even if he did, it took a very sharp side glance from Shizukana to get Neji’s eyes wide and his spine straight. After a second, he gestured to Tenten to sit first. The bunhead complied and sat awkwardly next to the honey-blonde civilian.

“These are my daughters,” Hiashi gestured to the two young girls next to him. “Hinata is a year under you. And this is her younger sister Hanabi.”

Hinata smiled at the bunhead and nodded, having already been acquainted with the older kunoichi during the chunnin exams. Hanabi sat quietly, and only tilted her head at the guest before her.

“Tenten-dear, how are your parents? I haven’t seen your mother in a while.” Shizukana asked after a moment.

“They’re well. My dad is in the Land of Rivers right now handling some business.” Tenten replied. “My mom is on a mission for the next week or so.”

Neji’s step-mother hummed and offered the younger girl any lodging or assistance if she needed it.

“I’m sure my Neji wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us until they returned. You can take the spare bedroom, right dear?” Shizukana looked to her step son.

The prodigy glanced at his mother, but nodded hesitantly. Why would she offer? He thought. Tenten doesn’t need assistance. Tenten didn’t need to stay with them, she was fine on her own, especially since her brother was also home for the moment, getting over an injury. It was the bunhead’s way of nicely implying that she could handle herself and her brother. Hiashi hummed and sipped at his tea, listening as his sister in law prompted her step son into making sure that his teammate was well taken care of. What peaked his interest was that his nephew was just agreeing with his step mother and not firing back any sarcastic remarks. Instead, the Lord caught Neji half smiling as his teammate continued to converse with the blonde.

“Tenten, you must visit us more! Stop by the house just to say hello with your mother sometime so I can listen to all your adventures. Neji only tells me some things, and I can never get any full details from him.”

The Hua chuckled apprehensively; Neji’s step mom was quite the outgoing person and loved having the bunhead around for company. Her Hyuga teammate would always mention that Shizukana would ask about her, and invite her over ever since they had met.

“Mother, Tenten is a very busy person-”

“Yes, busy training with you. Which means that she has to put up with your various moods. Tell me, dear. Is my son driving you up the wall yet?”

“Mother, please-”

Tenten held her hands up. Neji had approached her to train for the exams. He was her friend and was happy to help. The prodigy was never rude or attempted to belittle her. In honesty, she was actually surprised that he had asked her specifically since her specialty was weaponry and taijutsu.

“We make great partners,” the bunhead looked to her teammate. “Well, I think we do.”

Neji nodded without hesitation. His face softened as Tenten offered him a bright smile. Shizukana looked at her brother in law and gestured to the pair next to her. Hiashi was now seeing what she had mentioned to him; the softness in his face. His nephew had made a close friend. It was uncertain how much Tenten knew about the Hyuga clan, or what issues they had; his guess was that Neji had no problems talking to her about it. He watched as they chatted between each other, the bunhead showing how comfortable she was around his nephew. This teammate was bright, and made his nephew feel some level of comfort he has not seen before.

Since then, Tenten had been to the Hyuga estate a number of times since the chunnin exams. Neji had begun training formally under his uncle which left Tenten on her own. To remedy this, the Hyuga would invite her to the estate to spectate, or even partake in training with him if his uncle was caught up with his Hyuga duties. At this time, Neji and Hinata had also begun training under Hiashi. Tenten would sit and watch as Hiashi would instruct his daughter and nephew in their gentle fist drills. During their breaks, Neji would sit with her and his cousin and chat about anything and everything. Hiashi would watch as his nephew would smile and give the bunhead his undivided attention. At one point, Hiashi asked to see how the Hua would engage in training with the branch member. The Lord had conjured up some clones and observed as they worked together. Neji had shared more information than he thought to his female teammate; she was covering his byakugan’s blindspot. They had combined attacks and their flow was flexible as they attacked and defended against his clones. Tenten had perfect aim and his nephew was able to pick up on her change in motion almost instantly; they were a singular unit. When the clones had disappeared, the pair stood smiling at each other breathlessly. Hiashi had invited Tenten back to the estate the following morning.

Tenten watched as Neji and Hinata sparred. She hummed to herself and allowed for her fingers to rub against her scrolls, waiting to see if she would be joining in today. She didn’t notice the Hyuga lord had taken a spot next to her to watch. Neji’s speed was no match for Hinata as he quickly delivered his jabs. Her amber eyes were quick enough to track his movements with ease; the perks of training under Maito Gai was the ability to develop such a necessary skill.

“You have brought your scrolls, today.”

Her head snapped to the side and immediately bowed to the Hyuga Lord. “Yes, I wasn’t sure if I was training with Neji today or not…”

Hiashi offered a half smile as he watched the bunhead turn back to watch her teammate. The bunhead held her breath as Hinata’s body was flung backwards, Neji’s force was organic and held much power. Tenten felt a bit bad for Hinata since Neji was on a completely different level than her. She had formed a bit of a friendship with the Hyuga heiress, having been frequenting the Hyuga estate recently. Hinata was very sweet and very soft spoken. Tenten found her to be very cute and found her personality to be the opposite to Neji. And yet, Neji had adjusted his behavior which surprised Tenten; he was trying to be a protector for his cousin as demanded by his role as a branch member. He felt guilty for how he treated her and wanted to make things right. The bunhead was proud of her teammate for that, atoning in a way that only he could.

“Let us finish for the morning, Hinata.” Neji announced.

The younger Hyuga nodded and they approached the Lord and the weapons specialist, sweaty and heavily breathing. Neji walked up to Tenten almost instantly, offering a small smile as they chatted quietly about his increase in speed. Hiashi watched as the pair spoke to each other, each maintaining full eye contact and his nephew’s lips remaining in a content upwards curve. Hinata noticed this as well, and excused herself into the conversation.

“Will you be joining us today, Tenten?” she asked as wiped her face and neck with a towel.

“Well-”

“I asked her here,” Lord Hiashi cut in. “To take a look at the armory we have.”

Tenten’s eyes grew wide with excitement. She was not allowed into the armory as a young child while her father did business. The Lord gestured her to follow him, leaving the two Hyuga cousins. Neji watched as Tenten walked away with his uncle.

“Big Brother,” Hinata spoke softly. “Why are you staring at Tenten?”

Neji pursed his lips together and didn’t look at her. Instead, he sat himself on the wooden deck and reached for his water bottle.

“Do you like her?” she asked.

“She is my best friend, Hinata. Of course I like her.” he replied flatly.

Hinata shook her head. That’s not what she meant and he knew it. They sat quietly for a moment before she turned to him and asked what he liked about her. Neji’s cheeks turned pink as he glanced at her. Tenten was always there for him even when he thought he didn’t need anyone. She was always cheering him on, and yet keeping him in check at the same time. The bunhead was trustworthy, and genuinely cared about him and what ran through his mind. In a way, Tenten was like a caretaker for himself and even Lee. He was a bit unsure how to pay her back for her kindness besides buying her things that she liked like sweets or something she would find interesting if he was sent on missions without her.

“You are very kind to Tenten, brother.” Hinata hummed.

“I have decided,” he looked at the sky. “To be responsible for her happiness.”

The Hyuga heiress looked at him with wide-eyes. He wanted to make sure that Tenten had no cloudy days and would be there for her just as she was for him. It was the least he could do. In a way, he supposed it was thanks to her that he was able to hold himself in such high regard, even after his defeat against Naruto. It took Naruto to make him open his eyes and see that he was in control of his own destiny. Part of him also knew that Tenten had been trying to tell him the same way over the years, and he was grateful for her doting on him as well as Naruto for (literally) knocking some sense into him. Neji let out a breath and peered into his water bottle. When Tenten had come to see him after his loss, the first thing he was greeted with was her smile; a smile he decided to take responsibility for keeping in her face. Seeing her happiness made his chest warm.

“Brother, it seems you really do care for Tenten.” Hinata mused. “Have you told her this?”

“Have you told Naruto that you’re madly in love with him yet?” he shot back looking directly into her matching ivory eyes.

Hinata’s face fell instantly into a deep red tint. She gave a yelp at his response with the obvious answer; no, she did not. Neji let out a laugh and shook his head. That was his answer as well.

“Speaking of Tenten,” Neji’s eyebrows furrowed. “I do not understand why uncle keeps inviting her. What interest has he taken in her?”

“If I am going to guess,” Hinata replied, her blush calming down. “I think father is being nice because she is the daughter of his business partner…but also your friend.”

“It’s not his business to get into my personal relationships.”

The Hyuga princess let out a chuckle at this, encouraging him to ask Lord HIashi himself when he got the chance if he were that curious. Tenten’s presence did not make him uneasy in the slightest, it was his uncle’s insistence of having her around that made him wonder if there was something he was trying to get out of it. Hinata didn’t think her father had any ill intentions, in fact she was also curious as to why her father had invited Tenten onto Hyuga grounds so often. She wouldn’t be surprised if her father also noticed Neji’s affections towards his teammate and was trying to figure out how to approach this situation.

When Tenten and Lord Hiashi returned, the bunhead was very excited to tell Neji about how lovely the assortment of weapons were and how she remembers her father crafting the majority of them himself. Seeing the finished product in storage was exciting for her. The Hyuga prodigy offered to walk Tenten home, as they were finished training for the morning and he knew she had other plans with her own family after lunch. The bunhead shrugged, accepting his offer and thanked Hiashi once more.

“Nephew, a word before you leave.” Hiashi said. “Hinata, why don’t you walk Tenten to the front gates for now.”

Hinata nodded and stood. She smiled at Tenten before doing just that. The Lord waited until the girls turned a corner before addressing his nephew.

“I have a question for you, Neji.”

The prodigy cocked an eyebrow at his uncle. “Alright.”

“What kind of bond are you expecting to get out of your teammate?” the older Hyuga asked rather pointedly.

Neji hummed, unsure as to why he was asking him such a question. The Lord had taken the time to get to know the young lady, she had mentioned that she was rather close to Neji and that she would notice the effort he was putting into their friendship as well as the growth he had made. Hiashi found her affections to his nephew to be genuine and was curious as to how the prodigy felt about his current relationship with her.

“Uncle,” Neji’s cheeks sprouted a faint pink. “She is my best friend and my partner. Why are you inquiring about such a thing?”

“You care for her.” Hiashi hummed. “Your bond with her holds quite strong. Be careful with it, for it can be severed very easily, nephew. But, it can grow if you nurture it properly.”

Neji watched as his uncle gestured in the direction of where his cousin and teammate went before turning on his heel and walking away. The young Hyuga pondered on his uncle's words for a moment before making his way to the front gates where the girls were waiting.

#neji hyuga #nejiten #naruto #tenten #fanfiction #neji x tenten #nejiten fanfiction #art #naruto fanficiton #headcannons

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so-many-fandoms-here · 1 year ago

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(English isn’t my first language so feel free to correct any mistake you notice.)

• Characters: Takatora Samura (Last Boss), fem!Reader

• Genre: Angst, fluff (turned out more fluff that I intended)

• Warnings: detailed description of death and decay, talking about the meaning of life

Angst Prompts - #8

Ⱄⱄ. .ⱄⰔ Ⱄⱄ. .ⱄⰔ Ⱄⱄ. .ⱄⰔ Ⱄⱄ. .ⱄⰔ

Since I came into this world I saw and felt absolutely everything. I saw people laughing like maniacs right before a laser shot trough their head. Saw people crying about still being alive and how they prayed for their death or the courage to end it themselves. I saw craziness, hope and despair. And I felt all of it too. I cried and laughed, I mourned and partied, I felt how sanity and craziness alternated my brain and I felt how grateful and yet unappreciative I was for being alive. It felt like my brain was eating itself.

Back in the real world, living always felt like a burden. You were alive because you had to. I was sick of it and longed for a change. Now life was a privilege and I still didn’t know how to feel about it. Do I want to go back? Or do I want do find the meaning of life here? Questions over questions flooded my brain and just as I thought I was about to drown in them I met him.

Last Boss was a skinny guy with lots of tattoos covering his body. He looked impenetrable and always had a katana with him.

He understood me. He was like a drain to my overflowing head and our talks helped me to empty out the water soaked dizziness my brain was drowning in.

One night I talked to myself as I sat on the rooftop, hoping if I ask my questions out loud some intention of mine would answer me. „What is life all about?“

Instead of getting an answer by my intentions, the stars, god or whatever, Last Boss answered me. „I never figured it out. But since I am here, I feel like I am closer to the answer.“

Maybe it was fate. We both went upstairs regularly but somehow we always missed each other. But tonight, with my head heavier than usual by all the stuff around me, he suddenly was there.

Since then we met up almost every evening to talk. I never had so honest and deep conversations with anyone else before and for the first time it felt like someone gets me, that I don’t seem crazy. We talked about our lives before and what we wanted to leave behind, about the definition of good and evil, about how moral codes doesn’t exist in this world and how life becomes a deeper meaning here. Last Boss was determined to stay here until the very end, I for my part was still unsure, but the imagination to stay and have this conversations with him until one of us died sounded surprisingly tempting. I know that I fell for him at the worst time possible but what I also know is that I wouldn’t trade what we have with anything in the world. It seemed more meaningful than anything I’ve experienced before.

„Are you afraid to die?“, I asked him one night as we once again lay next to each other in bed, another ritual we started one day without any particular reason.

„No“, he simply replied. „Are you?“ I thought about it for a second before answering. „I don’t know“, I say. „Probably. But not more than I am afraid of living.“ Another statement any other person would‘ve called me crazy for, but not Last Boss.

„I really like you, you know“, I admitted after we both went silent for a while. „You do?“, he asked, nervousness painting his voice. „I do“ I reassure. „Not a good time for things like this. Or maybe it is, I don’t know. I just wanted to let you know. You get me, you know.“

His hand touched mine and quickly linked its fingers with mine. „What do you think happens after we die?“

Another question I have to think about. I’ve asked myself this a couple of times but never really came to a conclusion. „I don’t know“, I said again.

