#disarray au asks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soaps-mohawk · 8 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Summary: It can't be a coincidence anymore.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,411 words

Warnings: ANGST, emotional turmoil, panic and panic attacks, anxiety, drugs used for drugging, very brief mention of predatory behavior, author can't write call of duty missions for shit, withholding the truth, hints at betrayal, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, very much leaning into that AU now, brief mention of guns and bullets

A/N: Ummm...yeah. You'll see. Bit shorter than normal but my obsessive need for cliffhangers prevents me from shoving it all into one chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Her head is spinning. There’s a steady throbbing behind her eyes, her blood pumping in her ears. Her shoulder aches from the cold tile floor under her. She can’t quite bring herself to move yet, the deep ache in her bones still lingering. She pushes through the haze in her mind, trying to bring up the memories of what happened.

Someone had entered her office. She hadn’t even had time to turn around when she was hit from behind. That explains the throbbing in the back of her head. Likely concussed, though it hadn’t been a hard hit. Not hard enough to do serious damage, not even hard enough to make her see stars. Just enough to incapacitate her so she couldn’t fight back. There had been a sting of a needle in her neck. Whatever it was, it was fast acting, maybe a minute before she lost consciousness.

Ketamine...maybe fentanyl.

She pushes herself up to sit, blinking back the dizziness and the nausea. Whoever attacked her wanted her out of the way, incapacitated for long enough to do something.

A horrifying thought flashes through her mind as she comes back to reality. She’s one of the few on base that knows you’re completely alone. She’s likely the only one who would care if you went missing. She tries to keep herself calm, tries to slow her breathing as she feels her pockets, pulling herself up onto her knees, gripping the side of her desk as she fights the nausea and pounding in her head that nearly blinds her.

Her phone is gone.

Her legs shake as she forces them under her, pulling herself up. She needs to get to the barracks, needs to check on you. She stumbles to the door, pushing it open as she tries to keep her breathing under control. You’re smart. You’re going to hide, or run, from any threat. You’ve learned your lesson from the last time. You won’t go easily again.

The walk to the barracks feels like it takes forever as she half stumbles her way across the base, fighting the wind still whipping through the open areas between the buildings. Her head is throbbing, the haze of the drug still lingering. It’s the terror in her mind, the horrible thoughts of what might have happened keeping her moving forward. She only gets glances as she crosses to the 141’s barracks. None of them even think to ask her if she’s alright.

There’s no help from the others.

She pushes open the door to the barracks, blinking through the burning of the bright fluorescents. She feels for you, having to exist in such a bright, clinical space.

Dread begins to fill her as she reaches your door, finding it open. The door jam is broken, the wood around the lock splintered. Your dresser had been pushed behind the door, but it hadn’t stopped whoever wanted to get in. The window is open, and she can only hope you crawled your way through to safety. She steps up to your desk, books and snacks in disarray, some having fallen to the floor. She swallows thickly as she stares down at the wood, her fingers shaking.

Her phone is sitting on the desk.

She picks it up, the screen flashing on. There’s a missed call from you. Whoever had broken in must have made it look like she was the one responsible. She goes through her contacts, finding your number before calling. She doesn’t have hope that you’ll answer, but she has to try for her own sanity.

The phone doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail.

She steps out of your door, going through every room she can in the barracks, shouting your name. She doesn't have hope, except maybe that you doubled back and barricaded yourself somewhere. It’s not likely you would answer to her anyway, if you thought she was the one behind all of this.

She heads outside, trying to catch any lingering hint of your scent, but the wind has dispersed it completely. There’s soldiers milling around, likely on their afternoon breaks. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches them, asking every soldier she sees in the area if they’ve seen you.

“I saw her.” One finally says. Allen, his patch reads. “Running towards the trees.”

“Was anyone following her?” She asks.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t stay long enough to see.”

She feels the urge to punch him, to yell at him for not helping, but she knows they have strict orders to keep away from you. They might have not known any better, or wanted to risk a reprimanding if they disobeyed orders.

She continues to take deep breaths as she glances towards the trees. It won’t do her much good to try to go looking by herself. You wouldn’t have followed the trail. You’re too smart for that. She’d need a whole army to search the base for you.

Her hands shake as she searches through her contacts. She’s not expecting an answer. She’s probably busy with the 141 away on a mission. No one will know. No one will know until it’s too late. She’s not sure what to do. Would the commanders on base believe her? Would they organize a search based on her word alone? By then it might be too late. It might be too late now.

“Laswell.”

“Kate, Kate I can’t find her.” She gasps out, spinning around in the middle of the road, as if you might come popping out of thin air, or creeping out from behind a building. She’s panicking, speaking the words aloud feeling like an absolute truth, as if she’s speaking it into existence.

“Who?” Kate asks, sounding confused.

She chokes out your name, her hand pressed to her chest to try and calm the panic quickly rising in her. “She’s gone.”

Kate takes a deep breath to keep her head clear and calm. It’s far too much of a coincidence to deny it now. The cameras, the sudden deployment, the call from Shepherd for the whole team, the discovery of the files.

Now this.

“Kate?”

She’s never heard Christine so emotional, so uncomposed before. “I’m here.” She says, composing herself. One of them needs to be clear-headed and logical. “I’m going to contact command, alert base security. You look everywhere you think she might possibly be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Christine lets out a breath. “I can do that.”

“I’ll call back as soon as I can.” She says. “If you find anything, I need to know immediately.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Kate knows she’s trying to calm herself, get her head on straight again. “Christine? We’ll find her. No matter what it takes.”

“You don’t....you don’t think she’s...” She can’t manage to finish the sentence.

“No.” Kate says, not even having to ask what she means. It’s not a lie, though. If the conspiracy that’s been brewing in her head is true, you’re more valuable to them alive. “If what I think is happening is actually happening, she has to be alive. She’s no use to anyone dead.” She says, speaking the thoughts aloud for the first time since the delivery of the cameras into her hands.

“I hope you’re right.”

Kate holds her phone in her hand, taking a breath. She’s not sure how it happened, how you managed to disappear out from under Christine’s watchful eye. Something must have happened that separated the two of you long enough for you to disappear. Christine wouldn’t just leave you like that unless it was something important, or if she sensed something wrong, something that might put you at risk. You wouldn’t have left the barracks on your own, not unless something forced the two of you apart.

She should call them, make them aware.

She can’t bring herself to. Not yet. She can’t distract them. The job comes first. She’s always hated those words in the context of the initiative. Why would they put an omega through this? What was the real reason? The idea of the initiative always left a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it too much. She’ll know soon. She’ll get her answers as soon as her team finishes combing through those files.

She won’t call them until they know for sure. Not until they’re positive, not until there’s proof. They’re not in a place they could easily leave, either.

Sometimes the greater good has to come first.

Her hands are shaking as she dials the number for the base commander. They have an omega to find.

Christine’s heart is pounding as she races around the base, checking everywhere she can think of. She’d gotten looks as she combed through the mess, wide eyed and nearly shaking with fear. Her scent must have been projecting, all the control she’d mastered slipping away. She’s never felt panic like this before, not even in the toughest situations with omegas. This is different though. You’re her only patient. She had been tasked with keeping watch over you, they had trusted her enough to take care of you in their absence again, even after everything had happened.

Your mental state scared her. Seeing you like that wasn’t a surprise after everything you’ve gone through these last few weeks, but that doesn’t stop the worry, the concern as your doctor. Sure, whoever took you, if they took you, might want you alive...but can your mind keep itself alive for that long?

She asks everyone she can in the mess, the kitchen staff and everyone sitting near the doors if they’ve seen you.

No one. Not a single soul saw you. It was unlikely you’d run to the mess, but that would have been the logical move. Run where there’s a crowd, though if you thought they wouldn’t help you, you might have avoided it.

She checks the med center next, combing every inch of it she can. She’s not sure you would have risked running there if you thought she was behind it. Did you see your assailant’s face? You must have, if they drugged you too. You wouldn’t go quietly, so they would have had to reveal themselves to you.

You know it’s not her behind it.

She tells herself that to make herself feel better.

Would you think she was, even if evidence pointed to it? Would you think she would betray you like that? They would have taught you not to trust anyone, but why now? Why would she strike now when she’s been with you in your weakest moments over the last two weeks? There were plenty of times she could have done something, yet she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have. There was no amount of money in this world that would have convinced her to turn against you, betray you and your pack.

She had been willing to fight tooth and nail to avoid sending those files to Shepherd if John hadn’t told her to do it. He trusted her.

That trust will be broken now.

She left you alone, and now you’re gone.

Or dead.

There would be no escaping their retribution. They’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth. Alex would never forgive her. Hell, he’d probably join them.

She checks the gym, even though she doubts you’d run there of all places. She combs every corner she can, getting one of the soldiers to unlock the training rooms just in case, even though it was illogical to think you’d be able to get in with them locked. She can’t be too careful, though. Maybe they taught you how to pick locks.

She even checks the pool, looking at every inch just to be sure.

She’s not sure if it’s a relief she can’t find you compared to the alternative, or if it’s almost worse. At least if she found a body there would be closure. The panic could ease for a moment and she’d know. She’d be sure.

She runs through the barracks once more, combing through every closet and toilet stall, but as expected there’s nothing there. Just your forced open door and the open window. Whatever happened, you did what you were supposed to. You called her and you ran. You learned your lesson, the lessons they’ve all taught you. You did your best, and that is enough, even if her darkest thoughts are true.

You must have run for the trees. It’s the most logical place to run. There’s plenty of places to hide, lots of space to run and double back on your trail, to confuse whoever was following you until they gave up.

Would they give up? Or was their motivations strong enough to keep them prowling, hunting every inch of the forest to look for you.

What if they’re still out there looking for you? What if you’re still out there, afraid and alone.

She hadn’t seen your phone in your room. She prays you grabbed it before you left. Maybe you’re out there trying to call Kate, trying to call anyone who might be able to help. She wishes you’d call her, but why would you if you think she’s still behind it?

Whoever did this planned this out perfectly.

It’s all premeditated. All of it.

What if you’re out there distressing?

She feels like vomiting, her stomach churning uncomfortably. You were already so worked up about your pack being gone, something like this might have sent you right over the edge. She curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She doesn’t know what to do.

For the first time in a long time she doesn’t have a solution to a problem.

She leans against the wall outside the barracks, taking deep breaths. She’s no good to anyone if she’s panicking. You need help. You’ll need her if they find you. She’ll be the only one that will be able to help you. She’s not even sure your pack knows yet. Could Kate tell them? It’s been weeks and there’s been no word. Kate hadn’t been able to give her anything as expected, only that she’d pass the word along once they had a moment.

Had she been lying, or had they truly been off the grid completely? Has this deployment really been that serious? They had called in the whole pack. Or had that been premeditated too. Get you alone and wait for the perfect moment. It can’t be coincidence that they waited until you were distressed enough being separated from your pack for so long.

None of it is a coincidence.

Would Kate tell them this happened? Would she risk it now that your life is in danger?

Or is Kate in on this too?

She shakes the thought from her head. She knows Kate. Kate had picked her specifically for this job. She spent weeks with Kate interviewing and being debriefed for this position. Kate wouldn’t do something like this, not with how close she is to John and the pack. They trust her and she knows them enough to pick an omega that fits in seamlessly with them. She wouldn’t betray them and you like this.

Something is going on behind the scenes. Something has happened to cause all of this. It’s all related. It has to be. It’s all too convenient, all too orchestrated. It has to revolve around the cameras. There’s no other thing she can think of that might cause this series of events.

Unless it goes even deeper than that.

“Dr. Keller?” She looks up when she hears her name.

“Yes?” She says, pushing herself to stand up straight as an officer approaches.

“Lieutenant Colonel Woods, Base Commander.” The officer holds out his hand.

She shakes it, her palms sweaty but he doesn’t seem to care.

“We’re rounding up everyone who is still on base.” He says. It’s the weekend. A lot of them will have left. All the more easy to sneak you away. “We’ll search through every building and send out parties to comb through the forest.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. There’s no sign of her.”

“If she’s still on base, we’ll find her.” He says, far more confident than she feels.

If you’re still on base. The words make her want to vomit.

“The front gate guards are compiling a list of everyone who has come on base and left base within the last two hours.” He continues. “If someone took her, we’ll know.”

“I’m worried about her.” She says, the only thing that’s coming to her mind. It’s true. She’s never been quite so invested in the wellbeing of a patient as she has you, but then again, she’s never been this involved in the life of a patient before. “A lot of things could go wrong quickly.”

“We’ve got a lot of boots on the ground out there looking.” He says. He’s trying to be comforting. She knows this, but that stiff military mindset keeps it from sounding more than cordial and practiced. What if they’re all in on it? “We’ll find her, or we’ll get answers to what happened.”

The wait is the worst part. She’s going crazy, waiting for any word. Anything that might hint at what’s happening. There’s been nothing yet, no sign of you, but it’s hardly been twenty minutes. She can’t stop the spiraling thoughts. She can’t take her own advice, apply her own knowledge and teachings. Not right now. Not while she’s bordering on a crisis. She needs to find you. She needs to know you’re alright.

Don’t let them find a body.

She’ll never live with herself. She left you alone. She let this happen. She was supposed to be watching you, taking care of you, and now you’re gone under her watch.

They’ll never trust her again.

Her phone ringing nearly has her jumping out of her skin. She fumbles for it in her pocket, her fingers trembling. Please let it be you. She lets out a breath of disappointment before answering.

“Kate?” Her voice shakes.

“Any news?” Kate asks. She sounds disheveled herself.

“Nothing.” She swallows thickly. “They’re still looking.”

Kate sighs. “I don’t think she’s on base.”

Hearing it nearly makes her legs give out. She’s known that’s likely the case since she called Kate the first time, but hearing it out loud solidifies that as a fact. She’s been keeping a fool’s hope that you managed to hide somewhere, that you got somewhere safe, even if she knows better.

“This goes a lot deeper than we all thought. It was never about the cameras or the initiative.” Kate continues.

“The reports, the prying.” She says. “It wasn’t about tracking progress for the sake of progress.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Sir.” A soldier approaches, saluting the Lieutenant Colonel.

“We might have some news.” She says, putting her phone on speaker. She hopes it’s true. If they can get a name, then they’ll have an easier time finding you.

“At ease.” Woods says.

“We have the list of everyone who left base in the last two hours.” He says, handing over a tablet. “There’s only one.”

“Colonel McKinney.” Woods says.

“He left in his personal vehicle 50 minutes ago.” The guard says.

“Give me every detail you can on that car.” Kate says.

“It’s a blue Ford Fiesta, registration plate Papa Juliet 64, Hotel Tango November.” Woods says.

“I’ll get eyes on that car.” Kate says.

“I’ll alert local police.” Woods says.

“We will find her.” Kate says, and Christine knows she’s trying to reassure her.

“Do they know?” She asks.

“Not yet.” Kate says. “They’re not in a place where they can do anything about it, and the last thing they need is to get distracted.”

“They're not going to like being kept in the dark on this for so long.” She says.

“I know. But it’s for their own safety above all else.”

And the greater good of the world, Christine knows, even if Kate doesn’t say it out loud. It’s always for the greater good. That’s why the job comes first, even if it’s at your detriment. She feels like screaming, like throwing her phone.

It’s not fair.

Her hands are still shaking as she ends the call with Kate, not feeling any more comforted than she had before. It’s possible Corporal McKinney was involved. It’s too coincidental that he left base within the time you went missing. Why would he take you, though? Was he involved in all of this too? She’s never heard you mention his name before, nor have you brought up any strange feelings about any of the soldiers on base. Omegas are good at reading others' energies. It’s a natural defense mechanism and with your pureblood status, it makes you all the more aware of things in your environment.

Then again, you kept the cameras from all of them. What else have you been hiding?

She pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time for conspiracies she can’t get an answer to. They need to find you first and ensure you’re alright. That’s the most important thing.

“Lieutenant Colonel!” A soldier says, approaching their makeshift headquarters. “We found something, sir.”

“What did you find?” He says, standing up straight.

“A bullet on the trail, sir.” He places the bullet in Woods’ hand. “About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead.”

Christine feels like passing out. Her legs are wobbling, knees shaking as she stands there, staring at the bullet. She needs to sit down, she needs to breathe.

Don’t let them find a body. Please don’t let them find a body.

The tear that trails down her cheek is hot against her clammy skin.

Kate sighs as she puts down the phone. She wants to put her head in her hands, scream, punch something, anything. She can’t, though, she’s doing double duty. She’s the only one she trusts to do both of these things. This pack is hers to watch over, hers to help, and that includes the entire pack.

Not much can be done until Corporal McKinney and his car are found. There won’t be any leads until then, unless they come across something on base. She hates it, that she can’t do more. She knows if she tells John, they’ll abandon this mission and be on a flight home in a heartbeat. It won’t do anyone any good until they know more, until the 141 are in a safer position.

She hates keeping it from them, but it’s for everyone’s safety.

Especially if what she uncovered is true.

She can hardly believe it herself. Her eyes keep flickering to the files her team had uncovered, the truth finally spilling out about everything. There is no initiative. There was never going to be an initiative. They were all pawns being placed for a move like this, for a situation that calls for such drastic measures.

The last few hours have hardly felt real.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher 0-1 how copy?” John’s voice comes through the comms, almost startling her.