„I think we will become one with the earth“, Last Boss whispered, brushing his thumb over my hand. „I like that“, I admitted with a smile. „That would make us being of use.“

The tattooed man let go of my hand and turned on his side to look at me. „What do you mean?“ I rolled on my side too and looked into his eyes. „If we don’t get cremated our bodies will rot away, feeding the worms and the ground. Our death will be compost for new life to begin and spread.“

„That‘s beautiful“, Last Boss whispered. Other people would frown and call him sick for viewing this morbid fantasy as beautiful, but I nodded confirming. „Yeah. Maybe that’s the meaning behind life.“ „To die and create room and resources for new life. To keep the cycle upright.“, he finished my thoughts.

The dim light shined through the window on his face, lighting it up just enough for me to see his dark orbs that stare right into mine. My hand brushed over his cheek while I can’t help but to smile. He placed his hand over mine to make sure I wouldn’t move it away, then he whispered: „I don’t care about the time.“ Obviously picking up my on my confession again.

My smile got even wider as I brushed with my thumb softly over his lips. Then I got closer to him and pressed my lips on his. And again. And again.

#fanfiction #x reader #alice in borderland #aib #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland x y/n #aib x reader #aib x y/n #fluff #Angst #last boss alice in borderland #Alice in borderland last boss #alice in borderland takatora samura #takatora samura alice in borderland #Last Boss #Takatora Samura #takatora samura x reader #Last Boss x Reader #angst prompts

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lettersleftunsent · 10 months ago

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// the last falsetto //

dear you,

when i first listened to this song, i easily associated it with someone. the song makes me feel like i'm walking barefoot at the beach, feeling the warm sand in between my toes, my hair flowing freely with the cold breeze, and my chest feels light as i breathe all my frustrations out in the air. he feels exactly like that. he feels like sunshine.

but after looping it for hours and rereading the lyrics multiple times, i took back the association because it doesn't match. all along, there's an underlying reason why i liked the song, and now, i realize it may be because of you.

there's probably a million things i'd like to say to you, but honestly, i think it'd be best if i just ask — how have you been?

a part of me wholeheartedly wishes that you're well, and that you're living your best life. a part of me wishes you're happy. but the part of me that recognizes the pain you caused totally wishes the opposite. i can't blame her though.

do you even remember how we started out as friends? it was the 5th of december, and we had emptied a lot of bottles. we were both drunk, and you were muttering the most nonsense sentences the world has ever heard despite us having a sensible conversation because the alcohol already took over. when the morning came, we were waiting for everyone to finish getting dressed so that we can go home. you sat by me while i'm hugging my stuffed bear and asked "can i hug you?". you were clingy when you're drunk, and funnily enough, i am too so i said yes. i think that was the first out of the many hugs we get to share. too bad the count finally halted.

we met again that afternoon for a photoshoot, and you, despite sleeping so soundly on the jeep to the point that your friend carried you to his apartment, turned out pretty decent. you looked great, like you weren't hurling hours before. that day was filled with so much bliss, and it's vividly etched in my memory. little did i know, the 6th of december marks a start of a beautiful friendship — so beautiful that the world doomed it to end terribly.

i don't want to delve deeper into what we had because even i cannot verbalize what that was. was there even a concept of "us" or was it just in my mind? all these years, the chronic thought of asking "what are we?" haunted me and what's sad is that i will never know the answer to that. maybe it's better not knowing. maybe it's better to just settle with the fact that you were the reason why my life was filled with bliss for a certain point in time, and for that, i will be eternally grateful.

at the back of my mind, i have this small box filled with little details about you. i know the song you listen to when you need that little push. you know how to braid someone's hair because you do your little niece's hair. you have this certain hyperfixation on this one particular italian word. oh god, i still remember how you smell like -- intoxicating, gentle, familiar.

and at the same time, you knew things about me, things i never even had the chance to verbalize out loud, but you still knew because you paid attention.

it will always be a mystery to me how you knew that i loved that particular song to the point that you asked me to sing it with you. i will never forget every single time you braided my hair because you knew i loved it when people play with my hair. you knew i love stickers, so you bought one that matched mine.

your arms, up until now, are what i consider my safest place in this world. no one has ever come close to the way you made me feel that night – the security, the serenity, the peace, everything – and five years later, you still own a part of me.

i'd like to think we knew each other pretty well -- perhaps to be loved is to be known. however, like the seasons, you and i went through drastic changes. we outgrew a lot of things, including each other. although sometimes, i think about these versions of us -- the version of us who deeply knew each other -- where did they go?

at nights when i walk home alone, or during spontaneous karaoke nights wherein i sing duets with a different person, and whenever i get the urge to braid my hair in the morning before i go to work, the question lingers, "what if?"

i'd like to think there's a universe out there wherein we decided to give in to chance. there's probably a universe wherein i decided to tell you that i love you, and you eagerly said it back. there's probably a universe in which the yearning and pining were mutual, and the love was unconditionally reciprocated.

like the song we sang to each other, i'd come home after a long day because in that world, you'll be mine and i'll be yours.

but that's all this was gonna be – a "what if". ours was never a case of bad timing because we're never made to course through this lifetime together. what we were were just ships that pass in the night — meant to meet at one point in time, but destined to sail off on our separate voyages, never to cross paths ever again.

it's bittersweet that i couldn't even say that our time has passed because we never even happened, but i grew to accept that i was never meant to be a part of your story. not a sentence, probably not even a phrase. i never made a mark on yours, but do remember that you are a whole chapter in mine.

#ships in the night #we can't be friends

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demona-andariel · 1 year ago

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A Simple Act of Kindness - 18 / ??

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface) x OFC

Summary: Elizabeth wakes up in a stranger's home. Her fate to become another victim of the Hewitt family is all but sealed till a simple act of kindness changes her life forever.

Warning: (Encompassing the whole story in no particular order) dead dove, rape/Noncon, violence, forced marriage, kidnapping, cannibalism, explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, angst

Author Note: Minors DNI!

Word Count: 4.158

Chapter 18 - Consequences

“Hey, Tommy.” Hoyt flashed Thomas one of his wide smiles as Thomas stormed into the kitchen. “Wanna-”

You made me fail her!

Thomas’s knuckles connected with his uncle’s cheek, sending the old man sprawling onto the kitchen floor. Hoyt’s sheriff’s hat flew off his head and landed on the ground.

“Tommy?” his mother cried out in surprise.

“What the hell, boy,” his uncle Monty shouted.

The three of them had just gotten back from wherever they went for the day. Thomas hadn’t heard them leave in the morning. But then again, he and Elizabeth had stayed down in the dark, dank, messy basement for hours. He wanted her to be the one to make the move. To tell him that she wanted to go upstairs. Show her that she still had freedom. Choices. But she didn’t. She just waited. She wasn’t lying when she said she was done trying.

He finally gave in and indicated that he wanted her to go upstairs once he realized that she wasn’t going to move. They probably would have stayed there much longer, but he hated how she kept looking at the damned meat hooks. Was she wishing he’d just killed her?

Never you.

She didn’t fight or argue when he placed his hand on the small of her back and motioned toward the door. Those eyes.

Thomas was a butcher, had always been a butcher. Hell, he was born in the goddamn meat factory. The one and only place he worked at up until it shut down a couple years ago. He knew what death looked like for animals and humans. Humans were a bit more combative than the animals. Although, not all of them fought for their life till the end. Some gave up easily. But, they always gave up when they knew they were going to die. Those were the only times he saw the life leave someone’s eyes. Either when they died, or just before they died when they accepted their fate.

Yet, he’d never seen someone who was so alive look so hollow. He wanted to hold her close while also shake her. Make her recover faster. She had to understand she was going to be okay. He’d never let anything like that happen to her again.

But you couldn’t protect her then, why would she think you can protect her now?

Thomas grabbed a mug that was on the kitchen table and threw it hard at his uncle’s head, barely missing the man. The mug broke into multiple pieces the moment it hit the cabinet. It landed with a loud clatter onto the floor. Thomas’s nose flared as he took in deep, heavy breaths.

“Now, Thomas,” Hoyt said as he raised his hands in the air. “I know you’re pissed, boy. But listen to me.”

Listen to his lies? His excuses?

Thomas shook his head.

He had indulged his feelings of denial all day. By the time Elizabeth and him had gone back upstairs the sun was already up and the house was empty. A part of him was grateful that the family chose to leave them alone yet again. He wasn’t sure he could completely process the information with the three of them demanding his attention while his Elizabeth roamed like a zombie.

The silent house was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed him to think and try to understand the situation. While at the same time, it made him confront the truth. Or at least, it should have. But he had fought with his brain, pushing that to one side. Hoping that just maybe this was all some horrible nightmare.

He believed her. He just didn’t want to.

That was until he heard his uncle’s voice only moments ago when his family returned home. He’d been upstairs with Elizabeth, watching her get ready for dinner. Both had heard the car coming down the road. Hoyt’s jovial laughter boomed through the house right after he slammed the front door shut. That was when she finally showed some emotion, except it was turmoil that crossed her face as her whole body stiffened. And that’s what set Thomas off.

How could you?! To her? Thomas breathed heavily as he took a step toward his uncle who was on the floor.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine Hoyt raping a woman. He knew from experience the old man could and had raped women in the past. Hell, Hoyt had even pushed and cheer Thomas into joining him on several occasions. It was how he lost his virginity after all. Not that he particularly enjoyed himself. He liked sex, he just didn’t like the things they call him. It would have been the one time, had Hoyt not egged him on to “enjoy them while they’re still breathing”. Their victims were going to die after all. And Hoyt was just… “getting you ready to please your future wife. Make all the mistakes with these ones.”

They always called him names. She never did that. She never attacked his looks. Even when he raped her in front of that Jason, she tried to get the man to stop calling him names. Her go to was to appeal to his humanity and kindness. The part of him that he reserved for only his family. Which was what made her so special to him.

Rage boiled inside of him as he clenched his fists.

Elizabeth wasn’t one of their victims. And, his uncle knew that. And Thomas thought he’d done everything to show his love and devotion toward his wife. Sure, they weren’t legally married but that was just on paper, and that was going to be fixed soon. As far as Thomas was concerned Elizabeth was his wife. She wasn’t on some rocky ground with Thomas thinking about just ending her life. Hell, even the attempted by Hoyt rape months ago pissed Thomas off. Not enough to hurt his uncle, but enough to throw a couple items when he pitched a small tantrum. He thought that had gotten the message across that Elizabeth was off-limits to Hoyt.

I trusted you with her! Thomas grabbed a chair that was in his way and flung it to one side. It hit the wall with a loud crash.

“Thomas, easy,” Hoyt said, keeping his hands raised in surrender. His mouth quirked into an uneasy smile. “Let’s talk about this.”

Talk? He should have talked to Thomas before raping her. Should have come to Thomas about his concerns. Let Thomas decide what he wanted to do, instead of destroying the best thing that had happened to him.

Thomas let out a roar of anger and picked up his uncle, slamming him against the kitchen cabinets. His fingers twisted the sheriff’s shirt as he pressed his body close to his uncle.

“She’s been lying to you, boy,” Hoyt snapped. He looked angry, but Thomas heard the fear and worry in his voice.

You betrayed me! You hurt her. Thomas punched him. Luda Mae let out a shriek while Uncle Monty shouted something. Hoyt looked stunned.

Elizabeth wasn’t wrong. Hoyt probably would have gotten away with what he did. No repercussions at all. Had this IUD thing been found out earlier. During the time Thomas’s sole focus was to get her pregnant. Because, he needed her pregnant. He needed her to have a reason to stay with him. Sure, he would have gotten angry with his uncle. But he would have let it slide in the end. After all, at the time, she wasn’t family yet. He knew she was going to be. Just needed to be pregnant with their kid to forever tie her to him. But, at the time she was still somewhat floating in the air. Almost close enough to pull into their circle, but not quite there yet. The thing was, she changed that when she didn’t run away at the first chance she got. She’d stayed and she wasn’t even pregnant.

He wasn’t sure how his family didn’t see it. Didn’t realize that she was one of them? How could they still saw her as a stranger? As one of their potential victims?

She’s my wife! She’s not one of them! She was never meant to be one of them!

Thomas roared and threw his uncle across the room. He embraced the rage and anger that flowed through him. For probably the first time in his life, Hoyt looked up at Thomas in fear.

Everyone knew Thomas was capable of violence. After all, it was Thomas who killed their victims. Thomas was the they sent to capture those who tried to escape. And he was good at chasing them down with his chainsaw and ending their lives. It was during those times that he allowed himself to go into that zone of hate and anger. The world had been cruel and unkind to him, so he let himself pay it in kind. He indulged the darkness and take out his frustrations on their victims.

But he’d never once turned his rage on his family. How could he? He loved them and they loved him. They were the only people who cared about him. Who took care of him. Who raised him. Protected him when they could. And they didn’t have to. They had no real obligations toward him. He wasn’t truly Luda Mae’s son. She’d found him at the meat factory. Thrown away by his very mother who apparently worked there.

“You’ll always be one of us, Tommy. Don’t matter whose blood flows in your veins.”

Thomas stormed toward his uncle and grabbed the man’s ankles, pulling him back.

“Thomas!” Luda Mae screamed. “Thomas, stop!”

He ignored his mother. Hoyt fought back. Or at least, he tried to. But, Thomas managed to grab his shirt and twist the fabric again, easily pulling the old man back to his feet. Hoyt’s name tag dug into his skin, causing a sharp pain, but he didn’t care.

He threw Hoyt up against the wall.

She was supposed to feel safe… be safe!

“Tom-” Hoyt’s words were cut off when Thomas punched him again.

I can’t even tell her that I didn’t know. That you did this without my permission. That I would have never given you permission to hurt her like that. To rape her!

Thomas let out a frustrated cry of anger again.

That was probably one of the worst things about the whole situation. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t tell them how he felt. The betrayal of it all. The complete utter devastation and how broken she was now. He couldn’t tell her he had no knowledge. He couldn’t comfort her.

His lack of ability to really communicate had never been a problem before. Well, maybe in his early childhood. He had attended school, but it was one of the worst experiences of his life. His classmates teased and bullied him, while his teachers practically ignored him as if he weren’t there. He needed extra help with his work, and while his family were there for him, they didn’t see a real importance in getting an education.

Maybe he could have learned how to talk and communicate better, not perfectly, but something, had his family encouraged him. Had the kids at school not made fun of him. But, the bullying and neglect made him disinterested in talking all together. And his family respected his decision and didn’t push him. Talking wasn’t necessary for him in the end. There was no need. And he was content to listen to the family conversation and not join in.

Even when Elizabeth came into his life he figured it’d come to him just listening to her. That she wouldn’t want to get to know the man behind the mask. No one really did. But, it didn’t turn out that way. She actually tried to talk to him. Tried to have some sort of conversation with him to get to know him. She asked him questions about himself in ways that allowed him to answer. Hell, she had started to pick up on the meaning of certain noises that he made.

Oh how he yearned to be able to speak and form coherent words and not just make grunts and weird noises, just for her. Hell, even writing would be something. But he was illiterate as well. Knowing how to read and write wasn’t a problem when all he did for a living was butcher animals.

A book. The thought made him still for a moment. Yes. He needed to get her a book.

He’d heard that women like to read. Luda Mae always had some magazine on her. Thomas hadn’t been sure that Elizabeth even liked books. But, he gave her one that he still had lying around from one of their victims so she didn’t look so bored when she was recovering from her illness. It was clearly one of his better decisions. The way her eyes lit up with excitement had caused his heart to flutter and made him want to do that again. Get that reaction again.

Although, there had been a little bit of jealousy in him whenever he saw her reading a book. She seemed so fascinated and engrossed. He wanted to know what held her interest. Her eyes would sometimes light up and she’d get giddy at times. Why? He wanted to know. But, he couldn’t ask her. That would reveal he was illiterate. It would just be another mark on him. Another ding to show just how unworthy he was of her.

That won’t bring her back.

Thomas roared and his body shook with rage. He wasn’t worthy of her. He knew what he’d done was wrong. He knew forcing her to stay with him and live in his world wasn’t right. And he worked hard on making her life as simple and pleasant as could be. But that was all destroyed now.

You broke her!

“Tommy, stop!” Luda Mae called out, grabbing his arm in a vain attempt to stop him.

Thomas easily shrugged her off. No, he wasn’t going to stop. Not right now. His uncle was just lucky that he was family. Because it was the only thing that was keeping him from dragging the old man downstairs and introducing him to his chainsaw.

“Tommy, I did it for-” Hoyt’s words were stopped by another punch.

The sound of his uncle’s voice only infuriated him further. It was strange. He held his uncle in such high regard before, listening to him and sometimes even trying to emulate him. Any time his uncle praised him, he felt so proud. But right now, he just wanted the old man to shut up and keep quiet.

Thomas punched his uncle again. Only, the old man moved his head at the last second and Thomas’s fist went into the wall. He let out another sound of anger, mixed with pain. The name tag went a little bit deeper into his palm, forcing Thomas to let his uncle go. He took a step back to examine his hands.

Hoyt collapsed onto the ground without Thomas to hold him up.

Thomas stared at his bloody knuckles on his right hand, before turning to his left and opening his palm. He felt the pain flow through his arms. Pain… The pain didn’t matter. The pain… No wait… it did. It did matter. He deserved it. His uncle deserved it. Thomas felt both a sense of pride and need. He had to feel the pain. Had to punish himself as well as his uncle.

“God damnit, Tommy,” Hoyt wheezed. He slowly rose to his feet and spat out blood.

Luda Mae rushed toward her brother with a kitchen rag.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Uncle Monty snapped. Thomas glared at his uncle who was in a wheelchair.

Elizabeth had very little interaction with him over the rest of the family. At first, Elizabeth was meant to be Uncle Monty’s little caregiver. The old man had no legs, thanks to one of their victims and Thomas. He’d been shot in the leg and instead of taking him to the hospital, Hoyt had ordered Thomas to saw his leg off. Then the other “For balance”. Rather extreme, but Thomas didn’t question it.

But, Monty had made several “innocent” touches even in front of Thomas. He didn’t think Monty could do much else, he was in a wheelchair after all, but he wasn’t going to subject her to such treatment. Especially since Monty was good at playing innocent and using his disability as an excuse. Little did he realize that the real threat was Hoyt. Even after the incident months ago, Thomas still thought he could trust Hoyt to never try and rape her again.

“That bitch’s pussy,” Hoyt grunted.

Thomas let out a roar and rushed to his uncle.

“Thomas, stop!” Luda Mae commanded. A loud slap caught all of them by surprise. “That’s enough, Hoyt.”

Hoyt pressed his hand against his cheek in shock. “Owe, mama,” he said. His face was already swelling up, but he looked far more shocked that Luda Mae had slapped him.

Luda Mae stood up and placed her hands on her hips. She looked at Hoyt then at Thomas.

“I know you’re upset, son, but-” Luda Mae started.

“She lied to you,” Hoyt interrupted, spitting out more blood. He let out a grunt as he struggled to straighten his shoulder. “She tell you that? Made herself seem like she wanted to be a mama. But she don’t wanna have your kids, Tommy. We all fucked up. Really shouldn’t have-”

Thomas grabbed another mug and threw it at the wall, interrupting his uncle. The three adults froze as they watched him. Taking off his leather mask, he opened his mouth. He needed them to see. To know that his effort was serious.

His throat moved as he tried to figure out how to say it. He ignored the pain and tension from his struggle.

“W…” He shook his head and cleared his throat. Pointing up toward his room he tried again. “Ww… wwi… wwwife,” he managed to force out the simple word as firmly as possible. It was well worth the pain and difficulty. Although, he regretted not trying to say one word to her first.

The three adults looked at him, startled by his word.

“Tommy,” Luda Mae said softly as she took a step toward him, reaching her hand out.

He stamped his foot again, keeping his finger pointed up toward his room as he shook his head at them in disappointment. His room… no. Their room. Him and Elizabeth. His wife.

Still shaking his head, Thomas put his leather mask back on and took a step back from the three. His shoulders dropped and he lowered his arm. Exhaustion quickly replaced the rage and anger that was inside of him.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. Betrayed. They’d betrayed him by hurting her in such a way. Family? What kind of family were they?

“I’m sorry, son,” Hoyt said. “Had I known… but, Tommy. She was-”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he glared at his uncle.

Do it. Push me over that edge again. I won’t hold back. It was a lie though and he knew it. They probably knew it as well. He didn’t have the strength inside of him to kill anyone in his family.

“You’re right, Thomas,” Luda Mae said softly as she stepped in front of Hoyt. “Hoyt should never have taken to punishing her without your permission. She’s your wife. I guess we forgot about that. It would be so much easier if she had your kid, ya know? Truly make her a part of the family. But, I know it takes time. Just, Hoyt was angry on your behalf. He shouldn’t have done it. But, you know your uncle. Always wanting to protect ya.”

A part of the family. Thomas looked up in the direction of his room. But, she was a part of the family. They didn’t get that.

Giving his family one last look of disappointment, he shook his head and headed back upstairs. The stairs creaked with each step that he took. He just wanted to lay down in bed and cuddle up with her. Get her to soothe him, but he couldn’t ask that of her. He needed to be strong for her. Let her be the one to make the move, even though he was feeling pretty lonely.

Opening his bedroom door, he froze. Elizabeth sat on the bed. Her hands neatly folded on her lap. There was no way she hadn’t heard the commotion downstairs. No emotions, just a simple acceptance.

She licked her dry lips.

“Is it time to kill me now?” she asked.

He walked over to her and then rested his forehead against hers.

Never.

Taking in a deep breath, he slowly let it out. She smelled so good, as always. Pomegranate, she had said once. His mind brought up the memory of him giving her the shampoo. The way she popped the lid and took in a deep breath, smiling at him.

Straightening his stance, Thomas walked to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and placed his hands under the cool water. There was something fascinating about watching the blood flow down his fingers, revealing his peeled skin better. His blood for once. Not someone else’s.

The cold water seeped into his skin, but he refused to lift his hands. He hadn’t done enough. He should have beaten his uncle some more. Broken a few teeth, maybe a limb or two. Really messed him up. But he held back. He knew he did, despite his rage. He gave him just enough of a beating to bring attention to his anger, but not nearly enough to truly get revenge for Elizabeth.

Once again, he’d failed her.

A warm hand on his wrist startled him. He gasped and jerked up as he looked at Elizabeth. Her eyes were on his hands for a moment, before she turned her attention to the mirror. His body remained still as he watched her open the mirror and pull out the first aid kit that was behind it. It was an item she’d requested. He didn’t think it was of any use, but apparently it was.

Placing the kit on the tank lid for the toilet, she opened it. She pulled the hand towel from its hook and then moved his right hand out of the water. Her fingers felt so soft and delicate on his skin. She was gentle, as if she were worried she’d hurt him some more. Taking the towel, she gently pat his hand dry.

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to really breathe. Too afraid that one wrong move from his end would make her stop. She opened a bottle and dug her fingers into the jelly.

Thomas tensed, expecting some sort of sting or pain, but nothing happened as she gently coated his knuckles with a thin layer of the ointment. All too quickly, she was done and let that hand go. He wanted to reach out and kiss her, but her focus went to his other hand.

At first, he resisted, not wanting her to deal with that specific hand. It hurt a lot more than his other one did. But it was a pain he felt that he needed. But, he also didn’t want her to leave him just yet.

With a little sigh, he turned his hand and slowly opened his fingers. There were two clear cuts from the sharp edges of the name tag. He had ignored the pain as the plate dug into his skin, cutting into him while he held his uncle.

Elizabeth grabbed the plastic tube that had an ointment in it and squeezed some more out into his palm. Her fingers felt nice and she was gently but firm as she rubbed it into his cuts. Once she was done, she grabbed the only bandage that was in the kit and started to wrap it around his hand to cover the cuts.

Thomas felt a surge of panic. She was almost done and he didn’t want her to be. He wanted her to keep touching him.

She suddenly stopped, part of the bandage was still in her hand. He felt his heart pick up its beat. She probably remember now. She wasn’t supposed to care. Wasn’t supposed to try. Wasn’t supposed to feel.

Her own breathing deepened and a little tremble went through her body. He couldn’t help but marvel at how tiny her hands were compared to his, as her two hands held his one. Her eyes stayed focused on his palm. Slowly, her looked up at him.

“I don’t want to be here.” The words came out soft, her eyes pleading.

He stopped breathing for a moment. Then she snapped back into herself, pushing those emotions back. Clearing her throat, she looked back at his hand and finished wrapping it.

She hesitated for another moment, then let his hand go. Not another word came out of her mouth as she turned her back to him. Thomas swallowed back some saliva and watched her walk back into their room.

Yes, he thought as he nodded his head. I agree. I don’t want to be here either.

Chapter 19 - Hope

#thomas hewitt x oc #Smut #horror #fanfiction #Texas Chainsaw Massacre #noncon tw #tw noncon

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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 1 year ago

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Hiiiiii! I hope you don't mind doing a match up for me! I go by Matilda, Liana, or Lia.

Fandoms: Howl's moving Castle and My Hero Academia

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: honestly probably asexual? I'm not aro, just ace. I don't really have a preference to either gender either. I would like to be matched with one male and one female from mha in particular if that's okay!

Zodiac/mbti: Scorpio, intj

Appearance: 5 foot 1. Shoulder length brown hair which has layers from a now outgrown wolfcut, and hime-style bangs. Brown eyes. Fair skinned. I think I'm pear-shaped. I'm an adult but i look like a 15 year old, which can get annoying. I have dark circles under my eyes due in part to allergies and also genetics

Personality: Like I said I'm an intj. I'm also mildly nd. My sense of humour is sarcastic. I'm pretty introverted and my social battery runs out fast if there are too many people around. I can also be pretty sensitive but i tend to brush that off rather than actually correct anyone or set boundaries, which i find difficult. I'm the eldest daughter so I have the typical eldest daughter syndrome. I enjoy having affection from others and will return it too, however i rarely initiate it despite longing for it. I'm also smart but lack confidence especially when speaking in class. I get very quickly enraged by misogynistic talk and often have the urge to fight someone, but i talk in a way which is misunderstood.

I am compassionate, and if someone comes to me with a problem my first thought is to work out how to solve it, and I tend to give logical advice. I can feel like my own feelings are overlooked and I am probably affection-hungry.

Likes and Dislikes: I like ramen, countryside, cottagecore stuff, notebooks, crystals, toys, playing with my hair, sweet nicknames, and i dislike math, loud noises, and snoring.

Hobbies: reading, writing, art, crochet, games

Hi Lia! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like your matchups!

In Howl's Moving Castle, I match you with...

This was a close call here between Howl and Sophie but I think you and Howl would get along better due to your differences.

He’s surprisingly good at noticing when your social battery is getting low and will be more than happy to help you get out of the situation or give you some personal space.

Howl is so glad you like cottagecore, that’s one of his main aesthetics. The fact that you like that only makes his cluttering tendencies even worse.

There are a lot of loud noises in the castle but Howl’s magic means he can mute the sound somewhat so it doesn’t bother you.

This man is very attention hungry as well so it’s a win-win when you’re showing each other in affection. Howl’s really good at giving you attention so if you’re the same, it will be a great time for both of you.

In My Hero Academia, I match you with...

Tamaki is almost as different from Howl as possible but that doesn’t mean the two of you won’t get along amazingly.

You both lack confidence in yourselves but are supportive of each other so it balances out well. You can help each other when confidence is low.

Greatly values your compassionate nature. Tamaki needs a kind soul in his life to support him and he’s grateful for your presence. He’s also very compassionate and will reciprocate that nature for you.

Loves spending quality time with you, especially if you’re reading together or doing art. He finds it peaceful.

No loud noises to worry about when you’re around Tamaki. He’s avoiding them as well. If loud noises are unavoidable when you’re together, he’ll probably want to hold your hand for the mutual support.

In My Hero Academia, I also match you with...

Tsuyu is a good balance between Howl’s extroverted nature and Tamaki’s introverted personality. She’s an ambivert through and through, happy to be in the background or talk to new people.

Please crochet something for her! She needs to stay warm through winter so she’d love anything that fits that category. Scarves, gloves, jumpers, anything. She’ll treasure everything you make her.

I see Tsuyu as someone who likes crystals as well so she’ll bring some home if she’s out and about and finds some new ones you don’t have.