She still has a job to do.

“Loud and clear, Bravo 0-6.” She says, clearing her throat.

“Kate, there’s nothing here.”

Kate blinks at the screen, at the map that had been carefully laid out with exact points, confirmed visuals. “Come again?” She says, praying it was her overactive mind that misheard.

“The warehouse is empty. There’s no sign of any missile having been here in the first place.” John says.

What? Kate flips through files, scanning every bit of intel that had been given to her.

They’re all pawns.

There was no missile. There was no real intel. A red herring.

Separating the pack leaves members vulnerable. Take away the four and leave the omega alone and unprotected. Separate her from the one person left to keep watch over her, leave her vulnerable.

It’s what they wanted all along. That was always the plan.

“John, there’s...” She trails off as dots begin appearing on the map. She zooms in, her stomach dropping. “Four vehicles approaching your position.”

“Friendly?” He asks, but she can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows they’re not. He’s done this enough times.

“I don’t think they're meeting you for a picnic.” She says, trying to identify the vehicles.

“We’ll dig in here. Keep them from getting in.” John says.

“John...” Kate says. She should tell him. She needs to tell them before something goes wrong. If this was all a trap, then things will go wrong, yet she can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. “Don’t come out of there in a body bag.”

“Don’t give up hope on us yet.” He says before the line goes dead.

Kate lets out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. It’s going to be a long next few hours.

Your head is pounding. There’s a throbbing behind your eyes beating in time with your heart. It hurts, a quiet groan leaving your lips. The world is spinning and you haven’t even opened your eyes. Your entire body feels like it’s twisting and turning, your organs wringing themselves like a washcloth. You’re going to be sick, but you can’t even manage to lift your head.

Everything feels heavy. Nothing is moving despite your brain telling it to. There’s a deep ache in your muscles and joints like you’ve been immobile for far too long and need to stretch. Your limbs try to move, yet nothing happens except a sharp pain in your left calf. You let out another groan, fingers curling at the sharp pain that radiates up through your leg to your hip. The throbbing behind your eyes intensifies as your head is moved, tilting up before falling backwards weakly.

“Easy.” A voice coos at you, easing your head back straight. It flops to the side, none of your muscles coordinating like they should. “...know...dose...twice.”

The words float in and out, muffled like you’re underwater and just barely bobbing above the surface. You do feel a bit like you’re underwater, trying to kick up to the surface of consciousness. Something is holding you under, keeping you from reaching that surface.

There’s a hand on your face holding your head up as your muscles fight to activate enough to hold it up themselves. The hand is warm against your skin, rough and calloused. There’s two textures, skin and rough fabric against your face. Awareness begins to come back to you slowly, your mind clearing the fog the longer you’re awake. Your body hurts, muscles aching. You try to move your arms but you can't, something biting into the skin of your wrists as you turn them.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The voice says, calloused fingers brushing your arm.

You flinch at the touch, muscles contracting painfully before they relax. You let out another groan, your brows pinching as you try to get your eyes to open. The haze hasn’t entirely lifted from your brain yet as you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. It’s cold where you are, goosebumps forming on your skin. It’s uncomfortable, your body too exposed. You want a sweatshirt, a blanket, something to keep the cold away. Something tickles in the back of your brain as you begin to pick up scents, several all at once, meshed together. It’s overwhelming, too much information flooding your brain all at once.

The motion is automatic and instinctual as you turn your face to press into the hand on your cheek. You inhale deeply, trying to block out the overwhelming wave of senses, trying to get a sense of who it is in front of you, who is with you in the room.

Woody. Soft wood. Cedar? It smells like a candle your mother used to burn.

Sweet? Something sweet. Chocolate? Richer. Dark chocolate.

Memories begin to float back as you inhale the scent. You know that scent. You’ve smelled it before. Your frown deepens as you hold your face there, nose pressed against the palm as your mind sluggishly digs through your hazy memory banks. You can’t even remember where you are or how you got there.

“Good girl.”

You know that voice. You’ve heard it before. Somewhere in the back of your mind it triggers something, some faded memory shoved deep into the depths of your memory bank. You dig for it, mining your sluggish brain as you try to figure out who it is, why it’s all so familiar.

The other part of your brain focuses on your body, waking your muscles back up. With it comes the pain, the achiness: the throbbing in your calf, the pulsing behind your eyes, the ache in your muscles and joints. There’s a light somewhere in front of you, bright and shining through your eyelids. You don’t want to open them. It feels wrong, the bright light right in your face. You don’t like it.

You pull your face away from the hand, your head drooping forward slightly as the muscles in your neck finally begin to engage. The scent is wrong. It’s not the right kind of wood. There’s no damp earth after a spring rain, no scent of petrichor. The touch isn’t right. It’s not soft enough, not warm enough.

It’s not your alpha.

The tingling in the back of your brain intensifies as you shoot into hyper-awareness from your sluggish state. Your instincts are awake, suddenly overwhelmed by the explosion of scents and sounds. There’s voices all around, quiet and hushed, but they might as well be yelling in your ears. There’s so many scents blending together until you can’t tell one from the other.

Except the one in front of you.

Cedar. Dark Chocolate.

Memories crawl forward from the recesses of your mind. Childhood. Texas. Summer heat. The charcoal in the barbeque. Cedar and chocolate always too close. You hated it. You’ve always hated that smell.

Your eyes force themselves open, eyelids peeling up like a damp window that’s been closed for a decade. The window had been hard to open, yet you managed it with the adrenaline pumping through your body.

Your heart rate picks up at the thought, some fear you can’t quite conceptualize yet in your half-aware state burning in the back of your mind. You breathe heavily as you fight to get your eyes open, blinking against the obtrusive light. Fluorescent, too bright to be comfortable.

White walls, bright lights. Boots on the floor.

Your pack.

Where is your pack? Where is your alpha?

Where are you?

Finally your eyes open, squinting against the bright light. You can’t see anything, the light directly in your eyes. It burns, tears gathering on your lids as you fight against the oppressive, blinding sun being directed at you.

Voices float in the background and suddenly the light is turned away. You blink away the bright spots left in your vision, a couple tears falling uncontrollably. Rough fingers wipe them off your cheeks almost tenderly, but not tender enough.

Rough fingers across your skin, gripping you tightly, anchoring you. A soft voice floats through the air, rough yet comforting with the soft words calming the panic in you.

It’s not right.

Nothing is right.

You’re breathing heavily as you finally get your eyes fully open, the muscles in your neck contracting as you slowly lift your head. There’s someone kneeling in front of you, arm draped across their knee. They’re like a shadow, hidden mostly from view as you blink clarity into your eyes. Your brows pinch into a frown again as you blink, your gaze focusing on the face in front of you.

You know that face.

“There she is.”

You know that voice.

It’s been years since you heard it last. Memories slam into you in an onslaught, memories from your childhood, back when things were fine, things were normal, things were as they should be.

Family. Texas. Alphas.

Cedar and chocolate.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, blinking in shock. Your brows furrow in confusion, your still foggy brain trying to piece everything together.

You know him.

It’s been years but you’ll never forget.

The light brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples indenting with that too-friendly grin.

Your mouth is dry, your tongue heavy as it opens, forming the name on your lips. The name. It comes out in a croak, barely audible and understandable, but laced with confusion and disbelief.

“Phil?”

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #John mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse

2K notes · View notes

undressrehearsal · 1 year ago

Text

dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?”

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes.

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?”

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed.

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.”

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.”

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.”

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?”

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips.

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?”

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?”

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?”

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.”

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?”

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.”

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in.

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress.

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?”

You grinned. “$200.”

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.”

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.”

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips.

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling.

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.”

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.”

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor.

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?”

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!”

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.”

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone.

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning.

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.”

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you.

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”)

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?”

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-”

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!”

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-”

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?”

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?”

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.”

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?”

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.”

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing.

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints.

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.”

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light.

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies.

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar.

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own.

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?”

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands-

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?”

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited.

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse.

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk.

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat.

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?”

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.”

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic.

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.”

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else.

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.”

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.”

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart.

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there.

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.”

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.”

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover.

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer.

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face.

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth.

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp.

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest.

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving?

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.”

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body.

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue.

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.”

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone.

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.”

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin.

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips.

“What?”

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no.

“Truth,” you sighed.

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?”

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy.

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing.

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs.

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?”

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips.

And you decided to play her game.

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes.

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.”

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.”

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment?

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue.

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach.

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.”

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.”

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple.

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones.

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease.

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.”

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan.

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye.

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.”

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission.

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence?

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them.

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been.

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs.

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place.

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….”

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job.

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-”

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted.

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-”

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs.

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity.

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple.

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?”

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?”

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?”

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.”

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin.

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again.

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.”

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?”

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.”

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you.

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.”

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.”

#listen i'm writing a novel rn so i forgot how to write short things #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #idk man #tlou 2 x reader #i might change the title idk i couldn't think of anything #i haven't written fanfiction in. like 8 or 9 years i think lol

4K notes · View notes

bloomseishiro · 6 days ago

Text

IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO IGNORE YOU — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — during your first year, one of your friends gets rejected by itoshi rin. during your second year, another one falls victim to the same fate. the same happens this year, your current and final year of high school. is the new saying fourth time's a charm?

itoshi rin x fem!reader. fluff, crushes :3, high school au/no blue lock au, rin got big bro issues (duh), the slightest bit of i can fix him vibes ok sue me, reader and rin are both 3rd years

word count. 4.0k

Itoshi Rin is an egotistical asshole.

At least, that’s what runs through your mind as you have to comfort yet another crying friend.

“Does he really h-hate me that much?” sniffles Akemi, blowing her nose on a tissue you gave her. “He wouldn’t even let me f-finish saying my confession.”

“He interrupted your confession?” you repeat with indignation, though you reminded yourself you shouldn’t be surprised. Just last year, your friend Emi was rejected by Itoshi Rin. And the year before that, he rejected your friend Hana. Both were left in a similar amount of snot and tears.

There are only three years of high school, yet Itoshi succeeded in breaking three of your friends’ hearts in such a short amount of time!

Total asshole status.

Akemi sighs, resting her head against your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have expected anything different, huh? Even this past Valentine’s Day, he rejected so many chocolates from so many pretty girls. I don’t know what I was thinking. He’d never like someone like me.”

“Hey!” you chide, wagging your finger at her. “Don’t say that! Itoshi is an idiot for not liking you. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

She rubs her eyes wearily, exhaling loudly as she wipes her stray tears away. “I know you’re right, but it’s just not fair. Why does he have to be so cute and perfect?”

“He’s not,” you snort. “Perfect, that is.”

Even you couldn’t deny that Itoshi was attractive, though you would never admit that to Akemi.

She shoots you a sideways glance, raising her brow in disbelief. “Now, that’s just a lie.”

“It’s not! I had math class with him last year. He was always at the bottom of the class for tests.”

“So he isn’t the best with his studies. That doesn’t mean he’s not perfect!”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. Is being totally delusional about Itoshi Rin a criterion for liking him?

“Fawning over your crush is no way to get over him,” you say matter-of-factly. “You know what does help? Eating your lunch. Look, you haven’t even touched the food on your tray!”

“How can I possibly eat when my heart is in disarray?” whines Akemi, sticking her tongue out at you to let you know she’s only joking.

You shake your head with a laugh, glad she is beginning to feel better.

“I know I’ll get over it,” she promises, a downcast look on her face as she takes a bite of rice.

“You will,” you assure her, finishing up your meal as well. “After food, the second best way to get over heartbreak is to find a new guy to obsess over! How about that guy?”

“Too short.”

“Him?” you point at a second year who just walked into the cafeteria.

Akemi makes a face. “I don’t like younger guys.”

“Even if they are just one year younger?” you ask incredulously.

“Nope.”

You get a feeling finding another guy for her to crush on may be harder than you thought. Instead of hunting for more cute boys, you resign yourself and say, “Someone will come around.”

“Not soon enough,” she groans, but humors you nonetheless. “I have to get to my next lesson now. Science. Gross. Thank you for helping me feel better.”

“Anytime!” you chirp, waving goodbye as she leaves the table. “It’s no biggie.”

After all, this isn’t your first rodeo. You have had plenty of practice comforting Itoshi’s unfortunate victims. By plenty, you mean two times before, but even that is already two too many times.

The rest of your classes go by in a blur, and after attending your club meeting, you head over to the nearby train station to begin your commute home.

You find a spot on the train near an exit and hold on to the railing above you. Over the years, you’ve learned not to bother racing for a spot on a seat. You would never secure one in the first place, and the few times you did, there was always an elderly person looking at you, subtly glaring until you gave the seat up to them. Standing by the exit is easier, anyway. And at least it forces you to work on your core strength.

As the train begins to move along the tracks, you begin to zone out, eyes wandering around the coach to see if anything out of the ordinary is going on. Discrete people watching has always been one of your favorite ways to pass time.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar face on a nearby seat.

Your lip curls. Itoshi.

“Of course he got a seat,” you mutter under your breath.

As if he knows you’re thinking about him, Itoshi’s gaze darts over to you. Your eyes lock together and you’re immediately mortified about being caught. Without explanation, you tear yourself away and face the other side of the train.

You decide to simply ignore him and pretend that didn’t happen. It wasn’t like he was someone who would approach you or expect you to make conversation with him, anyway.

After avoiding that potential nuisance, the remainder of your train ride goes by smoothly. The buildings from outside melt together in a blur of grey as the constant vibrations of the train hum through you.

It’s a comforting sensation. Despite all the bodies on the train, you can still feel a sense of peace as you focus on the ride.

Unfortunately for you, the peace is shattered when a random stranger approaches as the train begins to slow down.

His eyes are wide and he looks slightly confused as he asks you something in a language you cannot understand.

You blink, lifting your hands in an “I don’t know” movement. With his khaki shorts and floral shirt, you have to assume this man is a tourist.

He makes the motion of eating food and points at the exit questioningly, mouthing short phrases to help you comprehend better. Alas, you aren’t very good at charades.

“I’m so sorry, but…” you try saying slowly.

The tourist interrupts with more English and it sounds like a warble in your ears.

At a complete loss, you look frantically around the train. There has to be someone—anyone—here who knows at least some of what he is saying. You manage to lock eyes with a middle-aged lady who shrugs at you apologetically.

“I don’t know English,” she mouths and you nod in resignation.

Just as you are about to lose all hope, you feel a looming presence behind you. You swiftly glance back and see Itoshi approaching you and the tourist. His eyes barely flit over yours before he directs his attention to the man in front of you.

They begin speaking for a short while, both in English, and the only words you are able to catch is a brief “thank you” at the end.

Whatever Itoshi told him must have been confirmation enough, since the tourist leaves as soon as the doors open.

Itoshi lingers behind you even after the situation is resolved.

“Are you still pretending not to see me?” he questions.

Your eyes widen at his accusation and you shake your head in denial. “I’m not pretending to do anything. I just have nothing to say.”

“Not even a ‘thank you’?”

You finally meet his eyes to see a knowing look on his face. Your fingers toy with the hem of your skirt sheepishly, mouth forming a small ‘o’. You were so busy ignoring his presence, you almost forgot your manners.

“You’re right. Thank you,” you acknowledge. He nods. “What was he asking for?”

“He just wanted to know if this was the closest stop to the downtown food district,” Itoshi explains as if it’s that simple. Because to him, it really is that simple.

You groan to yourself. You should have been able to use his hand gestures as context clues to figure out something as simple as that.

“You didn’t understand any of that conversation?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Seems like you’re slacking off during English class.”

Your brows furrow as you place your hand on your hip. “At least I’m not flunking all my other classes.”

Itoshi rolls his eyes at you. “I’m not flunking. I don’t have any failing grades. They’re high enough to pass at least. Barely.”

You stifle a laugh.

“You, on the other hand, can’t say the same,” he says with a small smirk. “I heard the teacher talking to you after class the other day. Something about recommending you get a tutor before the next exam?”

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you let out a huff. All of your grades are amazing. Expect…for that one measly subject called English.

“How do you even know about that?” you demand, folding your arms over your chest.

Itoshi raises his brow. “Because I was there.”

You give him a blank stare.

“Seriously?” he says, voice deadpan. “I’m in the same English class as you this year.”

“Oh,” you murmur, feeling the slightest bit guilty for not noticing. In your defense, you didn’t notice much in that class to begin with. “So, maybe I do slack off during English. But that class is right after lunch and I’m so sleepy! I kinda just mentally check out the moment I step inside.”

“I can tell.”

You throw him a glare but can’t refute. “Let’s go back to talking about your bad grades instead…”

Itoshi shrugs dismissively. “It’s not like I care about those classes. They’re not important for practical usage. When will we ever need to know the quadratic formula in real life? But English, as you could see just now, obviously is important.”

“But it’s hard,” you whine.

“Maybe if you paid attention it wouldn’t be.”

You whack his arm with the sleeve of your sweater, half-hearted enough so there is no actual blow, but you figure Itoshi would get the message.

He snorts. “Ouch. I’ve never felt more pain in my life.”

“Shut up.”

The two of you exchanged glares

“What are you even doing here, Itoshi? I always take this train and I’ve never seen you board with me.”

“Just Rin is fine,” he almost hisses, face growing dark hearing his surname.

You give him a sideways glance. What’s up with this guy? “Um, you want me to call you by your first name?”

“Yes, but not for whatever weird reason you’re thinking,” he says with an eye roll. “I don’t consider you close or a friend. I just don’t like being called by my last name.”

Your brow raises, but you don’t push him for more information. It’s not your place to. Nor do you care enough to. This is the guy who broke three of your friends’ hearts! You shouldn’t even be having this long of a conversation with him in the first place.

“Okay. Rin, then,” you correct yourself.

Rin nods. “Yeah. And I normally take this way home, just at a later hour. I stay late to practice more soccer.”

“You decided not to practice today?” you ask, tilting your head in question. Everyone in school knows Itoshi Rin is the best soccer player on your highschool’s team. That, along with his annoyingly handsome looks, is what makes him so popular in the first place. “That’s surprising. Why not?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he dismisses, ignoring all your questions.

You blink, wondering how so many girls were entranced by this man who can’t even hold a decent conversation. “Alright, then.”

Rin pulls out his phone as the silence lulls over the two of you. He browses around for a while before pocketing his device and looking back at you.

“Yes?” you prompt.

“That girl earlier today was your friend, right?” His voice is awkward as he rubs the back of his neck. “I saw her talking to you in the cafeteria.”

“You saw her sobbing onto my shoulder, you mean?” you say dryly. “Yeah, she’s my friend. Her name is Akemi.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look pleased. “Tell her to stop crying over me. There are no hard feelings, alright? I just don’t care to have any sort of relationship in the near future.”

“Well, do you explain that?” you ask with a bite. “To the girls you reject?”

Rin blows air out of his nose in annoyance, closing his eyes. “Well, obviously. I tell them I’m not interested in relationships. But then they still want to give their speech on why they like me and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t even know them most of the time. It’s uncomfortable.”

While a part of you sympathizes with him—after all, it must feel awkward to have people you barely know confess their hearts to you—a bigger part of you still feels indignation for those who get rejected.

“It’s also uncomfortable to confess to someone, you know?” you chide, but your gaze softens as you continue. “They put themselves out there, not knowing what will happen in return, and the least you can do is let them down gently.”

“What good is false hope?” he scoffs, shaking his head bitterly. “It’s better to be direct and sharp. No point in sugarcoating things. I’ve learned that the hard way. So can they.”

You frown, looking up as the train comes to a slow stop once more. “Do you really believe that?”

Rin doesn’t reply.

You sigh, shaking your head softly. There is no way you would be able to understand him in one train ride. Or maybe even ever. “You don’t need to sugarcoat anything, but it doesn’t take much to be kind to people. Or to show people basic human respect. Like you showed that tourist earlier. And me earlier. It was nice of you to step in.”

“Whatever.”

You make a face, trying not to roll your eyes at his shortness. You tried to be helpful and gave him a little encouraging speech, all for him to simply not care? He really is an asshole, after all.

“Whatever yourself, Rin,” you remark snippily, gathering your belongings and heading towards the exit. “This is my stop so, bye, I guess.”

He hesitates before walking out after you. “I’m not following you, alright? I get off here, too.”

“Hooray for me,” you sarcastically say under your breath.

You and Rin maneuver your way through the crowded station in silence. It isn’t a comfortable silence, but it isn’t exactly awkward either. The two of you just…existed, acutely aware of the other’s presence.

He’s certainly easier to be around when he isn’t talking, you determine.

“How close are you to failing English?” he suddenly says, immediately affirming your belief that Itoshi Rin is better silent.

“Did you have to remind me about that?” you groan, letting out a heavy sigh. “But to answer your question, very close. As in, fail one more big exam and I have to repeat the class, close.”

He whistles in disbelief. “Sucks.”

You remain straight-faced. “Thanks for the encouragement, Rin.”

“Am I supposed to encourage you?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. Shaking his head, he sarcastically continues, “Study hard, you can do it!”

You grimace at the forced cheer in his voice. Even he looks disgusted with himself after saying that. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try not to gag internally. “Ew. No. Please, no. Never do that again.”

Rin snorts, but you sense a hint of amusement on his expression. “See? Being encouraging and nice and gentle is not for me.”

“Not if you fake it like that!” you say, looking both ways before you cross the street with Rin in tow. “People will feel if you are genuine.”

“Sure, they will.”

“They will,” you insist, shrugging off his negativity. “Try it someday, maybe.”

“Maybe if someone’s actually worth my time,” he scoffs, and you could see just how big his head really is.

Wow, this guy really is an egotistical asshole.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope you find someone you think is worth your time. Maybe then you’d stop being such a sourpuss!”

“Sourpuss? What are you, a grandma?”

“Obviously not,” you retort, throwing your hands up exasperatedly, “because if I were, I’d be your elder, then you’d have to respect me.”

Rin huffs at your dramatics. “Alright, calm down, grandma.”

Your eye twitches.

“If you fail English, will you have to stay for summer school? It’s our last year. When else are you supposed to repeat it?”

You nod miserably. “I try not to think about it,” you sigh. “Our teacher is nice though. She said she will let me retake my past exams before the year ends and use those grades instead.”

“So all you have to do is retake all the previous tests and ace them? Easy.”

“Easy for you!” you cry, jutting your lower lip out. “You’re the top of the class! And even your accent sounds good. How unfair.”

Rin snorts at the begrudging praise. The only time you would compliment him is when it’s about his English skills.

When the two of you reach the next intersection, you finally begin to walk opposite ways. You become confused for a moment, you’ve gotten so used to him walking beside you, you forgot he actually is on his way home and not there to accompany you to your place.

“My house is down this way,” you state, pointing left. “I guess this is where we say goodbye?”

He nods, but before fully turning away, he says, “Do you want help?”

“Huh?”

“With English.” Rin rolls his eyes. “What else?”

You meet his gaze slowly and cautiously, eyes narrowing. “Yes, I want help. I don’t want to fail. Why?”

“I’m busy with soccer most days after school, but I can tutor you during lunch. And some weekends.”

Your eyes narrow even more. Suspicious doesn’t even begin to describe how you are feeling. Rin is offering to help you? There’s no way.

“No…” you trail off with uncertainty. “No thanks.”

“No?” he repeats, looking at you as if you’re an idiot. Which, maybe you are.

“No, of course not! I can’t!” you cry in disbelief. “Three of my friends have been heartbroken by you. What would they think if they saw you tutoring me?”

“Let me guess. Maybe, ‘Good job Y/N for getting help on English from the best English speaker in the grade?”

“Nope.”

Rin scowls.

“Well, maybe,” you relent. It has been a while since they had a crush on him, other than Akemi, of course. Feelings of rejection and resentment should fade with time… You hope. “I know they want me to pass the class.”

“Your best chance is standing right in front of you,” he supplies nonchalantly. “The deal’s off the table tomorrow. I think I filled my kindness quota for the rest of the school year by just offering.”

You glare at him. A quota is just ridiculous. “That’s not how it works and you know it. But…okay.”

He waits for you to elaborate, foot impatiently tapping the sidewalk.

Taking a deep breath, you blurt out, “I’ll accept your offer. Please, tutor me, Rin. I don’t want to fail this stupid class!”

You recall the look of relief on the tourist’s face once Rin stepped in. Rin himself didn’t even look like he was struggling to understand the man. His other grades may be subpar, but his English truly is amazing.

He shrugs dismissively as you finally agree to take on his offer. “You won’t fail with my help. Smart choice.”

“I hope you’re right,” you sigh, not allowing yourself to feel too optimistic yet. You would need to see an improvement in your test score before you would celebrate. “Thank you, Rin.”

“Sure.”

“Still… I need to ask,” you begin, still feeling cautious. “What is it that you want in return?”

Rin gives you a blank stare. “Nothing?”

You give him an incredulous look. “You’re going to help tutor me with nothing in return? Are you sure? You don’t want me to tutor you in other subjects? I’m good at history and math and science!”

“No, I don’t care about them. They’re useless to me.”

You scrunch your nose as he disses your more favored subjects. Math, you could agree feels pretty useless. But science certainly isn’t! You use it everyday when you do something simple like cooking an egg. And history is even more important to learn about the world and where you’re from.

“If not tutoring, then what else do you want?”

His eyebrow shoots up as he exhales loudly. “Do you want to offer me something?”

You fold your arms over your chest. “Not exactly, no. But if you don’t want something in return, why are you offering to tutor me? Why are you being…nice?”

Rin’s gaze locks onto yours and you find yourself holding your breath as you await a response.

After five long beats of silence, he simply says, “Maybe I think you’re someone worth my time.”

Your eyes widen at his words, trying to interpret it in every possible way. Is he being sarcastic? Is he serious? Is he flirting? Your brain whirs a million possibilities and you feel like your head is spinning.

As if he senses your cogs turning in overdrive, Rin gives your forehead a light flick, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Stop overthinking, grandma.”

“Hey!” You blink, rubbing the middle of your forehead.

He looks at you expectantly.

You sigh. “Okay, no overthinking, then. I guess I’ll just say thank you for taking the time to help me.”

“I haven’t helped you yet,” he says, waving a hand. dismissively. “You can say thanks once you pass your next English exam.”

For the first time, you feel yourself smiling at him. It turns out Rin, for reasons unbeknownst to you, really is serious about you passing the class.

Maybe you were wrong about him.

He is egotistical. And he is an asshole. But not all the time. There’s a strangely kind and unexpectedly caring side to him you haven’t witnessed before this. But it feels…good. You know it’s in him. And you want to help Rin bring it out of himself, again and again and again.

“It’s getting late now, so I’ll let you go,” you say in farewell. “But thank you again for offering to tutor me. See, Rin, this means you can be nice!”

“Only if I want to be,” he scoffs, but you catch the corner of his lip lifting upwards. “Goodnight, then. Meet me at the library tomorrow? We can start your tutoring sessions then.”

“I’ll be there!” you chirp, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Goodnight.”

You begin the rest of your walk home with your head still spinning. The road ahead is long and endless. For a moment, you stop in your tracks and chance a glance behind you. Slowly, you turn and find Rin is already looking back at you, his expression completely disarmed.

Your eyes meet with a look of shared surprise before you both spin back around at superhuman speed. A giggle of disbelief escapes you at the strange coincidence. Why did you both look back? At each other, no less. And why did he have that sort of expression on his face?

The thud of your heart beats faster in your chest as hopeful confusion overtakes you. Is Rin feeling the same thing? you wonder. You’re not even sure what feeling this is yourself, exactly.

You sigh to yourself, body buzzing and brain feeling like total mush. And yet, you realize you kind of enjoy this unfamiliar feeling.

All this adrenaline for a guy who is a serial rejector and only thinks some people are worth his time? You laugh at the audacity.

What is Rin doing to you?

You shake your head. Whatever it is, you know you owe it to yourself to jump in, head first, and welcome it with open arms.

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock #bllk #bllk fluff #bllk x you #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock oneshots #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #bllk fanfic

619 notes · View notes

boneblushed · 1 year ago

Text

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #marauders era #James potter fanfiction

5K notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 11 months ago

Text

The Demon King & His Princess [Sebastian Michaelis]

an: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for months and it’s time I had a clear out. This demon could tell me stories any night he wants…

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis (demon king AU) x female reader (princess)

warnings: nightmares, storytelling turned steamy, fantasy AU, smut, NSFW

Masterlist

The darkness was pure—heavy and suffocating. It wrapped like a noose around your slender throat and squeezed tighter and tighter. You couldn’t draw air, couldn’t struggle from the iron-tight hold.

You jolted upright. Fire burned in your lungs as if you had been suffocating in your sleep and you touched feverishly at your neck but felt nothing amiss. Disorientation made your head spin, eyes scanning back and forth in an attempt to make sense of your surroundings and what had happened.

In bed.

You could feel the mattress beneath your backside and legs, the heavy weight of a rich duvet covered your midriff. That was at least a comfort. If the only one you could find. The beat of your heart ached against your ribs. It hurt to take each shuddering breath as if you had broken the surface of icy waters. The air froze in your chest, and you clutched blindly at the sweat-dampened nightgown in desperation.

Your saviour was not far…

A presence at your side made you jump anew, but soon your shoulders sagged with relief as two familiar hands held you tight. The touch was cool and soothing. You let yourself be drawn into a strong body whilst you continued to tremble like the last autumn leaf.

Slowly, and with the utmost care, you were lowered back to the sheets. Soft-spoken words sounded distant, called over the crashing waves of your fear but as the seconds ticked on, they became clearer.

“Come back to me… can you hear me, little one? You are mine, come back.”

Sebastian.

It was Sebastian who pressed his face into your hair and whispered gentle yet firm words into your ear. It was he who wound his arms around your chest and lodged his body tightly against your back. His warmth chased away the shivering chill from your skin and the even beat of his heart that settled your own into a normal rhythm.

“Sebastian…”

“I’m right here,” he soothed in his low authoritative voice, barely above a whisper. Deft fingers stroked the apple of your cheek. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Your chin tucked low into your chest, a shy shame washing over you for goodness knows why. A nightmare was out of your control after all, so why try to deny it? Sebastian slid a finger between your chin, bringing your face back up to his. At last, you nodded slowly and averted your eyes.

“Want to talk about it?” He asked.

Whatever had caused such a blinding panic had already mostly melted away, the memories new fleeting and entirely disjointed. In honesty, you couldn’t quite recall the events of the dream, other than remembering the sensation of being choked of breath.

“I… can’t remember. I think I’d rather forget.”

You pressed your eyes shut, snuffing out the lone candle on the nightstand that illuminated the darkness of the bedroom. At heart you wished away the sense of lingering panic that beat just beneath the surface, threatening to surface at the smallest jolt.

The Demon King hummed a faint melody, a tune that seemed reminiscent of one you had heard many years prior.

His long dexterous fingers massaged at your skin through your silky nightdress, the midnight black fingernails a stark contrast against the pure white.

“Shall I tell you a tale? It might help you to… forget.”

In your disarray, you missed the faint trace of heat in his voice. Had you noticed, would your answer have been any different? Not likely. Be that as it may, you accepted his offer regardless and his smile was not merely comforting any longer—not that you could see it with your face tucked into his chest.

With a soft sigh, you rolled back your shoulders to better settle yourself into his protective embrace. The flicker of the candle painted long shadows upon the nearest wall, and you glanced up at your handsome beau without a trace of fear. His hair fell in a black curtain around his face, eyes closed as if at rest–although you knew better–and his smile had returned to docile.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who loved to roam the lands her family ruled over. Her curiosity was mischievous and might have been considered reckless for she often wandered unaccompanied.”

Sebastian spoke in soft dulcet tones, and you wondered where this story was headed. It sounded rather familiar, intimately familiar…

“One day,” he continued, aware of your narrowed eyes aimed in his direction but ignoring it in favour of speaking calmly, slowly. “The princess came upon another person out in the forests near her home.

Yet, to her bewilderment he was not a person, but a Demon. She should have been scared, fearful of a creature she had been warned was wicked with only evil in their heart, but she wasn’t.”

He smiled indulgently. Reminiscing fondly at how brave you had been that day. In honesty, he would call it foolish, but luckily for you, this particular Demon was instantly enamoured with you.

“Instead, the sweet yet naïve princess befriended the Demon and soon they would spend hours traversing the lands with the Demon showing her places she didn’t even know existed. Sharing secrets that his kind would likely condemn him for brazenly putting his trust in the young mortal.”

Butterflies erupted in the depths of your stomach, flitting around in energetic bursts at the memory of those long-ago days. The hours that easily slipped into days, the warm sunshine on your face and the excitement of newly discovered secrets. You would forever be grateful for the trust Sebastian placed into the cradle of your hands, the knowledge he chose to share when you warned it might be frowned upon.

He pressed a kiss to your temple as if he sensed your gratitude. “It wasn’t long before an attraction grew between the pair, and in short, the Demon was besotted by the exquisite beauty of the princess and the purity of her heart and soul. At this realisation, he revealed himself as not simply a Demon, for he was the Demon King. A Demon King in love with a mortal princess.”

You squirmed against his strong body, heat warming your cheeks. Sebastian wouldn’t allow you to turn in his arms, tucking you further into his hold. He planted his hands on the soft curves of your waist whilst he continued to purr his story into your ear.

“Sebastian…”

He shushed you softly, his lips traversing the gentle slope of your shoulder to press a gentle kiss to your sweet-smelling neck. You could feel his smile against your skin, knowing and growing wider when your pulse began to race faster.

“The Demon King rejoiced in the knowledge that his attraction and love were returned in equal measure, and the night he first took her to his bed was a night he would never forget… Not in all his long years of existence had a night so special occurred and might never again.”

You could only moan, the sound long and drawn out when his hands roamed your plush curves. One palm stroked up and down your side until the fairly modest hem of your nightgown was drawn high enough that his fingertips could ghost lazy patterns on your skin.

The other cupped your breasts lightly through the shimmery fabric, his warm breath caressing and causing you to shiver deliciously from his attention. These shivers were different to the ones caused by your earlier nightmare—now long forgotten. They tingled pleasantly and led to a growing wetness between your clenched thighs.