Really good at hyping you up when your confidence is low. She just knows what to say and when to say it to help your confidence build back up. She doesn't have many moments of low confidence but when she does, she would appreciate it if you do the same for her.

Respects your low social battery and will be more than happy to just spend time relaxing just the two of you. Especially during winter when her frog genes are acting up, she’s more likely to have her social battery run out as well so she likes being able to just be with someone she cares about.

#writing #fanfic #matchup #matchup request #request #howl's moving castle #howl pendragon #howl jenkins #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #tamaki amakiji #tsuyu asui

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stargazer-sims · 2 years ago

Text

Journal Entry #48 (part one)

previously - Journal Entry #47 (part two)

Victor

It's Tuesday.

People tend to think Tuesday is the most uninteresting day of the week, 'cause nothing important ever seems to happen on Tuesdays. Well, that's not true for our household. Not today, at least. On this particular Tuesday, all hell broke loose around here.

Okay, to be more accurate, all hell started breaking loose yesterday afternoon, when Mr. Okamoto came back from the airport with not only his wife but also his brother-in-law. Nobody had any idea Uncle Kaz was coming, not even Mr. Okamoto, and needless to say we were all shocked when he strolled through the door, larger than life.

Julian had what I can only describe as a fanboy moment when Mr. Okamoto introduced him and Uncle Kaz. To his credit, though, he recovered his composure pretty quickly when he realized his celebrity man crush is really a regular guy and also just as much of a nerd as he is. Yuki, on the other hand, didn't calm down until it was almost time for bed. It was hard to say who she wanted to cling to more, her mother or her beloved uncle.

On a side note, at the suggestion of Uncle Kaz, Yuki has started addressing Julian as "Uncle Julian" instead of "Dr. Britt". He's tickled pink over it.

Anyway, in case you weren’t aware, Uncle Kaz brings the party with him wherever he goes. In the midst of all the madness, a boys' night somehow got planned for when things settle down, so Mr. Okamoto, Julian and Uncle Kaz can further their newfound three-way bromance. It was implied that Yuri and I are not invited, which is actually fine with me. I'm not sure either of us could handle it.

Yesterday evening was chaotic. I was grateful that I'd been able to excuse myself from it for a while and spend some time by myself, recording my journal entry. Usually, I don't mind lots of activity, but I'm still not feeling the best, and the constant noise and motion all around me were getting to be too much. The house is a little quieter tonight, by virtue of the fact that Mom, Julian and I are the only ones here, so I'm taking the opportunity to rest and tell you how things have been unfolding since yesterday.

The latest development, which I guess you may already know, is that I'm able to go up and down stairs now if someone helps me. Since stairs are back in my repertoire, I decided I'd spend last night with Yuri in his room so Uncle Kaz could take my spot in the dining room.

Uncle Kaz made jokes about not being able to sleep in his own bedroom in his own house — Yuri's room, as it happens — but his humour was good-natured and no one took it personally. I think he was happy to have his house so full. Meanwhile, Mrs. Okamoto claimed her spot in the laundry room with her husband and Yuki. I don't think this place was ever intended to accommodate eight people, but there we were.

I probably don't need to tell you that Yuri and I had a difficult night. He was in so much pain that no position was comfortable for him, and neither his parents nor I could do anything to ease his discomfort.

I managed to sleep a bit while his mother sat with him, but she woke me up when she was starting to fall asleep herself and said she needed to go to bed. Mr. Okamoto came in after that. He read to us, which I would've enjoyed if it hadn't been for the fact that I was too stressed to concentrate on it. I think he was reading out loud to distract himself more than to occupy us, but far be it from me to complain, in any case. The thought was still there, and that's what mattered.

Toward dawn, Yuri started throwing up, whether from the infection running wild inside him or simply from the amount of pain he was in, I didn’t know.

It was pretty traumatic, hovering uselessly by the bathroom door and hearing him cry for me between bouts of violent retching. There was nothing I wished for more in that moment than to have some magical power where I could hold him and make all his suffering go away. I wanted to be able to fix everything. Knowing I couldn't was like trying to rescue somebody I couldn't reach, just barely touching their hand and then having to watch them fall when I failed to hang on.

"Yuri, Victor's there in the doorway," Mr. Okamoto tried to assure him for about the fourth or fifth time. "There isn't room in here for all of us, but I promise he hasn't left you. He's right there."

Yuri's reply was practically unintelligible, but I made out my name and that he was scared. I couldn't tell what he was saying he was scared about, but in his condition, he certainly had plenty of reasons.

"It's gonna be all right, Yuri," I said, hoping I sounded convincing. "Your dad's taking care of you, and I'm not going anywhere. When you're all done in here, we can go back to bed, okay?"

"Okay," was the barely audible reply.

However, Yuri and I didn't end up back in bed together. He was so weak from pain and fever and the effort of his stomach forcibly emptying itself that he actually passed out in his father's arms.

I'm not ashamed to say I lost any sense of composure I might've had at that point. I'd already pretty much reached the threshold at which I stopped taking no for an answer, but that sealed it for me. Yuri was going to the hospital, whether he wanted to or not. I'd never seen him faint before, and if I'm being completely honest, I was terrified. There was no way we could cope with this at home any more.

Mr. Okamoto was in one hundred percent agreement with me about taking Yuri to the hospital. Like me, he'd been willing to let him stay home for a while, but the situation had escalated from serious to urgent, and nobody was interested in taking any more risks.

"We should call emergency services," I said. The way my voice was shaking might've embarrassed me under other circumstances, but just then I didn't really care what anyone might’ve thought of me.

Fortunately, Mr. Okamoto was the cool head we needed in the midst of our crisis. He addressed me in English, and it startled me enough to snap me out of my panic. "Victor, are you able to get dressed by yourself?"

"What?" I stammered.

I'll never get used to hearing my father-in-law speaking English. He sounds so unequivocally British that it's obvious he learned it in the UK, and it catches me by surprise every time. I don't know why it does, especially since Yuri's accent in English is that stereotypical posh British one too, but anyway... maybe it's because Mr. Okamoto doesn’t speak English to me very often, and in between times I sort of forget.

I took a breath and answered him before he had to repeat himself. "I, uh... I'm not sure if I can. Not completely. I might need some help."

"Very well," he said. "I'll help you. I'm not keen on waiting for emergency services take their time finding their way up the mountain. We'll take Yuri to the hospital ourselves. I'll drive."

"Okay," I said, because there was really no other answer.

"Could you go and wake Rei?" he asked, and then as if he thought I might not know who he meant, he amended, "Mrs. Okamoto. She can write a note for Kazuya and your parents. I don't think it's necessary to wake the entire household, do you?"

I thought about it, and concluded he was right. Mom and Julian would certainly want to know what was happening with Yuri, and I was sure Uncle Kaz would as well, but there was nothing they could do just then. It made sense to let them get as much sleep as possible. I could call my mom from the hospital later, once I was satisfied that Yuri was in safe hands and that he'd be all right.

"I'll be right back," I said.

"Be careful," said my father-in-law.

Mrs. Okamoto was already awake, as it turned out. She was sliding the laundry room door open before I even finished knocking. Despite having claimed she was exhausted, I assumed she hadn't gone back to sleep at all after Mr. Okamoto came to trade places with her in taking care of Yuri. I couldn't say I blamed her. She was probably too worried to sleep.

She asked me what was going on, and I quickly explained everything. I even awkwardly blurted out that Mr. Okamoto was going to help me with my clothes so that we could get going sooner.

"I'm already dressed. I'll help you, if you don't mind," she said. "Kenji will have his hands full enough."

Any other time, I would've said no, but this was not the moment to turn down well-intentioned assistance.

"That'd be good," I said. "Thank you. And would you mind writing a note for my mom, please? I don't want to get her out of bed, but I also don't want to just leave without telling her anything. I'd do it myself, but.. you know.”

"Of course," she replied. "I understand."

"Thanks."

We'd just turned to head back to Yuri's room when Mr. Okamoto emerged from the bathroom with Yuri in his arms. I caught the scent of Yuri's favourite strawberry soap. His father must've been trying to clean him up as best as possible, which I know from experience is not easy when the person you’re washing has absolutely no strength to participate in the task.

Even though I couldn't make out any details, I could tell Yuri was awake again. It looked like he was clutching his father's shirt. He was making small whimpering noises; not quite crying, but rather making the sound of someone who's too weak and exhausted to cry.

"I'm sorry, Papa," I heard him say. "I'm sorry."

I felt like my heart might shatter into a thousand pieces at that. The idea that Yuri thought he had to say he was sorry tore at me, and I wanted to tell him he had nothing to apologize for, especially not to his father. It wasn't his fault that he was sick. It wasn't anyone's fault, and he wasn't letting anyone down because of being unwell.

I had the irrational urge to yell at my father-in-law, This is what you've done to him! But of course I didn't. That would've been the worst possible thing.

I reminded myself that it was evident Mr. Okamoto was trying, and even though his current efforts were nowhere near enough to undo the years of emotional harm he'd caused, it was still progress. Maybe he was moving in the right direction to repair the damage he'd done, and if that was the case, I didn't want to be the one to break that fragile new thread between him and Yuri.

I wondered how Mr. Okamoto would respond, or if he'd even respond at all. I caught myself holding my breath. Forcing myself to exhale, I took a shaky step forward, my mother-in-law guiding me with her hand in the crook of my elbow.

What happened in the following seconds was unexpected and absolutely extraordinary.

Mr. Okamoto, who was still moving steadily toward Yuri's room, said quietly, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You… you shouldn't have to do this."

"You're my son," Mr. Okamoto said. "It's not about whether or not I have to. Do you remember what I promised you a long time ago?"

"No," Yuri admitted.

"I promised I'd always take care of you. That you'd always be my treasure. Even if you don't remember, I do."

"I… I'm sorry.” Yuri’s voice broke on the last syllable, and he made a sound that might’ve been a sob if it’d had any energy behind it.

"Shh… it’s all right, Yuri. Everything’s going to be all right.”

"It... it isn't. I promised myself... I wouldn't..."

The tail end of whatever Yuri was saying was mumbled, and they were passing through the bedroom doorway too, so I didn't understand it, Obviously his father did, though. Mrs. Okamoto and I had just reached the doorway ourselves when he said, "You're not a failure. Being who you are is all I ever expected from you."

"But, you don't like it," Yuri said miserably. "Who I am."

"I don't always agree with your choices, but that doesn't mean I don’t like who you are,” Mr. Okamoto said. “You haven’t failed at anything in my eyes. Even if you had, I wouldn't try to justify breaking my promise because of it.”

“But… you stopped loving me. I thought… Why…?”

As Mr. Okamoto carefully laid Yuri on the bed, he replied so softly that I wouldn’t have heard it if I’d been more than a couple meters away. "No, my treasure, I’ve never stopped loving you. I’m sorry if you believed I did. No matter what, I will never stop loving you.”

#ts4 #sims 4 #eagames #snowy escape #victorsworldadventures #Victor Nelson #Yuri Okamoto #Kenji Okamoto #Rei Okamoto #tw sickness #tw chronic illness #tw vomiting #tw injury #tw hospital #stargazersims

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eggoatt · 1 year ago

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Hi! I know I left a comment on my reblog, but I felt the need to send something a little more heartfelt. I'm going to try to be normal about this lol

That picture you drew was the first thing I saw this morning, and it has been sitting on one of my monitors ever since, just so I can glance at it any time I want—which quite honestly has been incredibly frequent.

It might seem like I'm a little too excited about this, but it's a huge deal to me. Before I started putting fics out (just south of a year ago now) I hadn't written anything in nearly a decade, so I didn't really have any expectations for what I put out. Of course, I thought about how cool it'd be if someone drew something directly inspired by something I wrote, but I always considered that a kind of a lofty thing? Would be nice if it happened, but I wasn't expecting it. And if it did happen, it'd probably happen much later on when I'm a little better at writing.

All of that to say this is the first time I've inspired anyone to make art from my material. That means so much to me and I am unbelievably grateful to you for that. Also, WOW, it's from someone who has also drawn one of my absolute most favorite SciSet pics ever too?? I adore the way you draw Sunset, so when I saw this was from you I actually gasped so loud my wife heard me from the other room lol.

I mentioned this briefly in my reblog, but I really love the way this picture is composed. When I write scenes, they tend to play out in my mind in full motion with great detail, so what I envision can be incredibly specific, yet I really feel like you managed to capture details I hadn't really put words to. The color scheme in particular—lots of blues and purples, but with just the right amount of saturation to match the pink. Visual arts are not my forte, so I apologize if that doesn't make the most sense.

Lastly, I would like to ask just a couple things:

Would you be alright with me posting a blog about this on fimfic? This might seem like kind of a weird question, but I always like to make sure I clear this kind of thing with someone first. Naturally your username and links to everything would be prominently featured.

May I put this in the author's note of Chapter 8(b)? Just like before, your username and links will be prominently featured alongside it (also, if you'd like to send me a watermarked version, I'd be alright with putting that up too). I just really love this picture and would love it to be the way people visualize that part of the chapter, but I want to make sure that's alright with you first, and I also want to make sure you get the credit you deserve.

Anyway, I won't ramble any longer than necessary. Sorry for throwing a book in your inbox, but thank you for the picture, and for ensuring that no matter what else happens today, I have something to be happy about 🥰

hi!!

we've actually been mutuals for a little while (you reblogged something of mine, and i liked your taste in horse content) but back in april by complete coincidence i stumbled across your fimfic account as well and kind of fell in love with your work. the way you write sunset, your inner voice for her, speaks to me on an insane level to the point where it's informed some of my personal projects (ocs) a bit. i also really enjoyed seeing how rapidly and drastically your writing had improved over the works you had up at the time-- it made me really excited to see what you would do in the future! i even made a new account and started using the site again just so i could keep up :3 if nothing else, you've touched this creature's heart very deeply

like i said in the original tags, i've been meaning to make fanart of this scene for MONTHS and finally releasing those brainworms felt a bit like an exorcism, lol. i'm so happy i hit the mark and brought you as much joy as you've brought me !!!!

to answer your questions!:

sure!! it is fanart For You after all

same as above, go for it :3 (it is actually watermarked already! i prefer making it difficult to see so it's not distracting. take a closer look at sunset's elbow)

silly bonus trivia about the drawing: i needed a visual reference to help me with the poses, and the best ref i found just so happened to be a picture with obama in it. it's not my fault they look so tender

#woofbarkmeow

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rrenzwrld · 3 years ago

Text

mama’s baby, daddy’s maybe

a third part just in case someone wanted it.

enjoy! @mellyie @sunandstarsco

3:30PM - SATURDAY

“So you wanna leave at 5?” Armin asked as he sat up at the island.