“The princess was supple beneath his touch and reciprocating to his actions. Despite the power he wielded, the Demon was gentle in his exploration. He whispered of the naughty deeds he wished to enact, and of how he desperately wanted to open her up like a blooming flower to bathe in her arousal. When his touch reached her most intimate area, the Demon King had growled aloud, finding her wet and wanting. His restraint tested in a way he hadn’t experienced to date.”

Sebastian’s melodious words mirrored his actions to perfection. A low growl that sounded like distant thunder echoed within his chest, and you gasped—thrilled. One bold finger swiped over the seat of your cotton panties and found how your lust had soaked it through.

Your eyelids fluttered shut, hips undulating eagerly. Waiting… wanting… just like the princess.

You reached out an arm, blindly searching behind and finally sinking your hand into his long lustrous hair. You played with the strands, tugging them impishly until your fingers delved deeper so your nails could scratch against his scalp.

“His cock had throbbed for the princess, straining against his undergarments and desperate to find solace in her tempting heat. Of course, he had to ensure she was properly prepared for such an intrusion,” he whispered, pausing for a moment to tug on your earlobe with his teeth.

His hips drove upwards, making you painfully aware of how hard and ready he was right now, never mind in the story. A dark chuckle floated to your ear; the amusement halted the subtle glide of your lower half, but it was only a moment until he guided your hips back into a slow rhythm against his clothed cock.

“The Demon King had ripped through the princess’s panties to her shrieks of surprise, for surely she had not known the strength of the male she had allowed to touch and taste her virgin body.” You groaned in memory. How nervous you had been, but so very ready, almost desperate.

“Her breasts were perfection, filling his palms exactly. With pebbled nipples so sensitive to the fingers that played with them, rolling the delicate buds between finger and thumb before tasting them in turn. A firm hand supported her spine which she arched to press herself further into his greedy mouth. The suckling sensation made her dizzy and mewl like a cat in heat. He turned her skin sticky and shiny with his spit, biting and nipping at such tender flesh until the princess tugged boldly on his mane of hair.”

Your fingers twitched in mischievous want to fist his silken black hair, to haul his sinful lips to yours and silence the story in favour of creating a new one. “The lovers spent an age exploring their bodies, learning what made them moan and what caused their toes to curl in delight. When it was time to taste her sweetness, the Demon King felt like a youngster again, worried he might come undone before he could take her fully. Never had he seen a pussy so pretty and perfect–made for him alone.”

On these words, Licht finally rolled you to your back and let your lips unite. The yearning between you was palpable, your fingers grasping and clutching at his strong shoulders until you were twisted like ivy around his lithe frame.

The brush of his cock–still concealed behind his pyjama trousers–against your bare slit was electrifying. The ripped cotton from where his finger had pushed through the fabric clung to your slickness, and you did indeed rub on him like a cat in heat.

Sebastian worked his hand between your bodies, spreading your open and smearing the sticky strands of your arousal over your skin until he was toying with your jittering little clit. His mouth was hungry slanted atop yours, devouring and commanding the space you shared.

You weren’t quite the shy little flower he described in the story; experience had strengthened your resolve and bolstered your confidence. Enough so that you sucked his bottom lip between your own, drawing the skin taut before releasing it with an audible pop. He growled low in his throat, admiring your shuttered eyelids and smug little smile.

Gods, how you wanted him, but he broke away, much to your frustration, to continue his story. A slow methodical finger circled your soaked cunt, grinning when you clenched around nothing but air.

“The enamoured Demon softly stroked over the princess’s unsullied silky folds, so pretty and engorged from the pumping blood of her desire. Slick rushed to meet his fingers and he couldn’t resist sucking one into his mouth for a taste. With that, he was addicted. He knew that he would never get enough.”

Sebastian held back a moan as he spoke the words. He could feel the weight of them, the truth that lay behind each syllable. To this day, he wasn’t certain you understood the magnitude of his love. He was a creature who most believed incapable of loving anyone but themselves, but he could find no other way to describe how he felt about you.

“Please…”

Eyes of regal burgundy flashed in the dark room and it shook a breathy whine from your throat. On a slow thrust, two fingers slide inside to stroke your velvet walls. His honeyed voice deepened, one forearm braced directly next to your head whilst a knee spread your legs further apart and his fingers fucked you with strokes that quickened hastily. Sebastian was losing control and that tightened the desire in your belly all the more.

“Mm, that’s it. You’re sucking me in, can you feel that? Such a greedy pussy, you want something other than my fingers, beloved?” he asked with a smirk.

You rolled your neck against the fluffy pillows, sinking deeper and deeper into decadent pleasure. “Mhm, please,” you admitted, biting deep into your bottom lip.

“The Demon King brought the beautiful princess to orgasm using only his mouth and dexterous fingers. Stretching out her tight walls in readiness for his throbbing cock. How he had hissed when she had tentatively touched it, dainty fingers encircling the girth and giving an exploratory pump with her fist.”

As he narrated, you complied with the words and reached down to free him from the confines of his sleepwear. Your thumb swiped through the beads of arousal and used it to coat his shaft.

Sebastian was heavy in your hold, a groan echoing from the depths of his chest. “Do–do you remember how the story ended?” he asked, thrusting into your grip at the same pace he thrust his slick-soaked fingers into your pussy.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you managed, sounding far more composed than you actually felt, “But I’m certain that the devastatingly handsome Demon King–you missed that part out–made love to the princess until the sun broke over the horizon.”

With ease, Sebastian withdrew his fingers and sucked them into his mouth until they were clean. His weeping cockhead notched at your entrance and your hips strained to force him inside.

“Mm, indeed. Let’s reenact that part, shall we?”

His pelvis met yours in one forceful push. Your spine bowed off the mattress when his head dipped to suckle on your pert nipples through the taut satin of your gown.

Your eyes roamed his handsome face, his expression veiled as it often was, but it slipped when your legs wound his lean waist to push him even deeper. The mask dropped to expose the control he was struggling to hold on to. The Demon King was leashed to your hand, a power he had never given to anyone else in his centuries of existence. He was yours as much as you were his.

Sebastian remained true to his word; he worshipped you exactly as he had on your very first time together. Nothing could truly portray what had transpired on that fateful night, the unity and promises made, but it still brought tears to your eyes to be reminded. Your Demon lover stole the air from your lungs, the sanity from your mind and the love from your heart.

From that night forward, you made a conscious effort to ask for more bedtime stories and not only on the occasions you had nightmares.

What wicked words could fall from the prettiest of lips…

#delirious writes #sebastian michaelis #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis smut #black butler x reader #black butler smut #black butler fluff

1K notes · View notes

hdra77 · 8 months ago

Note

disarray!Pebbles is getting too much attention I GIVE DISARRAY!SUNS HUGS!

"AH! h-huHH??" now they are very very VERY confused and nervous! :D

#asks #rain world #rainworld au #rw disarray au #rw seven red suns #rw srs #sorry this looked wonky again LMAO #i was half way done but pc crashed and didnt saved my progress #so i had to do it AGAIN #disarray au asks

143 notes · View notes

xdchaos · 3 months ago

Note

Are you currently taking applications for minions?

" Yeah!! We can never have too many minions! "

" It's nice to have more co-workers! "

#south park #south park ask #sp butters #sp dougie #professor chaos #general disarray #ask blog #sp #sp au #sp tfbw

9 notes · View notes

seellove · 3 months ago

Text

Try Something New // sukuna x female reader

Masterlist

// (2.7k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3

You read about something new while your boyfriend Sukuna was gone on a mission. He gets back and you share your discovery of cockwarming with him, which he eagerly agrees to try. You both are 19 and fourth years at Tokyo Jujutsu high.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are Jujutsu Sorcerers in a JJK AU, established relationship, explicit smut

Your boyfriend Sukuna has been away on a mission for a week which leaves you plenty of time to peruse the internet in boredom in the evenings after school at Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Often you end up reading some story or thread where you learn about something sexual that you will ask him to try and recreate with you. Sukuna was your first partner you were sexual with, and even though he’d had many other experiences before you, he’s always excited to try things with you and a lot of the time it’s new for him too.

This one seemed weird when you first read about it, but the more you thought about it, the more excited you were to ask Sukuna to partake. He never would say no and was always willing to try anything if it involved you getting you naked and you playing with his cock in some way shape or form.

Cockwarming. The thought of him pressed up against you while his thick member was nestled deep inside of you was all you could think about after it popped up on your feed. The following days had been excruciating as you craved this newfound activity, daydreaming about how it would feel edging him to within an inch of his life while his fat tip is pressed against your sweet spot.

Suddenly there was a familiar knock on your dorm room door, the pattern was the one Sukuna used whenever he was stopping by. He must have just gotten back!

Your heart flutters in your chest as you leap out of bed, crossing the room to open the door. As you open it, you are met with your favorite man, his fluffy pink hair in a state of disarray and his shirt well worn, no doubt a result of the high grade curses he had been fighting. As a grade 1 sorcerer, Sukuna was sent on the most difficult missions students could be assigned to.

His tired eyes quickly light up as they meet yours and an excited grin tugs at his lips. He pulls you into a tight hug, strong arms pulling you against his chest and walking you both backwards into your room. He shrugs off his backpack which drops hard to your floor. He hadn’t even gone by his room first, coming immediately to you instead.

Sukuna plants soft kisses on the top of your head, the height difference making it easy for him to reach as he still has you pulled tightly against him.

You inhale his scent where you are pushed flush against his shirt, a hint of his cologne mixed with musk as a result of the vigorous physical activity he was subjected to. You don’t care what state he is in, you are just happy to have him back safe in one piece.

“Missed you,” Sukuna’s deep voice rumbles against you between the kisses he’s peppering you with. You feel his hand tip your chin back, longing crimson eyes staring into yours, before you feel his lips crash against you.

The kiss is demanding, filled with the intense yearning for you he’s had all this time while you attempt to soak up as much of his love as you can. You aren’t able to talk much when he’s away, so when you reunite, it’s usually filled with passionate desire, both of you desperate for the physical connection to be renewed.

“I missed you too,” you break away from his lips and hug him tightly, his chest and abs rock hard against your torso.

“Did it all go ok?”

“It did,” Sukuna’s hums, “fucked them up pretty good. The faster I can take care of useless curses the faster I can get back to you.”

“I got a fresh change of clothes for you out of your room earlier in case you got back,” you unwrap yourself from around him, pulling him by his hand towards your dresser where everything sits nicely folded.

“You take such good care of me,” he smiles, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

While he grabs the clothes, you pull out a prepackaged meal from your fridge you snagged from the dining and pour him a glass of water. You tap him on the ass and point to the food and drink on your desk.

“Fuck you’re the best,” he sighs with endearment, his often serious demeanor gone in favor of the loving way he looks at you.

Sukuna quickly showers while you pull the leftovers together so they are all ready by the time he is done. He reappears in just a fresh pair of boxers, the tattoos you’ve memorized by heart on full display snaking down into his waistband that lays dangerously low on his hips.

Your boyfriend’s chiseled body never ceases to take your breath away and now is no exception. He moves lazily across the room, running his fingers through his hair to push it back into his typical slicked back look. Sculpted back and shoulder muscles ripple as he reaches down for the plate you heated up, biceps flexing as he moves the chopsticks up to take a bite.

You feel a rush of wetness pooling in your core, desire beginning to consume your body due to the time apart with how physically attracted you are to him.

“Let’s watch a show before bed,” you break yourself from your trance.

“Ok, you pick,” Sukuna responds while chewing, wolfing down the food which has you giggling. The man can put away some food, poor thing must have been starving by the way he’s demolishing it.

You setup your TV on the desk across from the bed and get one of the cooking shows you watch together ready to go. Remembering what you really wanted to do, you shed your shirt and shorts before casually climbing under the covers.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sukuna, and you knew it wouldn’t, but you enjoyed trying to be nonchalant about it knowing he was probably dying to say something.

“So are we actually gonna watch something orrrr…” Sukuna chuckles, eying you from across the room.

“Yes we are, but I wanna try something new while we watch,” you smirk, wiggling out of your panties under the covers and pulling them out so he can see.

Sukuna’s eyes widen, tossing the plate onto your dresser, the leftovers quickly forgotten. You can see his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers which Sukuna reaches down to palm while he inhales the water you had given him.

He locks your door and swiftly strides across the room, climbing over you and joining you under the covers.

“What do you want to try?” he asks through lidded eyes, glancing down to rake them over your naked body as he lifts the covers to slide under.

Sukuna’s words are husky with desire and his deep voice has goosebumps pricking down your arms. You back your ass up against his groin, eliciting a low groan from him at the sudden pressure against his hard cock.

“I wanna try cockwarming you while we watch our show, have you done that before?” you shoot him a sheepish grin, a little embarrassed at asking him this.

Sukuna’s eyes twinkle with amusement, a boyish smirk giving you your answer.

“I have not, but fuck yeah I wanna do it with you,” he eagerly tugs his boxers down, freeing his massive erection as it slaps against his abs.

He positions himself behind you so you are spooning and you feel him brush his knuckles against your entrance, fingers sliding through your slick folds.

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs, “you good if I put it in right now?” the eagerness in his words is impossible to miss. You appreciate him asking as sometimes you need some extra help getting prepped before you take him, but with the time apart you can’t wait any longer.

“Yeah I don’t wanna wait anymore,” you reach behind you to start guiding him towards your entrance.

Sukuna hisses through his teeth as you make contact with his dick, shifting to position himself lower, gently coaxing your thigh up so he can slip between your legs.

His fat tip pushes through your entrance, causing you to gasp with the stretch. Sukuna groans as he sinks deeper, his veiny cock dragging along your slicked up walls.

“Fuck baby you’re soooo tight,” Sukuna utters through gritted teeth, breathing heavy as he bottoms out within you. The tip of his cock brushes against your cervix, further proof of how deep inside you he is. He gives you a few long, slow strokes before he stills, burying his face in your hair.

You regain your composure, feeling so full from his massive cock pressing on every inch of your walls with the snuggest fit.

“Ok I’m gonna turn the show on. You can’t move and I won’t either,” you force out, unsure if you are telling him or trying to convince yourself.

“Mhmm,” Sukuna grunts, adjusting himself so your back is flush against his chest, head propped up on one arm while the other wraps around you, hand settling on your tits.

You press play, cozying up to Sukuna so you can start watching. The first few minutes pass without much incident, but things start to ramp up after a funny scene has you laugh out loud.

Apparently your laughing causes you to clench around Sukuna because you notice his grip on your tits suddenly tightens and he stiffens up behind you. His cock throbs within you which has you gushing out more, making everything even more slippery than it already was.

The sensation of your fluids mixing with his precum combined with his throbbing cock has you needing to adjust your hips, so you wiggle yourself ever so slightly to shift your body.

Sukuna inhales loudly, hands now a death grip on your chest.

“Stop moving,” he gasps from behind you, voice wavering.

“Sorry baby I-“

“And stop talking, fuckin’ pussy is flexing just from you running your mouth,” he growls.

You are surprised with how much he’s having to fight it. The power you feel being in control of his pleasure with such simple movements only turns you on more.

The brush of his fingers against your skin has your heart pounding even harder, his sturdy presence behind you now causing your arousal to spike. Your body jerks as you feel his breath on your neck.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs again, panting with hot breaths against your sensitive skin, his forehead falling to your shoulder as you feel him tense up again.

“You stop breathing on my neck,” you giggle which has his cock throbbing against your soft walls again. You both moan as a result of the subtle movements that you can’t control.

Your bodies are responding on their own to each other, bodies that have felt every dip and curve of each other countless times, perfectly in sync as lovers are. Both of you quickly begin to teeter on the edge of losing control as you drown in each other’s heat. Sukuna is so pent up from not being inside of you for over a week and your pussy is extra sensitive for the same reason.

Sukuna isn’t even paying attention to the show anymore, face buried against your neck and your hair. Every now and then he shifts his body, causing his cock to push deeper into you with a tiny thrust. You feel like he’s doing it on purpose, only perpetuating his predicament.

The pound of his heartbeat through his bare chest thuds against the skin of your back. You feel a thin sheen of sweat starting to form between your bodies, everything feeling hotter, exacerbating the situation.

You squirm again, his cock head kissing your sweet spot, causing you to moan loudly. Sukuna is practically shaking behind you, seeming to teeter on the edge of losing control.

“Baby, I-ah! Fuck baby don’t do that,” Sukuna’s words come out in a breathy whine almost like he’s begging for mercy. The way your pussy is gripping him, so warm and wet wrapped around his cock is a huge test of his willpower and as he buries his face deeper into your hair, his senses are quickly becoming overwhelmed by the scent of your shampoo.

You feel his hand leave your chest and move down towards where you are attached. Your swollen clit is his target as he starts to move his fingers in slow circles, making it impossible to stay still now.

You cry out his name, clenching tightly around his cock as his ministrations start to wind up the coil of desire deep inside of you.

“Holy shit, fuck!” Sukuna exhales against your neck, fingers trying to maintain their rhythm but you can tell he’s holding on for dear life at this point.

All the pleasure pooling within you feels like it’s been ignited as hot waves of desire begin to flow through your body. You are so close to the edge, you know it’s not a matter of if, but when you cum, you don’t see how Sukuna can hold on.

His body is trembling against yours as each drag of his digits across your clit has your pussy tightening and clenching against him. Your cunt is so wet, whenever you move the sounds of his dick shifting against your soaked walls can be heard over the show. The tiny movements only prolong the inevitable as you both edge yourselves.

“Sukuna I’m close,” you whine as you feel the pressure in your core about to burst.

“Yeah I know, better cum before I do,” Sukuna rasps out, keeping a consistent rhythm against your bundle of nerves.

One last minuscule thrust of his cock against your sweet spot has you coming undone with a toe curling orgasm. The white hot pleasure tears through your body while your vision completely vanishes as your climax consumes everything. Your cunt clenches around him harder than before, sucking him in deeper, driving him towards the edge.

“Sukunaaa oh my god,” your hips buck uncontrollably as you convulse against him with each pulse of your orgasm.

Sukuna’s breathing suddenly gets deeper and louder, abs tightening against your back.

“Oh my fucking god you feel so goddamn good,” Sukuna growls in your ear, hand leaving your clit to grip your hip like a vice. The familiar way his fingers dig into your hips and the telltale way he whispers expletives in your ear have you knowing he’s about to follow you over the edge.

“Ahh fuck!” Sukuna groans and with one final impossibly deep thrust of his cock, you feel his hot seed begin empty deep inside of you. It’s so much, Sukuna giving you everything he’s saved up for you over the last week as you feel it start to overflow and drip down onto the sheets below.

Sukuna collapses against your back, pushing you into the mattress from his weight. You both lay together as your breaths start to even out and your heartbeats slow, the heat from his body comforting as the air starts to chill your damp skin.

“Oh my god I came so hard. I fucking love you,” Sukuna finally says with a content sigh, sitting up to plant an affectionate kiss on your cheek. He rolls you towards him, his half lidded eyes and loving smile make you giddy with adoration for him.

“I love you too baby,” you press yourself against him, craving the skin on skin contact as the oxytocin floods your mind.

The show, long forgotten, is still on in the background. You shut off the tv with the remote in favor of a post sex cuddle with your boyfriend, the love of your life. His strong arms pull you tight against him and you both partake in a dance of slow, sensual kisses as you bask in the warmth of your shared love.

You both doze off and eventually fall into a deep sleep, finally able to rest in each other’s arms thanks to the strong foundation of your love sustaining you during these times apart.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk

335 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 22 days ago

Text

Aegis.

Yan Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Yan Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, co-dependency, guilt-tripping, emotional manipulation and gaslighting (thanks Geto). Word count: 2.2k.

This is a yandere AU of the series Golden Girl. You don't have to read GG to understand this story, but it gives additional context.

-Index-

Unbelievable, you think, internally fuming. They’re unbelievable!

You ignore the voice calling your name and descend the mountainside’s decrepit staircase. Overgrown trees drape along the walkway, their wispy branches still from the lack of wind. The local wildlife has fled the vicinity, leaving an eerie silence in their wake, which is soon ruined by two pairs of footsteps approaching from behind.

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Gojo sighs. You can envision the exasperation on his countenance. “If anything, we should be the ones upset here. You lied to us both and snuck out.”

This comment travels like electricity through your system, shocking you into place. After a split second of deliberation, you turn on your heel, directly facing the most brazen culprit. He remains still as you march back up, jabbing an accusatory finger at his chest.

“I’m trying to do my job, which, for whatever reason, you both always find a way to interfere with.”

Geto, who has remained silent up until that point, finally chimes in. “I get that you’re frustrated, but was this the best way to handle it?”

You choke out a sardonic laugh. “You’re kidding, right? There’s— there’s just no way.”

Gojo towers over you, his hands resting on his neck. You can feel his Six Eyes scrutinizing every inch of your being behind his round shades, the intrusive sensation akin to spiders crawling along your skin. Unable to withstand the pressure, you avert your gaze, your irritation turning into anxiety. He’s not happy. Neither of them are, but Geto is better at pretending otherwise.

“Will you at least consider our perspective?” Geto asks, his voice eerily calm. “Going to your dorm room to find the window open, your belongings in disarray…”

“After you promised to stay put until we were back,” Gojo impatiently adds.

His audacity temporarily eclipses your fear, reigniting your indignation. “You’re acting like I’ve had any say in the matter.”

Geto shakes his head. “Don’t be unreasonable. This was something we all agreed on — if you had any objections, you should’ve said so.”

“You don’t listen!” You exclaim, the sound accompanied by the flap of birds fleeing the vicinity. How you envy them. “Nothing about this is normal! You’re both seriously freaking me out. Ever since—”

You cut yourself off, your tongue unable to form the syllables that make Amanai Riko, much less vocalize them. Fighting the tightness in your throat, you continue, “Ever since that day, it’s like you can’t trust me to take care of myself. I hate it. I hate this!”

Gojo opens his mouth, only to close it when Geto rests a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. The white-haired sorcerer scoffs, yet acquiesces to whatever his companion silently communicated. You remain the odd one out, unable to peer past the one-way glass they’ve placed you behind. Your hands ball into fists by your side and the lump in your throat grows more prominent. Exhaustion, humiliation, and desperation merge, forming manacles that weigh heavy on your limbs.

You’re pulled up by your arm. You gasp, feeling weightless, mindful of the steep plummet behind you. The grip, though firm, stops shy of keeping you entirely steady so that you must cling to whoever is hoisting you up. Your eyelids squeeze shut out of instinct. When they reopen, you find that you’re facing Gojo, who has removed his sunglasses.

Geto coils himself around you from behind like a serpent. His arms hug your midriff, holding you in place, while his chin rests atop your head. Your measly attempts to writhe away are met with his hold tightening. Never enough to hurt, just enough to prove a point. Compared to them, you’re like an injured gazelle before two lions. It’s moments like this where they don’t bother hiding the immeasurable gap in strength.

“We’re just trying to look out for our girl,” Gojo murmurs, his omnipotent eyes devouring every ounce of your existence. “I get it. We can be a little overbearing at times, yeah? But that’s all for you. Everything we do is.”

You can feel Geto’s chest rumble as he speaks in a low, soothing voice, “You don’t really hate us, do you?”

… Is that what you said? Blinking rapidly, you glance around for a way out that will never appear. Your breathing turns shallow and your vision clouds around the edges.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Kinda came across that way,” Gojo replies.

“I— no…” you bite your bottom lip, their native tongue turning into an indecipherable mess inside your head, “I could never. I only want things to be normal again. I want… to exorcize curses, and…”

Your cheeks flood with warmth as Gojo tilts his head. Suddenly, every request you have feels wrong, laughably insignificant. You shrink into Geto, who is more than happy to have you.

“Your drive, while admirable, might be better utilized elsewhere. You don’t have to always be on the field to make a difference,” he says.

“Suguru has a point. You’re still nowhere close to figuring out Domain Expansions, right? We’ve gotta work on all that.”

Everything they’re saying makes logical sense. You still have a long road ahead until you’re a proper Sorcerer, a road they blew past with ease. Who better is there to learn from than the best? Gradually, you relax your taut muscles. Geto eases his hold as well. You recall what he asked earlier — if you’d be willing to ‘consider their perspective.’ It doesn’t seem as ridiculous as when the question was originally posed.

“But… you’re both so busy.”

“Awe, baby,” Gojo practically coos. He squishes your cheeks together, ignoring your displeased noises. “Has somebody missed us?”

“Don’t torment her too much, Satoru,” Geto’s chastising is weakened by the clear amusement in his voice. “You know she gets shy.”

“Isn’t that the best part?”

You writhe around, their usual teasing instilling discomfort. This time, Geto allows you your freedom, his arms relaxing enough for you to escape. You stand on the step above them, considering your earlier ascent. You had stormed up this staircase with such drive, determined to prove yourself. An abandoned shrine on the mountainside had reportedly been the site of a pesky curse. With both of them gone on separate assignments, you thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to get some firsthand experience…

… Only to find a bored Gojo and visibly disappointed Geto awaiting your arrival.

A cool breeze whips through the air.

“Uh oh. It’s never good when she gets that look,” Gojo dramatically cowers away from you, but not before adding, “How about we kiss and make up, hm? No harm done?”

You ignore Gojo’s antics, settling on a question that’s been gnawing at you.

“How did you find me?”

They exchange quick glances.

Gojo should’ve been in Toyama for another three days, whereas Geto was due back from Osaka tomorrow evening. You’re certain you weren’t spotted by anyone while leaving the school’s premises.

“We wanted to surprise you by coming back early,” Geto explains. “As for how we found you—”

Gojo taps his sunglasses and grins. “I’m known for my killer eyesight.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Are The Six Eyes capable of tracking a person over such a long distance? Getting to this area required a long walk and an hour on the subway. It wouldn’t surprise you if this was within Gojo’s capabilities, but you haven’t heard of anything similar until now. Seeds of doubt sprout inside your mind. Your gut instinct demands a better explanation. Considering the predicament you’re in, you have little bargaining power. If Gojo was by himself, he’d offer you a better hint for amusement’s sake, but Geto doesn’t care for such risks.

“We were worried something happened to you,” Geto’s eyes glaze over with an emotion you can’t identify. It makes you shiver. “I’m sure you feel uncomfortable, but you have to understand where we’re coming from.”

Silvery strands of moonlight highlight the dark bags beneath Geto’s eyes. Your heart lurches in your chest, leaving you at an impasse. Have you ever seen him so exhausted, so thoroughly drained? He does an excellent job at hiding it, but the physical signs are there. A little voice echoes within your skull, reminding you of your role in his drained condition.

They wanted to surprise you, it scolds. All you did was cause more trouble.

Guilt prickles your insides like you’d swallowed a handful of needles.

Your shoulders drop and you stare blankly at the ground. “I’m sorry. I know you’re both looking out for me, I really do. It’s just— I feel so useless, sitting around and doing nothing while everyone else is out there risking their lives. Does that make sense…?”

While trailing off, your eyes flit between them, searching for reassurance to soothe the terrible ache in your chest.

Gojo pats you lightly on the head. “You’re overthinking things. You do plenty — more than enough, actually. You’re like our little cheerleader.”

You make a face at him.

“What Satoru means to say is that you help motivate us,” Geto interjects, casting his companion a sharp look. He then adds in a softer voice, “I know there are times when I need that.”

Geto’s gentle cadence plucks at your heartstrings. It’s strange how, despite being out in the vast wilderness, you feel like you’ve been cornered. The raging tempest that you clung to for vindication has vanished, leaving behind ruins that they sweep away. You can never stay upset with them for long. Right when you believe you’re out of pardons to give, they plead their case, tearing off chunks of your forgiveness and leaving you hollow.

Gojo claps his hands together. “Anyway! All’s well that ends well, etcetera etcetera, so on and so forth. Back to the important stuff. Where’s my ‘I’m-soooo-sorry-for-worrying-my-handsomest-boyfriend’ kiss?”

“Again with that?” Geto murmurs.

You consider the pride of the Gojo clan. He doesn’t do well with quiet, intimate moments. It’s a detail you’ve observed as of late — his restlessness. Ever since he began using Infinity twenty-four-seven, he’s always on high alert, his vigilance never waning. The ability that’d fry your brain if you put out the cursed energy necessary to maintain it for five minutes is his constant state of existence.

What are you going to do with these two?

Gingerly, you cup Geto’s face, who stares at you inquisitively. You press your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. Gojo voices his fair share of complaints over who you chose first, whereas Geto cherishes the moment. It’s you who shies away, your cheeks burning. You bury your face in your hands to muffle the squeaks you emit. It isn't your first kiss with them, but you still find it as embarrassing as that disastrous experience. At least Geto knows how to control his greed, unlike a certain someone, who doesn't even bother.

“What about me?” Gojo pouts.

“Your Infinity is on,” is your weak rebuttal.

“Like I can’t turn it off?”

“Well—”

“C’mere already,” he pries your hands away with ease, suddenly inches away from your face. “Lemme see.”

Gojo whistles slowly. “Wow, you got her all cute and flustered, Suguru. Where’s my phone, I need a picture of this…”

“She’s never going to kiss you at this rate, Satoru.”

He bristles at the prospect, his sunglasses falling askew. “Hah? Quit giving her ideas.”

“Just one kiss,” you manage to get out before they resume bickering. “A-And no tongue!”

Geto chuckles at Gojo's crestfallen expression.

To stop him from whining, you stand on your tiptoes, ready to give him a quick peck. Even standing a step above him, he’s ridiculously tall. As promised, he deactivates his Infinity, allowing you unlimited access to his person. You focus on keeping the kiss chaste. He has a habit of exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue if left unchecked, a sensation you’re not used to. It feels weird and you have no idea why he likes it so much.

When you pull away, he holds you in place, his grin borderline malicious.

“How ‘bout round two?”

“I’ll bite you,” you deadpan.

His eyes gleam behind his sunglasses.

“Oh? Can we make that a promise?”

Geto pulls you away, leading you down the stairs. His fingers interlock with yours. “If you don’t want to be here the rest of the night, just ignore him.”

“Whatever happened to sharing is caring?” Gojo calls out from behind.

When neither of you respond, Gojo’s quick to catch up, his arm slinking around your waist. You’re too busy trying to calm your pounding heart to shake him off. Once again, you’ve been swept up in their riptide. All resisting does is tire you out. You zone out Gojo’s prattling — something about the souvenirs he purchased — fixating on your school-issued shoes.

What will come of this dynamic once you graduate? It won’t always be like this, right? You’ll train even harder, earn their trust, and prove yourself capable; then surely things will go back to how they used to be. How they’re supposed to be. This can’t be the new normal. They have to know that if they keep leaning on you for strength…

… At some point, you’re bound to snap.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #yandere gojo x reader #yandere geto x reader #yandere jjk x reader #golden girl yandere au #yandere x reader #my stuff

400 notes · View notes

cheralith · 9 days ago

Text

— compulsions.

feat. michael kaiser || wc: 9.0k cw: gn!reader, no pronouns used, non-canon au, childhood friends, dark content/dead dove do not eat: cannibal!kaiser, blood, descriptive gore, descriptions of cannibalism, body horror a/n: prequel to urges (isagi). au will still be isagi-centered, but the dumb blonde got me again and this was ofc way longer than it was suppose to be *shakes fist*

For a child so small, it was astounding how much he was able to devour in one sitting.

Half the body is gone—the corpse laid facing up, the man’s face still and permanently scarred, eyes wide open and blank and mouth unhinged slightly from shock. The lower half of his body was completely shredded apart, a disgusting pool of blood with the chunks of skin littering the floor and organs completely in disarray, freeing themselves from the compression of the inner body. The legs were nothing but bloodied bones, only the feet’s flesh remaining; half of the man’s torso was nearly obliterated, only a few chunks of spare flesh hanging onto the visible spine and pelvis.

The boy himself was nothing but bones with the sparest of skin attached to them, covering them like a cloth, but somehow, his appetite was ravenous enough to the point where had eaten nearly half of a rather stout man.

He stares up at the man in the suit, tearing apart a piece and chewing slowly on a veiny clump of red muscle that twitches in the boy’s palm. The body’s heart.

The man smiles down at him, one that the boy only returns with a blank look as he continues eating.

“You must be hungry.”

Still staring up at him, the boy stays quiet, only opening his mouth to rip off another portion of the bloody heart, tiny baby teeth ripping the meat off, and chewing it again hurriedly, as though it were to disappear. Some blood squirts from the muscle, but the red bleeds into the man’s uniform, the red disappearing into the red pants and black button up.

The man crouches down at him, eyes softening when he notices the oddly sallow cheeks of the boy, cheeks that should’ve been filled with nourishment and plumped by this age, rosy and chubby. He reaches his hand out, only for the boy to wince and put the hand not holding the heart up. The man pauses, surprised at the behavior.

Eyes closed tightly, the boy lets out a whimper from bloodied lips, a menial hand acting as a tiny shield against something. He’s protecting himself.

The man murmurs softly, in a tone that seems to be rather foreign to the boy, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”

The child slowly pries open his eyes, turning his gaze back to the man, who softly smiles at him. He waits, his hand still up just in case.

Then, the man carefully puts a hand on the boy’s blonde hair (oily, he notices instantly, as though it hadn’t been washed for days). The child shuts his eyes tightly again, but feels the hand go to gently stroke his head, a touch he wasn’t used to. A touch he doesn’t know the meaning of.

The man watches as the boy opens his eyes again, astounded at the odd, but painless sensation. He gives another smile at him, eyes crinkling at the corner with a twinkle in them.

“Let’s take you home, hm?” the man says to the child, who merely blinks at him.

“His name is Michael,” you hear your father say from your place upstairs, where your parents talk amongst each other in the kitchen as you hide yourself between the bars of the upstairs railings. “Michael, this is my wife.”

You can hear the shuffle of your mother’s skirt as she crouches down. “Hello there, Michael. Welcome to our house. Have you eaten yet?” she inquiries fondly.

You don’t hear a reply, something that makes your brows furrow since that’s not polite to do so.

“Are you hungry?” your mother asks.

Again, no reply.

“Do you like any specific foods?”

“Sweetheart, how about you make him a sandwich?” your father suggests to your mother. “He had eaten earlier at the facility, but I’d hate for him to go to bed starving.”

Your mother affirms his suggestion and goes to tinker with the dishes and supplies in the kitchen. You hope she’s making one of your favorite sandwiches, the one with jam stuffed between Nutella and white bread.