“Hmm.. I don’t know… It shouldn’t take nothing but like, what thirty minutes?”

“Yeah but traffic could be really bad down there. And I wanna make sure we have a seat.” I nodded in understanding. I contemplated on how long it would take to get Celest and myself ready.

“Well let me get Celest up-“

“I’ll get Celest up. You get ready.” I was about to mention himself but I noticed he was already dressed in a cream colored sweater tucked into a pair of dark jeans. I’d be lying if I said that Armin never dressed himself well.

“So you’ll get Celest dressed while I..?”

“Yes, Chy. I got Celest, go get ready.” He laughed.

After I had gotten my shower and freshened up, I dressed myself in a cropped white tank top, light jeans, and a cream-colored cardigan. I didn’t wanna dress up too fancy for it all to be for no reason. I let my faux locs fall down to my waist, not bothering to style it into anything.

“You ready?” Armin opened the door just a enough to poke his head through.

“Yeah. Where’s Cee?” Armin opened up the door a little wider so that she could come running in, dressed cute in the Titan’s colors, forest green and white.

“There’s my baby!” I picked her up and sat her on my hip. “You look so pretty~” I peppered her soft cheeks in kisses as she had a giggling fit in my arms.

“I see you did her hair.” I looked at Armin’s attempt at small space buns and didn’t complain. “I like it.”

“Aw,” He sits down on the bed and I put down Celest. “I try. I though you said you were ready.” I kept switching between the white block heel boots and white leather converses.

“I am, I’m just…”

“The boots.” I turned to Armin with the boots in hand.

“Really? I don’t wanna look too fancy..” He rolled his eyes, probably fed up with me by now.

“You’ll be fine~ we gotta go!”

We pulled up to the venue, meeting Layla there. Armin practically rushed us in the stadium after security met us at the gate. Armin explained that Layla and I were accompanying him and with his words, he found a way to get us in without tickets or verification. I couldn’t be more grateful.

“Armin, thank you so much.”

“My pleasure. There’s seats close to courtside if you wanna grab them before it’s too late.” He says, handing me Celest’s diaper bag.

“You’re not watching with us?” Layla frowned. He held up the expensive camera that was around his neck and waved it at us.

“I got a job to do. Bye~” He waved to Celest, Layla, and I before jogging off somewhere. We found some seats a row above courtside and sat, waiting for the game to start.

Surprisingly enough, Celest sat fairly still in my lap as she played silently with her basketball plush. Her eyes would go from the small toy to what was going on out on the court. At that moment, I didn’t have a particular emotion because this all happened too fast. This could all be a dream as far as I knew.

“Don’t look now but..” Layla nudged me softly and pointed out to the court.

“What?”

“Number two..” My eyes scanned the court for a player with the number two jersey to see what she was talking about. And there I saw him, warming up on the court. He looked exactly how I left him. As if we were fresh out of high school again. I looked at Celest and noticed we were looking out at the same thing. The difference was that I knew who it was out there, she didn’t and I was gonna fix that.

After I got out of my trance, “Layla, when does the game start?”

“7 I think. You better scream as loud as you can when he hit that 3-pointer.” She joked. I shoved her playfully.

“Shut up.” I laughed.

The game started and I could feel the energy of everyone in the room as it erupted in screams and clapping. I had never seen Connie play before now if it wasn’t at a high school game and at that moment I knew. He had every right to be on that court. He did everything so effortlessly as if it all came natural to him. I was so proud of him and I wasn’t even sure if he remembered me.

“Woooo! C’mon Cee. Let’s cheer for daddy! Woooo!” Layla had sat Celest in her lap and used her little hands to clap with the rest of the crowd.

“Layla.” I side-eyed her to keep her voice down.

“What? Nobody’s listening.” I looked around and my eyes landed on a older woman who resembled Connie. I recognized her as his mother and didn’t expect her to be so close. But then again, we were near the courtside and if it wasn’t other celebrities down there, it was the parents and families of the players.

I rapidly tapped on Layla’s shoulder and her head snapped towards me.

“Girl what?” I pointed to the lady who was sitting courtside a few seats away from us.

“Who’s that?”

“Connie’s mom.” Her mouth hung wide in surprise.

“Can we say hi?”

“No!” Celest started to whine and a foul smell clouded my nose. I picked up Celest and put her diaper bag over my shoulder. “I’m gonna change Celest. Don’t do anything stupid.” I loved Layla, but it was a shame how I had to warn her not to do anything stupid even if she was old enough to know not to do it.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine…”

I went to the bathroom to change Celest and was about to leave out when a beautiful woman stopped us as she was drying her hands. She was dressed in a tight dress and red bottoms, with long bone-straight hair that nearly reached her butt. She was probably a basketball wife, just one that was actually nice enough to speak.

“She’s really cute.” The woman complimented as I held onto Celest’s small hand.

“Thank you so much! You wanna say thank you, CeeCee?” Celest managed to say somewhat of a ‘thank you’ to the woman before we headed out and back onto the court. I looked over and saw that Layla had stayed put so I sighed in relief.

“So what happened? Did I miss anything?” I asked as I sat down with Celest in my lap.

“It’s a time out right now. Want some fries?”

After the game, Armin texted me and told me to wait for him to come get us. After waiting a few minutes, Celest started to get antsy so I stood up and started to leave, trying to look for Armin myself.

“Chy. What are you doing?” Layla questioned as she followed behind me.

“Going to look for Armin. I gotta hurry up and get home so I can get ready for work tomorrow.” I got Celest’s bottle of apple juice and handed it to her, to hold her for a bit until we got home.

“You call him?”

“No, I-“

“Leaving so soon?” A voice called out from behind me. I picked up Celest and put her on my hip with her juice in hand. I didn’t turn around. Did I already know who it was?

#aot #aot x reader #aot x oc #aot connie #connie #connie springer #basketball au

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eclecticpatrolroadlawyer · 3 years ago

Text

We Hate you

Masterlist

Notes: This is the first part.

Summary: What if you love someone and fully trust him betrays you in the worst possible way?

Pairings: Husband! Nick Fowler x wife! Reader (Y/n)

Warnings: angst, betrayed, death.

Prequel of "Ruin"// ''We love you''(alternate ending of Ruin)

Y/n's pov

'He is late again' I sighed at the thought. It has been going on like this for 10 weeks now.

Hell even more than that but I am tired of keeping counts. It has been like this since he came from a particular mission. He had been distant from me. No kisses, no hugs. He was a CIA agent so, it was normal for him to be busy but today was our anniversary night. I was supposed to surprise him with my pregnancy test. It was wrapped in a beautiful light green box with pink wrap. But these days, I don't know it feels like he has been intentionally avoiding me. I sigh at these thoughts again doubting Nick would ever cheat on me or not. I still remember the first day we met after all I am the core key of the CIA and they have to protect me from all those threats I have been getting. That's why they hired Nick as my bodyguard who is an outstanding agent of the CIA. One of the most successful agents who never failed. I closed my eyes thinking about the day when I and Nick met.

-"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, please meet Nick Fowler. The best agent in our department." Agent Derek says coming in through the door.

I move my eye from him to a handsome fellow beside him. 'Wow! He is handsome' was my first thought without realising I said it out loud.

-Suddenly when Nick smirked and said "Well, this handsome fellow is grateful that she can serve a beautiful lady like you, Miss Y/n".

I blinked and furrowed my eyes for a sec and winced realising that I said it out loud.

- " I am sorry Mr Nick for my inappropriate action. I didn't realise my thoughts slipped out. This doesn't happen usually and I can guarantee you this will never happen again. " I smiled.

-"Well if I am showered with such comments, then I don't mind, Miss Y/n." He winked at me and smirked seeing the effect he has on me.

I was amazed and shocked by his smooth flirty nature actually and yeah you can say flustered too. It was the first time I was so damn nervous after meeting a guy. I came to feel the tension between us. I was so mesmerised at that moment that I didn't realise that we both were having a staring contest.

-Suddenly, we both were forced to get out of our trance after we heard Mr Derek clearing his throat and saying "So, as I can see Miss Y/n, he is to your liking. So, we are gonna move on and start our meeting discussing the terms and conditions now. Are you ready, miss Y/n? ".

-I nodded while staring back at those beautiful blue eyes which have become dark now with lust "Yes, I am ready."

After that day, he became my bodyguard and then as days went by, he became my boyfriend and without realising and in a blink of an eye, he became my husband and my true soulmate for the rest of my life. I sighed happily thinking about all our days together caressing my 2 weeks pregnant belly thinking about our child but was interrupted by sudden movements inside the house. I opened my eyes instantly.

'What the hell, why I wasn't notified of any external presence inside the house. Is it Nick? But I should have heard or noticed his car coming...' I furrowed my eyes.

I gulped nervously. Even though I knew how to fight but due to my pregnancy I have been weak. I took my pocket knife from the nightstand and slowly moved toward the living room. I looked around for a while but there was no one. No sign of anything. I checked here and there to look for any signs but nothing. My brain sighed in relief but my feelings and heart didn't. I knew something was wrong. I was never wrong after all I was also a successful agent one time. After some minute, I sighed and started walking back towards our shared bedroom when suddenly I heard a sudden noise behind me. Shuffling noise u can say. I froze and suddenly swung my knife at whoever the person was there but suddenly someone caught my hand in defence but before I could do anything, the person spoke "Hey, baby it's me, Nick. Don't worry. You are safe" I sighed in relief but soon I asked "But why didn't I notice your car. I should have noticed huh!? "

"Well, my car is in the garage so, I walked on my own and came home. Sorry I didn't inform you. " He said but I noticed a slight nervousness in his voice but decided to ignore it since it was our anniversary night.

I circled my arms around him and rub my nose against him. "Well, it's okay. But you scared me there you know." I closed my eyes taking in his smell as we twirl around and danced together without any music though but just enjoying the beautiful peaceful time. His smell makes me feel soo safe that I feel like I am home. Without him, I don't think I can ever imagine what's family and home are. I wanted to cry but I know how much it hurts to see tears in my eyes. I look up at him and his beautiful blue eyes as he placed his hands on my hips.

"I love you, you know" I smiled as my eyes softens taking in his handsome face. But suddenly I felt his body tense around my body and he squeezed my hips lightly as if he was nervous but his face didn't show anything. I furrowed my eyebrows in lack of response and as soon as I was gonna ask what was going on, I was interrupted by him asking if I wanna enjoy the wine he brought. I stayed silent for a sec but then I nodded my head saying yes.

While he was gone to fill our glass, I sat on a chair near the table deep in thought about his odd behaviour toward Nick. I didn't notice he was back until he tapped on my shoulders asking me "Are you okay, honey? You seem a little tense and spaced out there.". I gulped down the lump forming in my throat and set aside my thought saying " Yes, everything is alright hubby, just was thinking how I got so lucky to have you for so long." I smiled. Again his hold tighten around my shoulder but for a sec then he made me stand up and gave me the glass. "It's okay darling but I think I am the one who is lucky to have you." He smiled and added, "So, let's set aside the talks and thoughts and let's cherish and celebrate this moment by drinking our glass darling. Cheers!"

After clinking our glass together, we drank and then he suddenly hold his hand out lovingly and asked bowing a little "May I have this dance, your highness?".After I put my hand into his hand, I asked Siri to play 'Can't help falling in love with you by Hailey Reinhart.

As we danced together, suddenly I felt my chest tighten as if felt like someone is trying to choke me. I wanted to breath and my heart was beating so fastly as if it's also trying to breath. My vision was starting to blur and I let go off Nick and stumbled upon the chair and then I fell down and I saw Nick kneeling with eyes full of guilt saying sorry over and over again.

"What did you do you fucking bastard?" I hissed angrily grabbing his collar tightly with all my strength I could have. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" I ask again screaming in front of his face and breathing heavily.

"You know I was assigned to do this before we met. All of this was just play to make your guard down and lure you in. " He said removing my hair from my face and putting it behind my ears with his monotonous voice and cold eyes

At that time, I felt like my whole life was a lie. That all of this was an act the moments we shared everything. Our first kiss, sex,marriage everything. Tears started to roll down my eyes slowly as I stare shockingly at him. I couldn't belive and hear anything anymore. 'What about our baby?' I thought. I don't have words to describe my feeling anymore. I don't know what to say. But I wanted all of this to be a bad dream and lie. 'No! No! Please wake up. Please someone wake me up. Please. Please.' "Please"I choked out as I closed my eyes tightly letting my tears fall. I wanted to cry loudly, scream, pound on his chest asking why.

"Why? WHY?" I choked as I suddenly start coughing up blood and breathing heavily. Many questions were going through my mind but one question I wanted to ask before I die. "Di... Did you ever fall in love with me?" I asked looking at him in his eyes searching for an answer or something hope. My eyes were begging him to say something but all I got was silence. I didn't know what to do, I wanted to scream break things and gosh... I don't know.

Then I heard the heels clicking around the house on the floor . I opened my eyes to see her. Mace. It was the most worst feeling I felt. I wanted to puke. I looked at him with my wide horrified eyes wanting to ask if it's what it looks like but I couldn't find anything in his cold monotonous eyes. Nothing. No hope. It felt as if I was staring into eyes of soulless empty person completely opposite of the person I knew who was my husband. Then she knelt down in front of me gripping my jaw she made me look at her and said "You know, being his wife, you were pretty lame." She smirked and whispered in my ear lightly so that Nick couldn't hear " But thanks to you and your dumbass brain, he is all mine now darling." She winked and let go off my jaw.