“I hope you like turkey, Michael,” your mother chimes; you make a face at the food, displeased with her choice.

Michael. That’s a boy's name. You have a boy named Michael in your class, and another in the class next to you. Perhaps you have a new friend of sorts? But you only meet friends from school, not in your own home, and especially not so late at night.

Curiosity takes over you, and you carefully tiptoe down the stairs, wondering who on earth this Michael was. The kitchen’s light comes brighter and brighter into view as you inch closer, and you just about make it without being seen until you hit a certain point on the wooden planks and the wood creaks out voluminously.

You freeze, alarmed at the sound, and misstep on the last stair, gravity pulling you down with it and sending you tumbling down noisily.

The impact doesn’t hurt as much as the fright that spikes in your body, scared of getting in trouble for getting caught being awake so late in the night. Your parents rush out of the kitchen from the noise, finding you on the floor in a twisted position.

They yell out your name in worry, but you’re more concerned now with the pair of foreign blue eyes that stare at you from the entrance of the kitchen. A boy with a choppy mop of blonde hair was just barely visible to you before your father hid from view with his body, his face speckled with blue and black in some areas and donning rather ripped and worn-out clothing. You stare at him back, wondering about his presence, before your mother scoops you in her arms and takes you back upstairs at your father’s command.

Michael stays in the guest room in the basement. Your father tells you not to go down there in the meantime and to stay upstairs in your room if he’s ever on the main floor. For Michael, it’s the same instance; he’s not allowed to come upstairs if you were there and must remain in the basement. They even put a tall stair gate that properly separates the two levels of the house for extra insurance.

When you ask him why, he merely tells you “because I said so.’”

“I can’t be friends with him?” you ask him during breakfast before school, some milk from your cereal sopping your chin.

Your father tucks out a tissue from the holder, dabbing the liquid away before it can stain your new purple butterfly t-shirt. “One day, you will. Just not now, my love.”

You say nothing, a response to your father shows him that you understand. He goes to prepare another helping of raspberry toast and cereal, and you tell him you’re full.

He chuckles fondly as he plops a spoon in the bowl of cereal. “No. This is for Michael.”

“How come he gets two raspberry toasts and I only get one?” you huff when your father takes out two pieces of bread and spreads the preserve on it.

“Because you don’t eat the second one all the way through,” your father chides, “and we don’t waste food in this house. Michael needs more food than you. He’s very skinny.”

“Like a skeleton?” you ask.

Your father shakes his head in disapproval, tutting a finger. “Don’t say that, honey. That’s not nice.”

You shrug, going to munch on your singular piece of toast, your full, cherub-like cheeks puffing from the food. “I’m just asking.”

A shattering crash, a loud boyish yell, and a shriek from your mother. The combination of the sounds make you rush out of your bedroom to see what the commotion is about rather late in the night.

You make it halfway down the stairs, using the railings again as a barrier between upstairs and downstairs, trying your best to see what was happening in the living room.

Your mother clutches her palm tightly, shaking visibly as her face twists from what seems to be pain of some kind. One of the vases has been broken, its ceramic shards all over the carpet of the living room. The pasta your mother cooked last night is splattered on the carpet as well, staining it orangey-red with sauce and noodles all over.

Your father holds down a wriggling Michael in his grasp, who thrashes against his hold angrily. This is the few times that you’ve seen him in passing, always so far away from you despite being under the same roof, and you’ve never interacted with each other even once besides the singular moment of eye contact in the two months he’s lived here.

“Let me go!” he screams, pounding and scratching at your father’s arms. “I don’t want stupid spaghetti!”

“You need to eat,” your father attempts to say to him, but his words fall deaf on the boy’s ears. “You have to eat something or you’ll starve.”

“Get the fuck off of me!” he hollers, the curse word making you flinch at his ferocity. You’ve heard the word before, but your parents have forbidden you to say it, with the one time you decided to test it out to see its truth ending you with a bar of soap in your mouth. “Let go!”

“Michael, just one bite of it,” your father pleads, his grip still firm around the boy whose skinniness doesn’t match with this strength. “Just a bite of some spaghetti and you can go to bed.”

He whines and yells, shaking his head furiously.

“No! I want meat! I want meat!” he shouts.

“You can’t have meat,” your father says, which only makes the boy angrier. “That’s not allowed.”

His face is flushed with red, eyes that you thought were blue now flickered with ruby as they stare hungry daggers at your mother. You can see clearly now that his chin is glazed over with something; saliva. He’s salivating.

The boy continues to thrash, wetness spitting out in flecks. “I don’t care! I want meat! I want her meat!”

Your mother whips her head back to the boy, horrified at his words as she continues to clutch her bleeding palm. She turns her gaze to her father for a response at Michael’s words, only for him to swallow dryly and to motion for her to get out of here to tend to her wound.

“You,” she breathes to your father in a wide-eyed gaze. “You need to take him back to the facility. He can’t stay here any longer… not with (Y/N) around.”

“He’s not an animal, sweetheart—”

“He’s acting like one!” she interjects, taking account of Michael’s heavy panting and intense salivation as he fixates his gaze on her, hungry and desiring. “What if something happens to our child?!”

“He’s one, too!” your father insists, ignoring the deep scratches that Michael digs into his skin with his tiny nails. “I refuse to let them do such experiments on a mere child without me around!”

“Then do something about all of this—!” your mother exclaims, motioning a bloodied hand at Michael’s savagery in your father’s arms, gasping as he lets out an inhumane snarl at her, his teeth that shouldn’t be so menacing considering they were still so immature, baring all too harshly. “—before he hurts (Y/N)!”

You’ve been staying awake at night more often lately. The quiet ticking of your clock tends to accompany you, along with whatever sounds the quiet of the night gives out.

A car pulls into the driveway, the muffled grating of rubber against concrete passing through your window with the headlights flashing some light temporarily in your darkened bedroom. They’re back home—your father and Michael.

Michael doesn’t go to school, from what you know. At least… in the daytime. When you’re upstairs, belly full and ready to do your homework in your room, your father takes Michael to “night school”, where he does seemingly the same business you do at school, just in the evening. They’ll leave at around 8:30 pm then come back at around midnight or so.

And all the while, you lay in bed. Waiting for their return. But you don’t go outside of your bedroom to greet them, not wanting to get in trouble for breaking two rules at once, you just merely lie there in wait. For some reason, you can’t go to slumber unless you know they’re home.

You can hear them talking amongst each other, voices muffled by the platform between the floors and the thick walls, but they’re talking calmly. It took awhile to get him to speak, but Michael does answer in short responses, only answering in bare minimums, so conversations often feel one-sided.

Your mother stays away from him now, only just cooking him dinner and preparing his clothes. But she makes herself scarce ever since he sunk his teeth into the deep layers of her palm.

When you asked her about it, despite knowing the reality of the situation, her eyes momentarily widened in fear before she turned to you with a plastic smile, eyes softened in a gaze that didn’t seem like her.

“Mommy just burnt her hand on the stove, that’s all,” she said, voice a little tight.

You meet Michael for the very first time in the dead of night.

Your throat was dry and aching for water, and your mother had forgotten to prepare you some before bedtime, so you creeped downstairs in the blue hour of the night, entered the code that your father gave you for the gate on the stairs, and pattered to the kitchen.

It’s there that you see him, spotlighted by the light of the fridge. He’s peering his head into it, the door to the basement wide open, his enclosure opened. Your breath hitches when you stare at him, almost admiringly so.

For some reason, however, the boy doesn’t move. He just keeps staring into the remnants of the fridge, disinterest on his face. There are eye bags under his eyes, heavy and tinted with an exhausted purple. The bruises from his face have long faded, with some yellow specks here and there, but otherwise, he actually looks a little more human now.

You freeze in your place when you see him in full flesh for the first time without any restrictions to guard between the two of you. A silence falls on your lips, your breath hitching as to not make any sudden noises to startle him and you decide that it’s best to go back upstairs until he goes back down into the basement, but just as you’re about to move, Michael closes the door and turns back.

Then he sees you. You see him. Your eyes widen. He blinks.

It’s hard to see, given that the house was only lit by the light above the stove, but you see him there in full visibility. You’re a little taller, but you make direct eye contact with him, your eyes meeting intentful hues of blue.

You don’t know what to do. You’ve been good so far—abiding by your parents’ words and avoiding interaction with him until you were able, but now you’re face to face with him completely by accident. Will you get in trouble?

Michael suddenly takes a step forward. You instantly take a step back in fright. He furrows his brows.

“Move,” he commands, an icy stare piercing into you.

A yelp struggles itself in your throat, only coming out as a weakened mewl, and you jump out of the way.

Michael doesn’t spare you another look as he exits the kitchen and enters back into the opening of the basement, shutting the door behind him.

The lock clicks. You’re alone in the kitchen now, left alone with your thoughts and the ghost of Michael.

Your throat feels drier than ever before.

It’s been a few weeks since you met Michael face to face for the first time, and you’ve made the habit to make sure you have a full glass of water at your bedside to avoid having to creep down again and run into the stranger in your house. But you’ve forgotten to do so tonight.

You opted for just drinking the sink water from the bathroom, but the taste was different in comparison to the water machine, too tinny and metallic for your liking, an iron-like taste remaining on your tongue that you wanted to wash out.

So… making sure that you were completely alone… you walk downstairs and to the kitchen again. You sigh in relief when you peek through the hallway and find that you were alone this time in the darkness of the kitchen, the overhead stove light still on to light your way.

You watch mindlessly as your cup fills with water, not thinking much of it and turning back to go back to bed, until you gasp so hard that some water sloshes out of the cup.

Michael stands before you, idly and eerily still. The moonlight from the window haloes him and makes him look like a phantom in the night.

Did you not hear the basement door open? Or perhaps the creak of his footsteps? It doesn’t matter now, considering you and him are now once again just feet apart from one another, a distance that seems all too close for your liking.

Neither of you say anything at first. Your large eyes just stare into his dull ones, trying to question why he’s here again. Until he speaks.

“Clean that up.”

Trance breaking from his haunting figure, you gain back a sense of reality and feel the coldness of the water on your foot, grounding you back.

“Huh?” you look down and see a puddle of water. “Oh…”

“Clean it up,” he says, pointing. “Before you slip.”

Your voice catches itself in your throat. Words drown themselves in the confusion you’re faced with at the interaction, and you do nothing except for place the cup on the counter and take some paper towels, soaking it up.

Michael watches you as you quietly clean up your mess, eyes scanning your figure and its every movement. Once the floor was dry, you go back to shyly fill up your cup again from the spilt water and try to pass him to go back to the safety of your bedroom, until you hear him speak again.

“I want to go upstairs,” he says, capturing your attention again.

You turn back to him, a worried pinch in your brow.

“Dad says you can’t.”

“I don’t care,” he states and tries again. “I want to go upstairs. Take me there.”

You frown, clearly unimpressed at his bossiness. “No. I’ll get in trouble.”

His eyes narrow and you flinch.

“Take me upstairs. Now. I want to see what’s there.”

The way he says it sounds almost growly, like he was about to bite at you. You can almost see him snarl slightly when you refute his command.

But you resist anyway, knowing what’s good for you. “I said no.”

Now he’s really irritated, given by the gnashing of teeth and balled fists.

“Take me upstairs or I’ll eat you,” he threatens, his voice now filled with contempt and impatience. “I’ll eat your skin and bones. And then your brain and heart.”

And though you should be afraid of him, afraid of what this stranger in your house might do to you, your face contorts into a mild annoyance, too tired to deal with this matter. If you were somewhat more awake, you probably would’ve been frightened at his words, but the only thing on your mind is just going back to bed—a simple task for a mere nine-year-old.

“You’re weird,” you mutter and turn your back to him, retracing your steps to go back upstairs. But you hear him follow, your footsteps being echoed by his own on the floorboards. You turn back to him, sighing. “Stop following me.”

“I want to see upstairs,” he repeats again, the hardness in his eyes still there.

“...”

You remain quiet, almost feeling vexed at his resilience, but you sigh and roll your eyes. Perhaps if you just let him entertain himself just for a bit. Just for a swift moment so he can shut up and you can shoo him back into the basement. Your parents don’t have to know a thing.

You hold his stare momentarily.

“Just this once,” you state, holding a finger up to indicate your seriousness.

He doesn’t say or do anything, but seems to acknowledge your permission when you let him follow you again. The stair gate is still open, and you move aside to let him in before you close it ever so slightly, just enough that it remains open for him to go back downstairs without the code, and he trails himself up the flight of stairs behind you.

You watch him as he tinkers around with the plethora of furniture in the hallway, admiring the pictures on the wall and looking at himself in one of the mirrors. Just so he doesn’t do anything dumb.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to a narrow door.

“Broom closet,” you say simply.

He points to another door. “What’s that one?”

“Bathroom.”

“What about that one?”

“Dad’s office.”

He then points to the two large doors at one end of the hallway, opposite to your own. “What’s that one?”

You turn and look at where he’s pointing.

“Mommy and Dad’s room,” you mention nonchalantly, the way that Michael stares deeply at the two doors going unnoticed by you.

He turns back to you, eyes still a little vast. “Where’s your room?”

Your head nudges over your shoulder. “Down the hall.”

“Take me there,” he commands again. “Let me see it.”

You want to interject, saying that your room is your own, but you’re so sleepy that you’ll do anything if it means Michael goes back down to the basement and leaves you alone.

So you lead him there, letting him wander around your room and admire all the trinkets that you’ve collected. You shuffle yourself back into the comfort of your bed, thirst quenched and eyelids heavy.

“When you’re done, close my door and go back downstairs,” you mutter as you fluff your pillow, hearing him stroll around your room and toying with the things you don’t really want him to touch. “Make sure to close the gate.”

Again, he says nothing, just entertaining himself with your collectibles and toys. You lie yourself back down and shut your eyes, just wanting to rest once more, letting Michael’s quiet sounds of curiosity lull you to sleep, ceasing when you hear your door close. Relief flows within you, finally getting the chance to fully rest without keeping your toes on edge, until you feel your blanket pulling and the shuffle of your bedsheets.

You shoot up in bed, appalled at the sight that Michael is tucking himself into your bed without permission.

“Hey!” you whisper-shout and nudge him. “You can’t do that! Go away!”

“Your bed is better than mine,” he says monotonously, not caring about your concern. “I want to sleep in it.”

“I’m gonna get in trouble!” you whine and try pulling your blankets back to yourself, but he’s already tucked his body under one edge of it like a cocoon. “I don’t like sleeping with other people in my bed!”

“Then take mine then,” he remarks, his head resting on one of your spare pillows.

You grit your jaw. “No! Go back to your own!”

“Stop bothering me,” he mutters. “I want to sleep.”

“Sleep in your own bed!” you exclaim.

“I want to sleep here,” he murmurs, resting his eyes. “Just for tonight.”

You huff, complaining again, but your words fall on deaf ears when Michael doesn’t respond again, clearly taken by the Sandman when he was finally settled into the comfort of your bed. Your own sleepiness is beginning to take over you as you stare at his sleeping, calm face, feeling defeated and exhausted.

“Just for tonight,” you mutter with hushed contempt to him, despite him not being able to answer as you tuck yourself back into your sheets.

Your father had found you and Michael asleep together in your own bed to his surprise the morning after. Although he was more than delighted to see you and him being in the same vicinity without any harm being done, your mother was mortified when he excitedly broke the news to her.

“But they’re able to coexist in peace!” he had insisted.

“For now! What if something happens in the future?!” she worriedly remarked.

“We can’t keep them apart from each other for long,” your father said. “It’s not fair to either of them that they have to be restricted in the house because of each other.”

Your mother wasn’t convinced, still adamant on keeping you and Michael separated if he continued to live with your family. “You said it yourself that the child is… you know.... What will happen to (Y/N) if he gets the urge again?”

“He hasn’t had any impulses since that one time,” your father stated. “Yes, he may have had some urges here and there but the medicine seems to be working! He hasn’t had any incidents since he started taking it, hasn’t he?”

It was argument after argument with them for at least a week, but your mother eventually brought her guard down slowly and accepted the conditions of Michael slowly being introduced to you more and more under their supervision. It was mainly your father that did the talking to both of you, with your mother staying close to you and making sure Michael didn’t do anything impulsive that would harm you.

It was a slow start, just letting you and him eat dinner together when you came home from school (you find that he’s taken a liking to anything with bread). Then on the weekends, Michael was allowed to go upstairs to be around you, watching TV with you or just intently watching you as you played with your toys (he didn’t seem to be interested in them. He seemed more interested in you and what you’d do.)

Your parents were always nearby if he was around you, just in case that he was ready to gnash his teeth. But it never happened. He never did as much as salivate around you and was just another merely child around you. Another friend.

Your father was pleased at Michael’s improvement in behavior, writing them down in his notebook as he examined how he interacted with you.

“I think the newest prototype is showing the best results,” he had muttered into his phone fondly as you showed off your newest bunny plush to him. He took it by the ears suddenly, making you exclaim and telling him that holding it like that will hurt it. Michael gave you a look, telling you that it wasn’t alive to your disdain. Your father chuckled. “His temperament has been nothing but calm lately. He’s improving rapidly.”