I felt pathetic at that time. Felt weak and hated myself that I couldn't do anything . I hated myself that I wasn't a good mother and couldn't protect my unborn child. It didn't even took his first breath and I couldn't ever hear it's voice calling me 'Mama'. I wanted to cry. But I couldn't let them enjoy the moment of seeing my pathetic state. I took a deep breath in and said what I wanted to say with all my strength left in me cause I knew Nick loved me and what will he feel when he will look into the gift I chose for him. I knew Nick very well or not. I don't know but still I had to say it. "You know don't ever be sorry. I trusted you. Gave my whole heart. My mistake, not yours" I said as he looked at me as if his whole world crumpled down but he was quick to cover it under his cold eyes . That's why I choked out with all my strength left in me "We hate you but still forgive you after all I loved you . Hope you love your gift I chose for you, Darling. " and then I let darkness engulf me thinking about the family we could have if this didn't happen as I felt the world disappear under my closing eyelids.

IT WASN'T

YOUR FAULT.

IT WAS MINE,

FOR BELIEVING

EVERY WORD

YOU SAID.

A/n (Author's note) : Should I write Nick Fowler's pov too?

Note: Hey guys! Hope u like it. English is actually my second language so, if there's any mistake u can inform me by messaging me privately. And PLEASE REBLOG and DON'T STEAL MY WORK. Please like and comment too so, that I can know ur guys views. Thank u for reading guys! Have a nice day and please comment if u wanna be tagged in.

@angstysebfan @cjand10 @medelinee @tapedeck-hearts @adoringsebstan

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adoringhaikyuu · 4 years ago

Text

when their teammate has a crush on you

characters: kageyama, kenma, oikawa, tanaka

warnings: nothing, just some pouty boys and possessiveness

notes: i stumbled upon @kageyuji‘s take on this while i was writing! so i thought i might as well give them a shoutout!

kageyama:

you already know this boy speaks up with no shame

and he will glare at anyone who gets in his way or on his nerves, especially when they do anything to you

so when hinata doesn’t even try to hide that he likes you, saying boldly “well why should i lie?”

you could only imagine the rage that kageyama is feeling

he doesn’t even want you in the same room as hinata sjkdfghsdj

he will pick either you or hinata up and take you away, depending on the situation

or he’ll take hinata’s face in his hand and just throw him away

but the boy always bounces right back, somehow unharmed and you’re grateful for that

but anyway it’s not that hinata is necessarily trying to break the two of you up, it’s more that he’s genuinely confused as to why you’re with kageyama

“how could you possibly like this bully? is there something wrong with you?”

he got chased by kageyama immediately after saying that––

your eyes widened as you saw a flash of orange jump in front of you as you walked towards the gym, ready to meet kageyama to go home. “y/n! y/n! could you please throw some balls for us?! yachi had to go home but we really wanna practice some more!”

you stepped back and your boyfriend came out of nowhere, practically smacking the other boy out of the air, leaving him to crouch on the ground, clutching the top of his head as he scowled at the dark-haired boy. “calm down you idiot! y/n doesn’t have to if they don’t want to! they’re probably tired anyway and just wanna go home.” he turned to you and gave you a small smile. “you wanna go?”

you looked between the two. “i mean...i can help you guys practice for a little bit.”

the other boy sprung up again. “oh! thank you! thank you!”

your boyfriend bowed his head quickly. “thank you.”

you smiled up at him and he felt his cheeks redden. “of course, tobio.” a smile spread on his face as well but it was short-lived as hinata spoke up, suddenly inches away from the two of you.

“what’s up with your face? why do you look like that?”

kageyama scowled down at him. “nothing’s wrong with my face! what’s wrong with your face?!”

“why are you yelling at me?!” hinata turned to you, “he’s so mean! how are you with him?” he looked down and mumbled to himself, “i wouldn’t treat you like this...”

kageyama’s eyes widened with rage. “what was that?!”

“n––nothing!” the smaller boy backed up, eyes wide with fear.

“you know what? we’re leaving.” kageyama stormed into the gym and quickly got his things, ignoring hinata’s pleas.

“aw what? why?! come on kageyama!” he turned to you, “y/n please––”

suddenly you were facing your boyfriend’s back as he stood in front of you to glare at the other boy. “don’t even think about it. we’re done for today.” he turned to you and grabbed your hand, tightening his hold when you waved goodbye to a pouting hinata.

when you were almost off the premises you looked up at kageyama. “you know you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous,” you smirked up at him and he stuttered in shock.

“what–i–you––”

you laughed and kissed the back of his hand softly, immediately giving him a nosebleed. you handed him a tissue which he gratefully took, glaring at you weakly.

“you know i’m yours, right?”

he swallowed and blinked a couple times before nodding once.

“then you have nothing to worry about, okay?”

he started muttering to himself, the only words you could make out being “idiot” and “dumbass”. you placed your hands on his cheeks and he stopped and looked down at you, eyes wide.

“okay, tobio?”

he nodded. “okay.” he paused. “but that doesn’t mean i’m going to be nicer to that idiot––”

you laughed. “yeah baby, i know.”

kenma:

let’s say you’d been dating kenma for a while now, a little lowkey

and everything is fine, everything is going really well

kenma likes it when you hang around the team, the team likes you

you’re like a part of the squad

and kenma’s feeling great about it

until lev comes along––

kenma already doesn’t like this boy, he doesn’t even know how to hit a ball properly––

but when kenma notices the way the tall boy blatantly stares at you during practice, the way he always tries to butt into your conversations and show off to you...

kenma’s practically radiating angry chihuahua energy, the air around him red and he looks like he’s two seconds away from biting––

if lev interrupts your convo w him sometimes he’d just stare at the boy deadpanned and go back to his conversation with you, “anyway–”

or he’d take your hand and lead you away

or he’d literally just say “go away, lev.” and the poor boy would just pout and whine, “aww what? why?”

one time lev tried to tag along on one of your dates and you had to step in front of kenma so he wouldn’t kick the boy in the shins or something

lev really wasn’t trying to do any harm, he was just a big lanky puppy who had a little crush on you

but still, kenma wasn’t having any of that

kuroo leaned on the wall next to where kenma was leaning against it, sipping his water during their ten minute break. he smirked down at his friend teasingly, “so what are you gonna do about your new competition?”

kenma wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, putting the bottle on the floor as he practically snarled. “shut up.”

“woah,” kuroo smiled, raising his hands up in mock surrender. “put your claws away, man. i’m just asking.”

kenma simply grumbled in response, making his friend laugh.

“well you should think fast cause it looks like he’s getting real close to y/n right now––”

kenma’s head snapped up immediately and his jaw clenched when he took in the sight across the gym. lev was lying on the bench, practically half his body folded, his legs bent on the ground, his head on your lap, his eyes closed.

kenma huffed and stomped over to you two, some of his other teammates jumping out of his way when they felt the almost deadly aura around him. he stopped right in front of you and you looked up at him.

he blinked. “why is lev on you?”

you shrugged, “he said his head was hurting and then just plopped his head in my lap.”

said boy finally opened his eyes and perked up, “oh hi kenma! my head’s been hurting from all this hard practice so i thought i’d rest a bit.”

your boyfriend’s eye twitched. “on y/n?”

“yeah!” the boy smiled, somehow completely oblivious to the setter’s rage. “they’re real soft, you know––”

“yes.” kenma interrupted, blunt as ever. “i know.”

noticing the increasing tension, you spoke up. “hey lev?” he looked at you happily. “your head’s feeling better now, right?”

“well i guess so...”

“maybe you should go get some water and some fresh air then, yeah?”

he pouted, “but maybe i should stay for just a little longer–” kenma was about to pop a blood vessel.

“trust me,” you guided him up gently. “this is what’s best for your health.”

as soon as he agreed and walked away from you, you looked up at your boyfriend with a smile on your face and pat your thighs. he eagerly took lev’s place and looked up at you with a furrow in his brows that you were quick to smooth out with your thumb, smiling when he visibly melted at your touch. you ran your fingers through his scalp to calm him down and he purred, leaning into your hands.

“stupid lev...” he mumbled to himself and you laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead, making him blush immediately.

“you have nothing to worry about, okay? i’m yours.”

he blinked, trying to calm his heartbeat, a small smile on his face. “good.”

oikawa:

alright let’s switch things up a lil bit and mention someone i’ve personally like never seen mentioned in this scenario

let’s say mad dog likes you

oh boy

so at first oikawa thinks he’s seeing things

but once he notices how kyoutani opens the door for you, the way his eyes linger on you a little more when you come to practices or to the games, the way he gives you a small smile every now and then––

kyoutani doesn’t smile for anybody!!––

oikawa’s eyes narrow and he gets a bad feeling in his gut

otherwise known as jealousy

now he knows you’d never leave him or anything like that, but the fact that you start getting closer to the walking time bomb and you become the only other person that he listens to besides iwaizumi––

oikawa doesn’t like that at all

he’d get all pouty and would literally drag you away from your conversations with the younger boy, almost whimpering when he glares and practically growls at him

“where is y/n-chan??” oikawa asked to no one in particular, his hands on his hips.

kindaichi stopped and picked up one of the stray balls on the floor, “oh i saw y/n outside with kyoutani.”

“what?!” oikawa pracitcally shrieked, making the younger boy jump. he mumbled to himself, “i swear we need to get mad dog a collar with bells on it––” he stomped over to where the two of you were, a strained smile on his face as he noticed you laughing, kyoutani’s cheeks slightly pink.

“well what do we have here?” he said forceful but cheerful.

you looked to your boyfriend with a smile and kyoutani simply glared at him, but then again, that was just his face. “oh we were just getting some fresh air. are you done practicing your serves?”

“i sure am.” he smiled, pulling you close to him by your waist and pressing an obnoxiously loud and wet kiss to your cheek which you immediately wiped off with a grimace, which he did not appreciate. “y/n-chan!” he whined, “that’s not very nice!”

“well don’t make it so wet next time,” you rolled your eyes.

noticing the other boy still hadn’t made a move to leave, your boyfriend spoke up. “shouldn’t you be leaving now, mad dog?”

you smacked his chest and he yelped. “don’t be so rude, tooru. he was keeping me company while you did your extra practice, you know.”

he pouted and looked to the ground.

“i should be getting home, anyway.” the blond spoke up gruffly. his eyes softened almost imperceptibly as he looked at you. “see you, y/n.”

you smiled, “bye kyou.”

“bye mad-dog!” your boyfriend practically sang, as he looked over his shoulder at the boy leaving. he turned back to you and you pursed your lips at his behavior, making his shoulders droop in shame.

“you’re such a big baby, you know that?” although you insulted him, your voice was soft and he couldn’t help but smile at the way you cooed at him, your hands holding his cheeks. “but you’re my baby, okay? stop worrying so much about kyoutani.”

he nodded. “okay...” his eyes widened hopefully, “can i get a kiss please?”

you smiled and shook your head, before leaning in. he really was a baby sometimes.

tanaka:

you already know this boy is loud

and he likes to show off what’s his because he’s just so proud that you’re his and he loves to fawn over you

so he’ll always have a hand on you, an arm around you and he’ll always shower you in compliments whenever he sees you

a total simp

and that’s just in general

so when his friend likes you ??? bruh

let’s just say nishinoya thinks you’re kinda cute,,, okay really cute and his crush only (unwillingly) grew for you after you started dating tanaka and hanging out with them all the time

he’d be really excited whenever you were around, a pink tint covering his cheeks, a smile glued to his face

he’d try to show off during practice and games, looking to you after he lands a successful rolling thunder

and tanaka would be growling in the corner sdfghj

he’d literally try to one up his friend immediately and would scream to you in the stands “I LOVE YOU BABY THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!!”

after they win he’d pull you into a crushing hug and give you loud kisses all over your face

he’d do the most and then he’d smile all smug making sure everyone including nishinoya saw

you laughed as noya jumped several feet in the air to high five you after winning their game, a bright smile on his face. “did you see that last receive i did y/n? did you?”

you nodded, laughing. “yes i did noya, it was really impressive.”

his cheeks turned pink and he ducked his head, scratching the back of his head nervously as he waved you off. “ah it wasn’t all that...it was pretty good though, huh?”

before you could respond, you saw a flash of movement in front of you before you were suddenly being hoisted into the air. you gasped and wrapped your arms and legs around your boyfriend, “ryu!––”

“hey baby!” he practically yelled, smiling up at you and not so subtly walking away from his best friend with you in his arms. “did you see me hit that last spike? your man looked pretty good out there, huh? better than everyone else right?”

daichi who was walking by the two of you quickly hit the back of tanaka’s head in warning, hearing his words. “watch it––”

tanaka turned his head, “uh i mean you looked great too captain! couldn’t have done this without you––”

“yeah yeah,” he walked away, rolling his eyes and you laughed yet again, grabbing your boyfriend’s attention.

he looked up at you with wide eyes, squeezing his arms around you tighter and you smiled, putting your hand on his cheek. he nuzzled into your touch softly and you pressed a kiss to his lips, making him blush immediately. “of course i was watching you, and yes you looked very very good out there. i’m so proud of you.”

he smiled wide but tried to act oblivious when you went on, “you know you kinda interrupted my conversation earlier with––”

“well anyway! i think we should get going now--” he spoke far too loud, walking faster from the gym, making you shake your head at his adorably possessive behavior.

you leaned your head on his shoulder fondly, “you know you can be ridiculous sometimes ryu...”

he huffed quietly, “well you still love me right?”

you smiled. “always.”

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear.

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif and @morndas for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable.

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance.

(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)

(You’d phrased it differently.

You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)

There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.

It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.

Unfortunately.

Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.

It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)

You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.

“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”

No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.

Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.

“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.

You’d laughed in his face.

“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.

The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.

And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t.

Of course you hadn’t. You never do.

You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.

He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business.

You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.

(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.

You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.

“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)

Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.

(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)

Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always.

But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.

So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.

There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot.

You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to.

(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating.

And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.

“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.

“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)

So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

And then he walks into your workshop.

You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.

Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.

Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—

And sees you at the end of the barrel.

There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.

“Y/n?”

You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.

There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.

“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”

Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.

“Who did this to you?”

Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”

Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.

“Who did this to you?”

Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.