Your mother was still ever the worrywart, always keeping a sharp eye on Michael—an attention that went very much noticed by him. She never said anything directly to him, but with her stony gaze, it was always as though she was warning him not to make a wrong move. Michael would just return it with a flair of spite in his eyes, as though he were annoyed at her attentiveness.

But regardless, you and him slowly began to intertwine your lives with each other, beginning to build a foundation in each other’s worlds. All the while not knowing truly how permanently embedded your futures will be together.

You learned the truth about him when you were twelve.

Michael has to take a pill twice a day and drink something your father gives him every morning that mildly stains his lips purple—a juice he has to drink to gain weight properly since he was malnourished as a younger child, your father says. He eats with you in the mornings now before you head to school, but he doesn’t tag along. In fact, his “night school” has moved to the mornings, but instead of coming with you like any other child, he follows your father and they go to his “school” together.

You never questioned the pills at first, thinking they were just the vitamins you were given in the morning to nourish your body. You ask your mother about it one day after school and though her face hadn’t changed, didn’t even so much as blink, her grip on the steering wheel tightens. Hard.

“It’s to regulate his blood sugar,” she says

Your mother is quite the liar and you’ve gotten used to her lies through the years, so you could detect there was a veil covering the reality of her words. But you never prodded about them more, merely because you felt like you shouldn’t.

She asks you later that day to fetch a hair tie from the bathroom upstairs so she could properly cook dinner, but when you don’t find anything in the main bathroom, you venture into your parents’ bathroom to find it.

And that’s when you see it. A sight you never expected to see in your own house.

Your father, with a long, thin, clear tube in his arm filled with red that drains from his body into a beaker, two inches worth of blood pooling inside of it. A small test tube rack holding seven tubes sits on the framing of the sink, with a small amount of a strange and viscous blue liquid sitting at the bottom of it and a couple of orange caps sitting idly next to it.

The orange caps.

The orange caps you would see in the trash can when you were throwing leftovers out in the morning.

You make yourself small, just quietly watching through the crack of the door hinges as your father finishes draining another inch of blood into the beaker, wincing in pain as he takes out the needle from his arm that connected with the now-bloody tube. He cleans himself up, bandaging the area before tending to work with the test tubes.

Your father picks up the beaker, pouring a bit of blood into each of the test tubes with the blue liquid and you watch as blue melded into red, a plum-like color rising from the mixtures. Purple.

Purple…

The drink that Michael drank in the morning along with his pills tinted his lips purple for the slight moment he was done with it, just until he licked his lips and refreshed them.

The orange caps… the purple liquid. The dots connect suddenly and you feel more than nauseated when they do. Michael wasn’t drinking juice. He was drinking your father’s blood… and whatever that blue liquid was.

You shift your body from your hiding spot and reveal yourself to your father, your eyes watery and mind racing.

“What are you doing?” you ask with a warbly voice.

Your father looks aghast at your sudden appearance, clearly stunned at the fact that he was caught in the act. He picks up on the fact that you were clearly disturbed at such a sight and knowing that Michael was drinking your father’s blood and tries to calm you down in the best way he could, though with how harsh your chest heaved and how terrified you looked, it was difficult to do so.

Your father closes the door so Michael, who was outside kicking a soccer ball, and your mother wouldn’t intervene.

The truth spills out; about who Michael was and why he was here. About the pills and the drink. About what he did and why he did it. And though your father was revealing the truth as to not hide anything more from you, it seemed like the more you found about the strange boy living under your roof, you grew more panicked.

You’ve heard about them before—cannibals. Cannibals of the world were notorious for not only their crimes, but why they did it in the first place and what led them to doing so. Everyone was susceptible to becoming one, but only when one would pass the line of sanity and insanity would be labeled as such.

They were primarily born from a fury of negative emotions would teeter them closer to crossing that border; be it a horrible burst of anger or an intense sorrow, the more a person would feel such emotions, the closer they came to bordering insanity and losing their humanity… and they closer they came to venturing out another in order to regain it back.

A person consuming another was their version of restoring their benevolence, each chunk of a person restoring what was lost in the blur of negative emotions, and with each bite they consumed, they felt just a little more human. But it came at a cost—with the more they ate, the faster they were able to lose their humanity, almost at twice the speed from pre-consumption, their emotions unstabilizing themselves once again, making the cycle repeat itself if they weren’t able to keep them in check. In order to restabilize themselves, if ever the case they did lose control again, they would seek out new prey, more prey, to gain back their semblance of being human.

The notoriety of human meat was based on two components—the flesh and the blood. The flesh of humans was unlike any other; a rich maltness with the extra additions of intense juiciness and a powerful umami flavor. A true delicacy to those who have eaten it. The foreign blood consumed was responsible for restabilizing the emotions lost from their own humanity, giving off a euphoric relief that ensured a temporary emotional stability to the consumer. Mixed with the addicting taste of the flesh and the need to regulate themselves with the blood, the combination proved to be the powerful driving force of the repeat behavior for cannibals.

It was why they were dangers to society if left alone and not properly rehabilitated. If such were left unregulated, the cycle was doomed to be repeated.

Often they were looked at with contempt and disgust—so much so that even those that committed the act even just once and restored themselves to society were almost always shunned by others, mainly due to the fear that they would become their next victim. It was rare, but there were people that looked at them with pity—like your father. A gentle, soft-spoken man filled with empathy, your father had dedicated his life’s work as a scientist to try to help those who fell victim to such, with the last few years being dedicated to working on a cure that would stop such dysregulation once and for all.

The pill that Michael took in the morning and night was one of its prototypes. The drink with your father’s blood was to primarily keep him stabilized without wanting to eat flesh and bones. The blue liquid it was mixed with was to thin the blood and reduce the full effects of it so he wouldn’t become too dependent on it. But none of that mattered compared to learning the truth about Michael and why he was here.

You had been living with a cannibal this entire time. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him, watching cartoons with him, sharing a bed with him… all the while he had the complete ability to devour you whole if his mind slipped at the slightest sense. The truth was horrifying and you wish you had never learned it, because upon doing so, you spiraled into chaos and sobbed to your father why on earth would you hide this from you, knowing that you loved Michael so dearly, it was unlike any other love you harbored for anyone else. You loved your parents, you loved your friends… but Michael was special. There was a special place in your heart for him.

A heart he could’ve gnawed away at in any given moment.

Your father tried to calm you down, telling you that Michael was just as human as you were now. That such urges from him dissipated long ago and he hadn’t gotten them since he started taking the pill and drinking his blood. That he wasn’t a danger to the world any longer because of what your father had nurtured for him.

“This isn’t fair!” you cry. “I deserved to know!”

“Yes, you did,” your father says. “But I didn’t know how to tell you without you getting scared.”

A flow of tears rapidly smear your cheeks, your emotions getting hazy. “What if something happens?! What if—what if something happens to you? O-or Mom? Or me—”

“I’d never hurt you, (Y/N),” Michael’s voice says softly from nearby.

You and your father turn over your shoulder to see Michael standing in front of the bathroom, feet shuffling. Eyes still blurry with tears, you just barely manage to make out his figure. He seems uncharacteristically meek, ashamed almost.

“Micha…” you croak out.

He slowly walks towards you, but your father abruptly stands up and creates a barrier between you and him, understanding that you and him may need some space right now. You hide behind your father, terrified of him after learning his truth. Understandably so.

But he remains his guard in place, adamant.

His gaze concentrates on you, eyes of azure piercing into you. His usual flicker of malice that he gave everyone but you and your father isn’t there, but instead replaced by a true and dedicated devotion. Dare you say you call it love, even, if cannibals were even capable of such.

Your father clears his throat. “Michael, I think it’s best if you—”

“I hate the thought of it,” he states simply, ignoring him. “In fact, I’d rather kill myself than even think of hurting you.”

His tone was just as droll as ever, but the depth of his words were clear as day. Transparent, showing off a nature of him that only you got to see, softer and milder from a boy whose words were usually as sharp as knives.

His dark, harsh words made you and your father flinch, especially considering that Michael was saying them with a completely serious face, indicating that the twelve-year-old was more than capable of doing such a task if given the chance to.

But regardless, you could still see his earnesty. Whether it was you and your immature brain or the fact that you viewed him as special, you chose to believe it. The doubts still lingered in the back of your mind, yes, but you still felt a compulsion to let him still be in your life as Michael.

You stay behind your father, just peeking your watery eyes out at him.

“Do you mean it?” you ask softly.

“That I’d kill myself?” he reiterates, making you frown.

“No,” you mutter. “... that you’d never hurt me.”

Michael stares at you before he nods.

“I’d kill every person in this world before I hurt you,” he states to your father’s concern… especially when he notices the quiet mania in the boy’s gaze. “... before I let anything hurt you.”

You and Michael were fourteen when it all happened.

He was picking you up from the bus stop that your bus dropped you off at, as his “school” ended a few hours earlier than yours did, with just a mild walk back to your house filled with conversations about your day.

It was a late fall day, the sun setting earlier in the day than it did in the summer, so the sky was starting to spill with the beginning traces of blue evening ink mixed with the remnants of daylight.

You and Michael enter your house, the lights oddly flickered off except for upstairs despite both your parents’ cars being home.

The smell was immediate, the first thing that hit you that indicated something was wrong.

An acrid scent—rotting and putrid. Tinny, the faint smell of copper ghosting around the house. Michael curses aloud, face wrinkling at the smell and saying that your mother was probably cooking up a dead body to your discontent. But you can’t help but pinch your nose either, nearly retching at the scent that flamed your nostrils.

You call out for your mother in the darkened house, wondering what on earth she could be cooking in the kitchen, but when you patter over to that area of the house where your mother was usually in during this time of day, her and her pink apron were nowhere to be found.

Michael notices that there were ingredients being prepped and that she was most likely about to cook some salmon, a knife being laid out on the counter next to a cutting board. But the vegetables and the fish are warm, as though they had been left out for a while. You tell him to check the basement as you search the first floor, a worry building inside of you at the strange emptiness.

The living room, the dining room, and the laundry room are all completely empty, except with the remnants of human life like the remote sitting in between couch cushions and the washing machine still running. You check the front door again to truly see if your parents’ cars were there, and they were; hell, even their slippers were gone indicating they were somewhere in the house that you now feel has a sinister feel to it. Something is wrong.

Michael comes back upstairs. He shakes his head when you ask him if they were there, coming up as empty-handed as you were. Your own hands grow clammy, a slight rush of heat running across your forehead. Michael takes your hand in yours, warming them up with his in a quiet attempt to soothe you.

He says that they’re probably upstairs, that there’s still that ground you have to cover. But there’s this gnawing feeling that eats at you when you gaze upon the stairs, telling you that going up there is a bad decision. You try to voice it to Michael, but he just juts a brow at your confusion, shaking it off and with his hand still in yours, you and him slowly climb up.

It’s not a rushed pace to go up the stairs you’ve travelled up and down many times. In fact, you want to go slower the more of them you climb, this resistance in your legs attempting to pull you down as a plea to not go further, for your sake. You pause on the stairs suddenly, a terror in your eyes.

Michael furrows his brows and tightens his hold. He asks you what’s wrong.

Nausea seeds itself within you. You’re left wordless, only swallowing thickly and shaking your head.

Michael turns his head towards upstairs, thinking you’ve seen something, but he sees nothing but the closed doors of the bedrooms. He pulls you stubbornly, managing to make you climb one more step.

You’re frozen in this state of fear, lip warbling at the haunting anticipation. Michael continues to pull you up, telling you to get your act together frustratingly as he heaves you up step-by-step until you and him reach the top floor.

The nausea grows worse when you make eye contact with your parents door, making Michael hiss out in pain slightly when you tighten your grip in his hand. He wants to tell you off, but you cower towards him, a glaze over your eyes. He thins his lips, letting you clutch onto his arm as you approach your parents’ closed door.

Michael suddenly stops in his tracks, just a few feet shy from the door. You turn to him.

The smell he had gotten used to during the few minutes of the search, using his shirt and the laundry detergent leftover on it to replenish his senses every once in a while, but his stomach twists as he realizes that the smell is much more strong now. The strongest it’s ever been, actually—so strong, it makes him want to hurl right then and there.

A rancid rot of something. The familiar metallic smell overwhelms him… but more in the sense of familiarity and less of disgust. He’s encountered this scent. Because Michael has smelled this before, all those years ago.

Dread pits itself in his stomach when he guesses what’s behind these closed doors. He can hear it if he listens closely.

Not wanting to wait any longer to keep himself in the dark, Michael grips the door handle of one of the doors and swings it open.

Immediately, you want to throw up and vomit. The smell from earlier is the strongest it’s ever been—a disgusting, pungent thing that even makes Michael retch once or twice in his throat.

You gather yourself up from trying not to vomit, and you regain your balance back to Michael’s side… only to see the very thing that would plague your mind for the rest of your living years.

There, in the middle of your parents’ darkened room, was the corpse of your mother, her torso nearly gone with her blood and leftover organs spilling all over the carpet. Her small intestine lays limply on the ground, unraveled, while one of her lungs half-reveals itself to you from inside her ribcage. Her face is turned towards you, a face forever ingrained in your memory as the very definition of fear itself—eyes wide open, mouth unhinged into what looked like a scream.

And hovering over her, feasting on the flesh of her body, was your father, mangled and bloody and ravenous. His face was smeared with blood, glasses speckle with ruby as his teeth sank deep into her limp arm, ripping off a tender piece of skin off so large, it revealed bone. He chews it with a heaving chest, saliva dripping from his mouth like a waterfall as he searches for more skin to feast on. An inhumane growl erupts from him as he swallows, going to bite on her arm again.

But before he can tear off another piece, you scream out loud at the ghastly sight, making your father suddenly look up and see you and Michael standing there, shock written on both of your faces. It paints his own suddenly, the animalistic-like look on his face dissipating with the exception of his reddened irises that pierce into you and Michael.

You shake violently, your vision getting hazy the more you try to analyze the scene before you. Michael himself is trying his best to understand what on earth happened—why such a mild-mannered, quiet man was able to do such a beastly thing.

Your father suddenly stands up, blood still dripping from his chin, a desperate look in his eyes.

Michael guards you behind him suddenly, reaching behind his pocket as he grits his jaw when he stares at the bloody man that reaches out for you.

“(Y/N)...” your father gasps out, throat hoarse. “I-I can explain—”

“Stay the fuck back!” Michael shouts, revealing the kitchen knife from earlier in his grasp that he points directly at the man that had been taking care of him for the past several years—though calling him a man didn’t seem all that fitting now, not with the corpse in front of him and the blood that stains his body. “Get away!”

Your father desperately turns to him, tears pricking at his eyes at the two children before him looking absolutely terrified of him. “Michael… please… I just—I don’t know what—”

A sobbed whimper rips from you, your voice lost, but Michael speaks for you. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“I don’t know…” your father gasps, blood spitting, “I’m so s-sorry… I just… we were in a fight and—” he takes another step, one that Michael and you take back.

“I said stay back!” he hollers and juts the knife at the man.

“I’m sorry,” your father wheezes, but takes a couple of more to try and reach you, his precious child, with hands that once grazed you so affectionately but are now stained with the blood of the mother you came from. He circles in on you, despairingly, calling out your name in the tenderest manner he can muster despite the red tint on his lips and teeth. “(Y/N), please f-forgive me. Forgive Papa—I didn’t mean to—”

You choke out a sob, gasping for breath, the violent tears running down your face muffling you but you shake your head desperately to not let him get any closer to you. Michael lets you hide yourself behind him, his knife still drawn and hand intertwined with yours.

Your father is now crying himself, disgusted at what he’s done to make you cry so harshly. His hands shake viciously, with their only want being to hold you in his arms like he did this morning before you left for school. If the universe could allow him one wish… just let it be that. Just let him hold his child in his arms one last time before—

Michael suddenly turns on his heel, dropping the knife and pulling you with him, abandoning your father in the bedroom upstairs. He drags you down the stairs you came from, a sense of flight overtaking his senses and letting his body float through the air to wherever he takes himself.

You and him suddenly burst out the door of the house, your father’s forlorn screams of your name echoing from behind you, his broken voice being the last sound you’d ever hear from that house that you leave behind as you and Michael sprint into the night—running and running and running. Running so far, away from the house, away from your father, away from your mother’s body, away from your old life… until your legs are so sore that they can’t function anymore.

All the while, the images play in your head, haunting you. Your mother’s ghastly face staring up at you with chunks of her body missing, your father and his bloody face, the wretched smell of the house, all of it makes you cry as Michael pulls you along. Everything hurts, from the inside out, and you’re nothing but confused and scared.

Amidst the night, you and him stop at a park that you think is miles away from your old house, only lit by a few spare lampposts. Your chest hurts, his feet ache, both of your heads spinning from exhaustion and adrenaline, and you collapse into him, your world suddenly fading black.

A sharp pain stabs you in your chest suddenly, making you gasp aloud and sit up in bed. It disappears the moment you’re conscious, but there’s this aftereffect of a sting that blooms within your chest. A clammy, shaky hand draws to your forehead that you can feel is misted with sweat and you draw a stuttering breath, trying to regain semblance of where you are in this darkened room.

There’s a dim lamp in the corner of the room, and that’s all it takes for you to understand where you are.

“Look at me.”

A voice says it from beside you and you whip your head to see blue hues looking at you with concern. Your own gaping eyes meet Michael’s tired ones, and your shoulders droop upon seeing him.