There's a beat of silence.

And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.

You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.

You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)

And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.

It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.

“It was one of the Tang cousins.”

Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel.

“One of the cousins?”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.

Yoongi always pays his debts.

“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”

The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.

You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.

Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.

Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.

The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.

(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)

“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”

You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.

(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)

(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)

The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs.

(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)

(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)

Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth.

But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.

“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.

For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.

It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.

It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.

It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.

Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.

It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.

You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)

He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.

“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)

“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.

The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”

“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.

It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.

“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.

(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)

He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.

“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”

Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)

“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.

“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”

One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”

You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”

(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)

Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.

“Yoongi?”

He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.

“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.

Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”

“Bye.”

Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement.

Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.

(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)

So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.

You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.

“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”

Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good).

“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”

“Stop.”

You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.

He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.

(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself.

No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)

“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”

“You were on the way.”

(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)

You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”

(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)

Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

“You’re finally back.”

Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.

“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”

Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“All good.”

“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”

Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.

Because it’s yours.

It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too.

It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.

Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.

When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.

The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”

Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.

No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says.

Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”

There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.

“He’s wearing your symbol.”

You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”

The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.

Yoongi isn’t jealous.

“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”

Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him.

“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”

Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.

Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.

Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”

You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.

“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”

Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.

He looks away.

It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy.

(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.

Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.

You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.

He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”

That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.

“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”

You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”

You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)

“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”

He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.

You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.

“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”

Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern.

“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”

You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.

“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”

“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”

You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”

It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin.

It’s not something he ordered.

“What is this?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”

It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.

“How much is it?”

The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.

“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”

“I do respect you,” Yoongi says.

(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)

“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates. Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.

And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.

“No.”

A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”

Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away.

“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”

“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”

It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.

He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.

“Is that so?”

Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”

He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.

He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.

Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.

And there’s no one else you trust, either.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.

You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.

“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.

A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.

And in response?

You just smile.

The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.

Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.

And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him.

(You look good like this.)

Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare.

Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.

“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.

Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.

It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.

It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead.

The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob.

You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.

You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.

“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.

“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”

“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment.

“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”

You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”

“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”

You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull.

He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.

Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.

“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair.

You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”

There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.

You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.

He wants to eat you alive.

So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.

“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.

“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.

“Shameless.”

You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy.

“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”

You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.

You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.

He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.

“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”

He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.

“No.”

You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”

There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features.

He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.

And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.

You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.

He’s not done with you yet.

Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.

The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.

“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”

You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart.

The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.

He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.

And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.

“Stay.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.

He hadn’t been planning to.

“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you, pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.

“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.

You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”

Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself.

“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.

“I kill a lot of people.”

You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”

A pause.

Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”

And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.

“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words.

Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.

“Kiss me.”

Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.

You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.

Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness.

What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.

“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.

“I’d be offended if you did.”

(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.

Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)

tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa

#btswritingcafe #houseofddaeng #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #btsguild #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x you #bts #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #let's see if this appears in the tags this time! fingers crossed!#wow can you believe I wrote like 4k words of smut or something close to that

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because-of-a-friend · 3 years ago

Text

Enemies to Lovers!Jeonghan

MASTERLIST

One day I will come up with titles for my works lol.

Hi Hannah!!!! Thanks for requesting! I loved doing this one! I went ahead and went with Jeonghan cuz I feel like he fits this trope best! Sorry you had to wait so long, this particular fic got deleted like... three times so it was a struggle lol. I hope it’s what you were looking for!

I hope this is a good one, I’m realizing I get real insecure about my writing anytime I’m not doing a bulletpoint or reaction fic, so I don’t feel great about this time. Also I only started recently putting actual detail into my kiss scenes and idk how I’m doing with those???? Like do they seem ok??? Also I feel like I make it so obvious that I am such a sucker for SVT having cute nicknames for siblings, friends, partners, etc in fics lol. Anyways...

Also, I really said: Jeonghan... but in different types of lighting

Remember I don’t own the gif! Link to OP is right there if you want to go give the creator some love!!!

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions eating, reader is using female pronouns (I will keep things gn unless you request differently), I think that’s it, pls let me know if I missed any

You’re not sure exactly how it happened. It was probably just an instance of getting off on the wrong foot, that led to more awkward interactions, giving both of you the wrong impression of each other. You knew this, you could rationalize it all. You were well aware that all it would take was one “I think we might have the wrong idea of each other” conversation and it would all be over. You could easily fix it all, but…

But his stupid smug face. The sarcastic jokes. The never-ending pranks that were not as funny as he thought they were. His ridiculous arrogance. His overall unapologetic nature towards all of it.

You couldn’t help but hate Yoon Jeonghan.

*****

“I don’t know, Wonnie…” you say uneasily over the phone. In previous years, you’d go over to the dorm without hesitation. You loved spending time with your brother and many of the other boys. But ever since you had officially met and begun interacting with Jeonghan…

“C’mon, [Y/N]! I bought that new game you were talking about! We can play it together on my gaming system!” Wonwoo began to persuade. You knew you’d give in; you always did. Your brother was far too sweet a person and far too comforting a presence to reject. The question was how long did you want to argue with him about going to the dorm.

You sighed, accepting defeat early to save time, “I’ll head over there in a bit.”

Wonwoo gives a small cry of victory, “Ok, I’ll have Gyu make extra ramen.” Wonwoo abruptly hangs up the phone right after, leaving you in silence to groan in regret of your decision.

You immediately straighten yourself out, though, trying to put yourself in a mindset of determination. What were you thinking? Just because you and that asshole didn’t get along meant you couldn’t go see your own twin brother without feeling uncomfortable? Screw that! If he wanted to keep the peace then he was going to have to start watching where he stepped around you.

*****

You knocked loud and clear on the door of their dorm, knowing that with thirteen people living inside, it was usually too noisy for them to hear someone signal their arrival. To your relief, Seungcheol opened the door just moments after you knocked and greeted you with a warm smile followed by a hand sneaking into your hair to ruffle it, “Hey there, kiddo! How’s it hanging?”

“Just fine,” you tilt your head down slightly in his direction as you pass him to enter the dorm. “How are things here?” As soon as you ask, your ears are met with the noise of someone dropping something in the kitchen, followed by Seungkwan crying in alarm.

“Same as always, I supposed,” Seungcheol sighs, but his smile doesn’t fade. “I think Mingyu and Wonwoo are already in the computer room, if you want to go ahead and see them!”

“Ok, thanks Cheol!” you call as you both rush off in different directions, him towards the kitchen and you towards the small room that would provide you solace from the possibility of having to see Yoon Jeonghan.

You were determined not to let things go how they usually did: you with your mouth clamped shut as Jeonghan spoke whatever teasing words he had saved up for you, and the most you can do to fight back is by rolling your eyes and finding any way to get away from him.

This time, you would still avoid contact with him, but if it happened, you’d speak your mind and not care what he thought, since that’s how he treated you.

But there was no sign of him or anyone else as you walked to the computer room. You could hear Mingyu and Wonwoo yelling and cheering at the game long before you opened the door. It was pitch black inside, the piercing light of the screen making you squint your eyes.

The two men inside both turn immediately to check who offended their dark space with the soft, yellow light from the hallway.

“Oh [Y/N], you came!” Mingyu beams up at you. You nod, matching his bright expression.

“How’s the game?” you ask simply, looking up to your brother.

“We like it so far,” Wonwoo’s smile is wide, he always gets excited about new games, whether they’re good or not. He leans over to grab a can of some sort of energy drink before gulping it down. “We left some ramen for you over there on the table. Eat first, then I’ll let you have a turn.”

You roll your eyes, though Wonwoo was only mere minutes older than you, he found those moments to be enough leverage to order you around and act like you should be dependent on his care. There were times when he even referred to himself as “oppa” to you and insisted that you do the same.

Most of the time you let it slide, especially when you weren’t in the mood to argue. However, there were times when you’d pull out the “We’re the same age,” “Even if you’re older, I’m smarter,” or “Don’t boss me around when I’m more mature than you” cards at the drop of a hat.

“Can you at least turn on the LEDs while I eat?” you ask, tip-toeing in the darkness towards the table at the back end of the room. You hear a click before a soft blue glow fills the room, finally giving you a clear view of your path. You pull the bowl of ramen towards you as you sit and resist the urge to comment on how little they left you. The dorm was filled with food anyways, you could find more later if you got hungry again.

Wonwoo and Mingyu begin to eagerly tell you what they like about the game as you eat. You listen happily, feeling safe in the presence of your brother and friend.

Then of course…

“Hey you two, Cheol wanted me to remind you that we have to get up early tomorrow,” you can’t help the sour expression that comes over your face as Jeonghan enters the room to speak to Wonwoo and Mingyu. “Oh, hey there cutie, I didn’t know you were here!” His smirk makes you sick.

“Don’t call me that,” you say bitterly into the nearly empty bowl.

Wonwoo looks nervously between you and his bandmate, well aware of the dislike you have for him. He’s grateful that you’ve always kept it so civil, but still feels bothered by the unrest between you.

Jeonghan lets out a little giggle in response, and Wonwoo feels a tug in the pit of his stomach, he wishes Jeonghan wouldn’t be so hard on you sometimes. He knows his hyung doesn’t mean anything by it, but you…

You feel your heart sink as Jeonghan steps fully into the room, striding to sit across from you at the table. You can only stare in wonder at his audacity as he slides the bowl towards himself and finishes off the ramen in one bite.

“I was eating that,” you try to keep your tone measured, attempting to keep within the balance of standing up for yourself but not starting any drama that would affect the boys.

“Go make more if you’re hungry, then,” Jeonghan says casually, making your anger positively flare.

You don’t even give your brother the chance to mediate, jumping up from your place and leaving the room, wanting to be anywhere but around that prick.

*****

“You’re leaving already?” Mingyu pouts at you.

“Gyu, I’ve been here for hours,” you laugh, stretching out your fingers as they start to prick from pain of slamming into a keyboard for so long. You had returned to the computer room but only after Jeonghan left. Part of you had wished you had done more to confront him; another part was glad you didn’t start a fight and put Wonwoo in an awkward position. “Besides all of you, as well as me have to get up early tomorrow, it’s already late. I need to get back home.”

“You can stay here,” Wonwoo was quick to offer.

You shook your head at him, “Then I’ll just have to get up even earlier, I’ll go back to my place.” Wonwoo nods almost reluctantly, standing to walk you out.

All of you run into Joshua on your way to the front door, he turns out to be the only one smart enough to ask how you got there.

“Oh, I took the bus,” you say slowly, knowing this is about to cause issues.

“Well, the last one would have already stopped running by now,” Mingyu says looking at the time on his phone.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Josh offers immediately.

You bring your hands up to shake them back and forth, “No, no, I can find a way home, you all need to go to bed.”

“[Y/N],” Wonwoo speaks up immediately in that stern voice you hate but also can’t help but listen to, “let Josh take you home. It’s either that or you stay here, I won’t have you walking around alone at night.” Wonwoo waits a moment to gauge your expression. He finally nods affirmatively, before speaking directly to Joshua, “Take her home, please.”

Joshua nods before walking off to grab his keys. You and Wonwoo send Mingyu off to bed. Once you’re alone, your brother pulls you in for a tight hug. “Do you want me to say something to him?” he asks lowly.

You shake your head, “I don’t want to cause any problems with you guys.” You sit in silence for a moment. “Come and stay over with me sometime, I miss our sleepovers.”

Joshua comes back and Wonwoo pulls away, “Thanks, hyung. Please get her home safe.” For the second time that night, your hair gets ruffled before your brother disappears to go off to bed.

The ride home with Joshua is comfortable. He speaks kindly to you and makes you smile.

You begin to wonder how amongst all these angels, there exists a person like Yoon Jeonghan.

*****

Wonwoo used the new game as leverage to guilt you into coming over quite often in the following weeks. You hadn’t realized how much you had limited your time at the dorm until you started going consistently once more. It was nice being able to spend time with the boys again. You hated that Jeonghan had become such an unbearable presence that it affected your relationship with the rest of your friends.

But ever since you had started to stand your ground and talk back, he had finally begun to avoid you. You supposed it was only fun for him when you sat there and took it.

It didn’t stop the two of you from bickering when you saw each other, but now both of you preferred to avoid each other instead of Jeonghan seeking you out to tease you.

The following weeks of visiting were fairly comfortable. Whenever Jeonghan wasn’t around, you got to spend plenty of time with the other boys and your brother. Plus, the new video game was even better than expected.

Jeonghan’s presence slowly became uncomfortable in a different way.

Instead of being smug and overbearing, he became strangely quiet around you. His facial expressions became more serious as he sent genuine glares your way before letting out bitter remarks and going on his way.

It made you even angrier.

Who the hell was he to torture you all this time and then act like a kicked puppy when you finally fought back???

Your anger and his bitterness slowly escalated the tension between you two. Although they were happening less frequently, the arguments between you became more serious and almost hurtful.

Whatever, you told yourself, he could do as he pleased, you wouldn’t let it affect you anymore.

*****

You stared down at your phone screen. Why? Why did it have to be here, while you were at the dorm?

The call was only five minutes. They didn’t even do it in person. Of course, they had warned that because of hard times, there’d be lay-offs soon. But they couldn’t even do it in person? And all you got was a simple “Sorry, come collect your things on Monday”??? You were a hard worker, passionate about the job, more efficient than most of your coworkers and this is how they treated you???

A part of you could’ve guessed, many of the employees your age had gotten in because of nepotism. But you didn’t want to believe that they’d just brush off all your years of hard work just to avoid stepping on the toes of higher-ups who had relative connections hired at the company.

You squatted against the wall of the hallway, still too in shock to move.

So, you simply sat in silence, for what seemed like forever.

“You good?” you had never felt worse than the exact moment his voice reached your ears.

“Go away,” you said sternly, knowing you’d be crying soon.

“Geez, forgive me for asking,” Jeonghan responds before turning to walk away. He stops abruptly after you sniffle. “So, you’re not ok?”

“No offense, Jeonghan,” you say hating the way your voice is shaking, “but you are the last person I want to speak to right now.”

There’s a heavy silence for a long moment. You silently pray that he’ll just leave. “Do you want me to get your brother?” he asks lightly.

You shake your head, “No, I don’t want to ruin the mood. I’m going to go home, just tell him I had a stomach ache.” You push yourself up and begin to walk briskly towards the door.

To your surprise, Jeonghan reaches out to stop you. You stare at his hand wrapped around your arm and wonder if you’ve ever even allowed him to touch you before. “It’s already late, let me give you a ride.”

You pull his hand off of you, “No, thanks.” You grab your coat and start to dig around in your purse to make sure you have all of your belongings.

“[Y/N],” Jeonghan’s voice rings clear in your head despite your brain feeling fuzzy. You don’t want to look at him. Who is this person that’s showing concern and speaking kindly? You don’t like it. It feels fake. It feels like a predator playing with a wounded prey. You’re just waiting for him to laugh or make a remark or do anything to make you feel worse than you already do.

But Jeonghan simply grabs the keys laying on the front table, grabs your arm once more, and leads you out to the car.

*****

The ride is suffocatingly silent. You wished he’d at least turn on some music to cover up the sound of your crying, but you remained in the quiet. You rolled down your window and stuck your head out, letting the warm night air and sound of wind comfort you. Since you were turned away from him completely, you didn’t see Jeonghan glancing over at you throughout the drive.

You couldn’t have left that car faster when you finally pulled up to your apartment.

To your dismay, Jeonghan also gets out, apparently intent on walking you up.

“You don’t have to-” you start but abruptly stop when he gives you a look telling you an emotion you don’t quite understand.

Jeonghan finally speaks when you’re riding the elevator up to your floor, “I don’t really mean it, you know.”

“Mean what?” you say weakly, starting to feel the exhaustion from crying so much.

“When I talk to you like that… I mean when I’m… rude,” he trails off, running a hand through his hair. “Usually it’s just teasing, but obviously I went too far with you. And I didn’t realize it until you started showing how upsetting it was for you. I should’ve known before that, though.”

“You seemed ruder after I started talking back,” you say, confused.

“I was just being petty and defensive. I kept telling myself things like: It’s her fault, isn’t it? She should have made it more clear from the beginning that it was upsetting her. How was I supposed to know? But that was just me being immature, I should’ve just talked to you.”

“Is that an… apology, Yoon Jeonghan?” you ask, letting yourself be a little smug.

For the first time, you get a genuine smile out of him, “Maybe.”

There’s more silence for a second.

“It’s a two-way road, though,” you say finally.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, I could have also come and talked to you instead of letting things escalate,” you say. “I played some part in all of this… unpleasantness. You can’t entirely blame yourself.”

Jeonghan smiles again, reaching out to ruffle your hair the way Seungcheol always did. Then he takes a dramatic deep breath and rolls his shoulders, “There! That feels better, doesn’t it? We can finally be friends!”

You roll your eyes in a playful manner, but you feel it too, a weight has been lifted.

*****

Wonwoo showed up at your door in the middle of the night that night. You took one look at his frantic face and groaned, “I told Jeonghan I would tell you myself.”

“You should have told me immediately!” your brother pouts as he passes you to walk into your apartment.

“I didn’t want to worry you so late, especially when all of you were having a good time. I was going to tell you tomorrow,” you close the door behind him. You watch as he turns on the TV and starts picking through your pantry. “Hmmm, yes it seems quite clear that you came here out of concern for me,” you can’t help but use a sarcastic tone.

Wonwoo sends a glare your way as he grabs snacks and settles on the couch. You sit next to him, grabbing your fair share of the food. You try to keep your attention on the show, but the feeling of Wonwoo staring straight at you is distracting.

“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry,” you sigh.

“Really? Because Jeonghan described you as an emotional wreck,” your brother scoffs.

“I was just shocked and upset. I’ll be ok. I have a good resume, I can find a new job,” you insist.

“I keep telling you, you don’t have to work-”

“I don’t care how much you make,” you interrupt. “I’m not going to depend on you. It’ll just make trouble for both of us.”

“Will you at least let me help out if there’s any problems before you find a new job?” Wonwoo kicks at your leg.

“Like I would even tell you if I was having trouble,” you return his kick.

“You just can’t help but be difficult,” your brother complains quietly.

You let the sound of the show take over the room for a few minutes. “I do have good news,” you finally speak up, wanting to give your brother some peace of mind about something. “Me and Jeonghan made up. We figured it out.”

Wonwoo bolts upright with a grin on his face, “Really??? It’s really all good now?”

“100%,” you say, unable to stop yourself from pinching your brother’s cheeks, finding his excited expression cute.

“Let’s celebrate soon then! We can have a big gaming party with all of the boys!” You agree to your brother’s proposal. You feel content in this moment, knowing you’ll wake up in the morning in an uncomfortable position, immediately kick at his legs and tell him to get his stinky feet away from you.

*****

Your time at the dorm increases with the weight of you and Jeonghan’s rivalry being gone. You’re enjoying getting to know him as a friend instead of constantly walking on eggshells around him. Going to visit the boys is once again a happy and comfortable experience.

You hadn’t realized how much Jeonghan had affected you until you two had worked things out. The world felt light again and you could breathe, no longer in constant worry of possibly ruining things between your brother and his bandmates.

You hoped things would remain without complications for a long time.

*****

“Seungkwan, you should come with us!” you begged. “The carnival only comes once a year; you can’t miss it!”

“But it’s so crowded and there are screaming kids everywhere,” Seungkwan complains.

“Oh, whatever,” Soonyoung interjects. “You love it every time we go.”

Seungkwan gives Soonyoung a look that has you laughing through your mouthful of ramen. “Oh, shoot,” you say feeling liquid start to dribble down your chin. “Can I get a napkin?”

“Here’s one,” you hear Jeonghan’s voice as he enters the room. You reach out to grab the napkin as Seungkwan and Soonyoung continue bickering. But instead of handing it to you, Jeonghan extends his hand not holding the napkin towards you. His fingers come to lightly touch your chin and turn you towards him. Jeonghan wipes your face with the napkin himself, taking the time to make sure it’s really all clean. “All better,” he smiles at you, running his thumb across your chin to check its cleanliness one last time.

As Jeonghan walks away, you turn to see if Seungkwan or Soonyoung saw what had happened. They were still arguing, though. The boys showing you physical touch or affection wasn’t really all that uncommon. But for some reason, the way Jeonghan had grabbed your chin just now… Why was your heart beating so hard?

*****

You couldn’t stop yourself from dragging Wonwoo all over the carnival. It was nice to get out in this environment, the lights, the laughter, the food, the games, the rides. You wanted to do everything, but not before you looked at all there was and took in the spectacle.

You could hear all the boys laughing excitedly behind you, you knew they’d want to try everything as well. You shook your head at Seungkwan’s bright expression, you couldn’t wait to play the ‘I told you so’ card later.

The night was a blur. All of you ran from games to rides to snacks and then all over again.

You couldn’t help but stop completely in your tracks as you passed a booth with a giant stuffie of your favorite animal as a prize. Your fascination with the plushie doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You want me to win it for you?” Jeonghan’s voice is suddenly speaking right into your ear. You jump after realizing he was right behind you. You grip your cotton candy a bit tighter and shyly nod. The way Jeonghan grins at you fills you with warmth.

You watch him walk over to the booth. His light hair and pink shirt were illuminated by the soft glow of the surrounding lights. Jeonghan takes his wallet out and hands some bills to the vendor. You step up closer to stand next to him as he plays the game. He laughs as he chats back and forth with the vendor. You watch in awe as Jeonghan clears the game, no problem.

“Anything from the top shelf!” the vendor exclaims happily.

“That one please,” Jeonghan points right at the stuffie you had been staring at.

“It’ll be a wonderful memory for your girlfriend,” the vendor smiles as he hands the prize directly to you.

“Oh, I’m-”

“Of course!” Jeonghan interrupts you almost instantly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and starting to pull you away from the game. “We’ll cherish it for a long time! Thanks for the game!” The vendor waves kindly as you two walk away. After a moment, Jeonghan pulls his arm off of you, “Sorry, sometimes it’s just easier to agree than explain, you know?” You nod in agreement. “Wait a second,” he stops you by putting his hands on your shoulders and standing in front of you. Before you can ask what’s wrong, his hand comes up towards your face as it had earlier that day. He quickly swipes his thumb across your lips before pulling to back to show you remnants of your cotton candy. “Do you always eat this messily?” he grins and then, to your surprise, puts his thumb in his mouth to clean it off.

You stand there, frozen, unable to really comprehend what just happened as Jeonghan walks away towards the other boys.

“For the second time today?” Soonyoung is suddenly standing next to you.

“So you did see what happened earlier!” you exclaimed, hitting his arm lightly. “It was weird, right?!”

“Can’t tell yet,” Soonyoung replies cocking his head to the side and putting his hands in his pocket. “Sometimes Jeonghan is just sort of naturally flirtatious. But I’m not sure about you. I figured since you two didn’t get along at first, it’d take him awhile to warm up to you at that level. He seemed to get comfortable with you quite quickly.” Soonyoung turns and shrugs at you after his words.

“You’re no help at all,” you say emotionlessly. There’s a pause before both you and Soonyoung slowly look at each other and laugh at your quip.

You decide to brush off your new concerns about Jeonghan and enjoy this night with the boys. The vendor was right, it was a good memory, and you’re sure it’d last you for your whole lifetime.

*****

You hate yourself a bit for it, but you once again seem to be avoiding Jeonghan. He had made you so nervous that day, and the way your heart pounded… You didn’t want to get sucked into having a silly crush on him if he wasn’t actually trying to flirt with you.

No, from now on, interactions with Jeonghan would be friendly but short and appropriate.

You were stupid to think he wouldn’t notice.

It wasn’t long before there came a night when Jeonghan insisted that he be the one to give you a ride home. You couldn’t help the way your nerves spiked at his determination to be the one to take you. You knew he most likely wanted to talk to you about your sudden distance from him.

The ride itself was nice, Jeonghan rolled the windows down for you, remembering that you enjoyed the warm night air of summer. You talked comfortably with one another. Jeonghan was always able to make you smile so easily.

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him. He was just wearing a t-shirt and sweats but… His blonde hair being illuminated in the moonlight as he ran his hands through it and his bright smile as he laughed...

He really was beautiful.

Once again, Jeonghan came with you to walk you to your door. And once again, he finally spoke up in the elevator, “You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart.” Your heart drops to your stomach at the nickname. “Is everything ok? Did I do something to make you mad again?”

You quickly shake your head and pull your hands up to shake them as well, “No! Not at all!”

“You sure?” he insists.

“Yoon Jeonghan, you really don’t think I’d tell you if you did?” you say.

He giggles, “Yeah, that’s true. You’d let me know the moment I messed up, wouldn’t you?” The elevator dings and opens up to your floor. You and Jeonghan step out together. “Is everything else ok, then? You don’t start avoiding people for no reason.”

You nod as casually as possible, “Everything is great.” Your tone isn’t convincing and Jeonghan nudges you. “I guess, I just got… nervous? I mean one moment we were like enemies and then the next we were suddenly really… close, and-”

“I made you uncomfortable?” Jeonghan’s voice is slightly panicked.

“No, you did nothing wrong! It’s all on me, I just got caught up in my emotions and-” you stop abruptly when you realize what you were about to do.

Jeonghan nods quietly as if to say he understands, but what it is he understands, you’re not sure. “Is it ok for us to remain close, or do you want me to back off?”

“I don’t want any more distance between us, but…” you trail off.

“But, what?” he prompts you again.

“I don’t want to get the wrong idea about anything…” you say, finally reaching your door.

Jeonghan watches as you slowly unlock your door and push it open, “You haven’t gotten the wrong idea about anything.” He avoids eye contact when you look up at him.

You’re shocked by his forwardness. But once he voices his thoughts out loud, you once again feel the feeling of a weight being lifted.

Jeonghan gestures for you to step inside, catching your arm once you fully pass him. He pulls you back to him, close enough for him to lean in and leave a quick kiss on your cheek, “Night, babe, I’ll see you later.”

You stand there, completely still, staring at your door that had shut closed in front of you. You can feel heat rise from the tip of your toes all the way up to your ears. You finally let yourself fall into a squatting position, covering your face with your hands, and letting out a squeal.

*****

Jeonghan invites you to meet up outside of the dorm. It’s a cute little coffee shop at a quiet part of the city. You’re already sitting when he walks in. Maybe one day, you won’t be completely caught off guard by his beauty… but today is not that day.

His whole person is bathed in the glow of the early morning light as he approaches you, the softest, most genuine smile gracing his face.

“No, don’t get up,” he says when you try to leave your chair, “I need to go off and order anyways.” Jeonghan leans down to kiss your forehead firmly. “I just wanted to come say hi first,” he whispers, holding your face close to his.

Your first date sets a wonderful precedent to the rest of your relationship. Jeonghan gets your heart racing with flirty comments and sweet touches. But he also makes you feel calm and content, easily keeping a smile on your face. You just feel… good throughout it all.

You insist on walking him back to the dorm, since they had schedules that day.

“So, we’ll be doing this again?” Jeonghan asks hopefully, as you reach the front door.

“Definitely,” you nod enthusiastically up at him, wondering how you had ever managed to despise the man that made you feel so whole and happy.

Jeonghan looks utterly happy and a tiny bit nervous as he stares down at you. His hand reaches up to brush back your hair before settling firmly against your face. Jeonghan looks at you so fondly as he leans in. His lips connect to yours… so softly… so sweetly. You can feel his nose nudge against your face to push it into a preferred position. He pulls back slightly after every little kiss to let out laughter so sweet, it sounds like it should be coming from the mouth of an angel. But he’s never far away for long, reconnecting to you quickly every time. You let him take the lead, allowing his lips to take care of yours, giving them the sweetest kind of attention. He pulls back for a moment longer to nuzzle his nose against yours, an action that has you gripping his shirt to keep him close. His hands keep themselves entertained by running across your face or through your hair.

He’s going back in to kiss you once again when he front door of the dorm opens, leaving you caught in the act. Wonwoo stares at you two for a long moment before making a single comment that causes you and Jeonghan to laugh.

“You know, when I said I wanted you two to have a better relationship, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”

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