“Micha…” you rasp out, throat irritatingly dry.

Michael doesn’t say anything, just examining your shaking figure for a bit as you recompose yourself with deep breaths. This was routine to him at this point the more the date of the incident draws closer. There were moments that the one singular moment that pivoted your life entirely would haunt your dreams, making you shake and wrestle with the sheets so violently, it woke him up. He had tried to wake you up mid-nightmare before, but his words fell on deaf ears and you only responded in terrified whimpers. It wouldn’t be long before you jolted awake anyways, once the whimpering started.

A towel at the ready, he grabs it from the nightstand and presses it up to your forehead, soaking the nightsweats up and dabbing it on your open neck and chest that’s stained with tears and saliva. Your chest still heaves harshly, but your eyes don’t flicker around as much as they did mid-sleep, focusing on the blanket’s design as the towel soaks your skin.

You fist the blanket. “I had that—”

“—nightmare, I know,” he mutters, placing the towel back onto the nightstand and grabbing the glass of water to help quench your thirst. “Drink.”

Obeying his command, you recklessly lap up the water, with a bit of it trickling down your chest to his displeasure considering he just cleaned that area up.

You hold your head in your hands as he puts the cup back down on the nightstand, head spinning. Michael suddenly shuffles to you, letting you rest your head on his chest like you did at the park all those years ago, listening to his heartbeat to help calm you down.

“I still see him,” you murmur, feeling his hands run up and down your back. “My dad. I mean.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “It’s the same thing every time.”

“I’m sorry,” your eyelids heave and flutter lightly, exhausted. “You must be tired of having to deal with this.

You smile slightly at his blunt statement, eyes closing as you listen to the steady beat of a heartbeat you often were lulled to sleep by through the years.

He shrugs, clearly unbothered despite how many times he’s had to face this from you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs. Michael’s gaze focuses on the shade of yellow the lamp is, feeling the warmth of your body against his, the silent tears that flow from you soaking his shirt. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

a/n: this was sooo self indulgent but WTV i just wanted to get it done and spit this out here.. i had more lore to him too but i didn't want him to get greedy so i stopped it here. need to fix that ending tho... lowk weak

also their relationship isnt supposed to be hinted as incestual despite the dark themes—their relationship is more akin to like eremika, where one of them was abandoned and got “adopted” by the other, but kaiser still has his last name. also bc reader’s mom didn’t rly treat him like a son and their dad treated him more like a science experiment. hope i implied that properly

oh he dies in this au btw. just so u know

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #kaiser x reader #cw ; dark content #tw ; cannibalism

346 notes · View notes

thedensworld · 7 months ago

Text

Logical Project | C.Sc

Genre: fluff, humour, backstreet au

Summary: Illogical project dismissed! Now, Seungcheol had to face a new problem, Jiyeon and Jeonghan.

Read the first part here

Tomorrow is my first day working at a new place! Wish me luck (and won't get any treatment like Y/n)

“That’s it?” Seungcheol’s voice cut through the silence, snapping you out of the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head. You blinked up at him, taken aback by the question. That’s it? What else was there to say when someone just confessed their feelings out of nowhere?

Do a cartwheel?

Definitely not.

“Do you… want to come inside?” The words slipped out before you could stop yourself.

Wait, what? Panic flared in your chest. You mentally slapped yourself. Why did you say that? You glanced back at your apartment, suddenly remembering the chaotic mess you’d left behind. The dishes were still piled up in the sink, and cooking equipment was strewn across the kitchen counter from your failed attempt to make breakfast earlier. The last thing Seungcheol needed to see after baring his soul was the state of your post-breakdown kitchen.

“I—I mean,” you stammered, desperate to recover from your blunder. “We could go to a nearby café instead… Or—if you’re more comfortable—we can talk in my… living room?” You cringed inwardly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you realized you’d just invited him inside again. Twice. As if you were trying to send some sort of signal.

Get it together, Y/N.

“Sure,” Seungcheol replied with a casual nod, as if you hadn’t just awkwardly fumbled your way through an invitation to your personal space. He didn’t look the least bit phased by your internal meltdown.

“Uh—great!” You cleared your throat, feeling your face flush. What kind of person invites their boss—well, former boss—into their messy apartment right after he drops a confession like that?

You spun around and led the way back into the building, too afraid to turn around and see the expression on his face. You could only imagine what he must be thinking. Maybe he was silently judging the disarray of your life, or worse—contemplating running for the hills before he got dragged into your chaos.

Is this really okay? you wondered as you fumbled with your keys, forcing yourself to unlock the door to your apartment. When the door swung open, you hesitated, peering into the living room as if expecting to find an even bigger mess than you remembered.

“So… I didn’t exactly get around to cleaning up,” you mumbled as a way of apology. Seungcheol stepped in beside you, taking in the sight of scattered notebooks and the remnants of an unfinished dinner on the coffee table.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone light, as if you’d just invited him into a pristine penthouse suite instead of an apartment that looked like a mild hurricane had swept through. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure even the couch is giving me a look of judgment right now.”

He chuckled—a deep, genuine sound that took you by surprise. “Well, if the couch starts talking, then I’ll be worried.”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it, and you quickly clamped a hand over your mouth. This entire situation was surreal. Here you were, standing in your barely-presentable living room with the Choi Seungcheol, exchanging banter like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Let’s just… sit,” you suggested weakly, gesturing to the slightly cluttered couch.

You both settled down, the cushions sinking under the weight of unspoken words. Seungcheol leaned back, glancing around your place before his gaze landed on you.

“So… what now?” he asked softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the intensity in his gaze. “I don’t know,” you murmured honestly. “I didn’t really… expect any of this.”

Seungcheol smiled slightly, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his expression. “Me neither.”

You both lapsed into silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. The awkwardness from earlier hadn’t entirely disappeared, but now there was something else—something tentative and hopeful—hovering between you.

No, maybe inviting him in wasn't a good idea after all.

Your clothes were neatly pressed, your hair smelled faintly of some overpriced conditioner that probably didn’t work any better than regular shampoo, and your smile? Absolutely radiant. You practically glowed as you approached the front entrance of the towering office building.

This was it. You were back in the workforce, and nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to ruin your mood today.

You swiped your shiny new ID card through the scanner and watched the security gate slide open with a satisfying click. Ah, that sound.

You flashed the security guard a broad smile, even though he looked slightly alarmed by your level of enthusiasm so early in the morning. With a cheerful nod, you made your way to the elevator and squeezed inside with the rush-hour crowd.

As more people piled in, you found yourself gradually nudged to the back of the elevator, squished up against the corner like a sardine in a tin can. You stood there, beaming, as someone’s elbow jabbed into your side, and another person’s backpack thumped against your shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, you told yourself. I’m working again! I have a job! I have an income!

The elevator finally reached your floor, and you stepped out with a polite nod to everyone else crammed in the space. Walking into the office with your head held high, you approached the reception area and introduced yourself.

“Everyone, please meet Ji Y/N,” Mr. Kim, your supervisor, motioning toward you with a grand flourish that felt a bit too theatrical. “She’ll be joining us as the new staff.”

You turned to the team, offering them your best smile and a small wave. A few people returned the gesture, while others exchanged knowing looks.

“It’s nice to meet you all. I’m excited to work with everyone,” you said brightly, trying not to sound too eager. But for some reason, the room was oddly quiet.

Just then, Mr. Kim cleared his throat and continued, “Oh, and, uh, a quick note: I think it’s fair to mention that Ms. Ji is… well, she’s related to our CEO.”

A murmur of recognition rippled through the group, and you suddenly found yourself at the center of what felt like a mini gossip fest.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, you chanted internally, feeling your earlier excitement waver. You blinked at Mr. Kim, a polite, confused smile plastered on your face as you struggled to process what he’d just said.

“Related?” someone whispered. “Isn’t that a bit of an understatement?”

“She’s the CEO’s sister,” another voice added helpfully.

Well, that’s one way to let the cat out of the bag.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded more like a strangled cough. “Yes, well… It’s not really—”

But the damage was done. The team’s expressions shifted from curious to knowing, and a few eyebrows arched in interest.

“So, you’re our boss’s little sister, huh?” one of them asked, his tone light but laced with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Must be nice to have connections,” someone else muttered, though it was low enough that you could pretend not to hear it.

You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound defensive or self-deprecating.

“Um, yeah,” you managed awkwardly, shooting a glance at Mr. Kim, who looked like he was one second away from shrinking into the carpet. “I just… I’m really looking forward to contributing and learning, and—”

“—and working for your brother?” another voice teased, and you nearly groaned out loud.

You swallowed hard, keeping that tight smile in place as you nodded. “Exactly! Working… like, all of you. Just… like you all are.”

Mr. Kim let out a nervous chuckle. “Alright, everyone. Let’s welcome Ms. Ji and give her some space to settle in. I’m sure she’s eager to get started.”

As you turned to follow Mr. Kim to your desk, you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment. You took a deep breath, pasting your earlier smile back on. So what if they know? It doesn’t matter! You’re here to work, and that’s what matters!

You stepped out of the office building with a small sigh of relief. It had been a long day—no, scratch that—an agonizingly long day of trying to prove yourself to people who were convinced you were only there because of your brother.

Your gaze landed on the sleek black car parked discreetly at the end of the street. The sight of it made you smile, if only for a moment, before you quickened your pace and slipped into the passenger seat.

As soon as the door closed, you sank back into the leather seat, letting out a dramatic sigh. Seungcheol glanced over from the driver’s seat, his expression a mix of amusement and concern as he watched you pout.

“You look absolutely exhausted,” he remarked softly. His eyes traced your features—the drooping eyelids, the slight frown, the way your lips were pressed into a tight line. All in stark contrast to the cheerful, lively voice note you’d sent him that morning, declaring how excited you were for your first official day on the job.

“Drive before my brother sees your car.” Your voice came out grumbly, the weariness apparent as you glanced around.

Seungcheol chuckled softly. “Alright, princess,” he murmured, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips as he turned the ignition.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye as he pulled out into the street, the soft hum of the car filling the silence between you.

“Bad day?” he asked gently, not pushing, just offering you a chance to vent if you needed to.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest like a sulking child. “More like an ‘everybody’s-still-staring-at-me-like-I’m-a-spoiled-brat-who-got-hired-because-of-my-brother’ day.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow,“I’m sure you did great,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You always do.”

You gave him a sideways glance, your lips twitching slightly. “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. CEO. You don’t have to deal with your brother’s employees eyeing you like you’re about to break into a spoiled tantrum every time you say something.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “True, but I do know how hard you work, Y/N. You don’t need to prove yourself to them. They’ll see it eventually.”

His confidence in you was touching, but it only made you sigh. “Yeah, well, it’d be a lot easier if a certain someone hadn’t barged into the office, grinning like a Cheshire cat and announcing to everyone that I was his precious little sister.”

Seungcheol’s grin widened as he glanced at you again. “Jeonghan really said that?”

“Basically, yes,” you muttered, the memory of your brother’s teasing smile flashing through your mind. “He might as well have held up a giant banner saying, ‘She’s here because of me, everyone!’”

Seungcheol snickered, shaking his head slightly. “Your brother does have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Understatement of the century,” you grumbled, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips now.

Silence settled between you, a comfortable one this time. The kind that only came when you were with someone who knew you well enough not to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter.

It had been like this between you and Seungcheol ever since he’d shown up at your apartment that night and confessed—awkward and unexpected, but somehow, so undeniably right. From there, things had developed naturally. Texts became calls, calls became late-night coffee runs, and soon, he was sneaking you out for lunches and dinners, or showing up at your place just to talk.

But your brother? He still had no idea. And considering how protective Jeonghan was, he’d probably lock you in a tower if he knew you were dating his best friend.

“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol’s voice broke through your thoughts, his eyes glancing at you with that familiar, gentle look that always made your heart flutter.

“Just… us,” you admitted quietly, resting your head against the seat as you looked at him. “I like this. Being with you like this. Even if we have to keep it a secret.”

Seungcheol’s gaze softened, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he turned down a quieter road, away from the main streets. “I like it too. More than I thought I would, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean you didn’t expect to like sneaking around with me?”

“Not exactly what I meant,” he replied with a laugh. “But I didn’t expect to feel this… happy. With you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him for a long moment, taking in the way his hair fell softly over his forehead, the way his jaw tightened slightly whenever he was thinking hard about something.

“Cheol…” you began, but the words died in your throat. What were you supposed to say? That you were falling for him? That you’d fallen long before he’d confessed? That the thought of him made everything else bearable?

Before you could find the right words, Seungcheol slowed the car to a stop. You glanced outside and realized he’d pulled over to a small, quiet park. There was no one else around—just the two of you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I know it’s not easy, keeping this from Jeonghan. But I promise, when the time’s right, we’ll tell him.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around your bag. “And what if he doesn’t accept it?”

Seungcheol’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then I’ll keep fighting for us until he does.”

His words hung in the air between you, the weight of them sinking into your heart and settling there.

You smiled then, a real smile this time, and leaned over, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Alright, Mr. Choi. Let’s see how long we can keep this up before my brother catches on.”

Seungcheol chuckled, his hand reaching over to take yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Challenge accepted, princess.”

Seungcheol looked up from his computer screen when his office door swung open without warning. He leaned back in his chair, watching as Jiyeon stormed inside, her steps frantic, shoulders tense. It wasn’t hard to guess who had set her off like this. With a subtle sigh, he shifted his attention fully to her.

“Jiyeon,” he greeted her, his voice calm in contrast to the energy she was emitting. “You look... restless.”

“Restless?” she snapped, stopping right in front of his desk. “More like infuriated!”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, not looking particularly surprised. “I’m guessing this has something to do with Jeonghan?”

Jiyeon’s mouth opened and closed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief flashing across her face. “He just canceled our lunch date—again. No warning, no apology, just a brief message saying he’s busy.” She took a deep breath, and for a moment, Seungcheol thought she might scream. “He’s always busy, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, the corners of his lips lifting into an amused smile. “What did you expect? It’s Jeonghan we’re talking about.”

“Not this!” Jiyeon exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “It’s been two years, Seungcheol. Two years since we got engaged, and not once has he shown even a shred of genuine interest in me. "

Seungcheol listened to Jiyeon ranting on and on about Jeonghan, but he couldn’t help his mind from drifting elsewhere. He kept nodding at the right moments, offering occasional comments when she paused for breath, but a part of him was completely distracted.

“I thought things would change after the accident, you know?” Jiyeon’s voice was strained, on the verge of breaking.

Seungcheol blinked, his gaze refocusing on her face. “Jeonghan… he’s always been good at playing his part, hasn’t he?”

Jiyeon stared at him, her lips tightening. “You’re making it sound like a game, Seungcheol.”

“It’s not a game,” he said softly. “But you know how Jeonghan is. He compartmentalizes things. This engagement was always about business for him, nothing more.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Business… Everything in our lives seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. He watched her, a faint furrow forming between his brows. He could see how much the engagement weighed on her, the toll it had taken over the past two years.

Part of him wanted to offer her some comfort, to give her some sort of answer that could make this all easier. But another part—the one that had become more prominent ever since he confessed to you—kept whispering something else. Something selfish.

If Jiyeon and Jeonghan finally called it quits… It would benefit him, wouldn’t it?

It would give Seungcheol the space to focus on his relationship with you without constantly looking over his shoulder.

Because if anyone found out about you and him… Well, the repercussions wouldn’t be small. He knew that better than anyone.

“Why do you keep putting yourself through this?” he asked, his voice softer now, a touch of genuine concern in it. “If it’s hurting you this much, why not just call off the engagement?”

Jiyeon’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Seungcheol knew she was scrutinizing him, searching for any ulterior motives. He kept his expression open, neutral, but inside, his thoughts were spinning.

Did this make him a terrible person? Maybe. But then, wasn’t it Jeonghan’s fault for treating Jiyeon like a mere business obligation in the first place? And wasn’t it Jiyeon’s fault for allowing herself to be strung along like this?

And wasn’t it his right to be a little selfish, after everything?

“Call it off?” Jiyeon echoed, her voice small and disbelieving. “You’ve never been this supportive of me calling it off before. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Seungcheol watched her, feeling the weight of the question. He should have expected this; Jiyeon was sharp—sharper than people often gave her credit for.

He took a deep breath and offered her a small, wry smile. “People change. Perspectives change. You’re my cousin, Jiyeon, and if this engagement is making you miserable, I don’t see the point of dragging it out.”

Jiyeon’s gaze narrowed further, suspicion glimmering in her eyes. “You’ve never cared this much about my happiness before, Seungcheol.”

Ouch. He had to give it to her—she didn’t hold back when she sensed something was off. But Seungcheol didn’t flinch. Instead, he shrugged lightly.

“Maybe I’ve just gotten soft.” He tilted his head slightly, letting a hint of a smile touch his lips. “Or maybe I’ve started to realize how pointless it is to force people to stay in places they don’t belong.”

Jiyeon continued to stare at him, her gaze calculating. “Are you… seeing someone?”

The question hit him harder than he expected, but he managed to keep his face composed.

“Jiyeon, my personal life isn’t what’s important right now.”

“Oh, it is important if you’re seeing someone, and that’s why you’re pushing me to call off my engagement,” she pressed, voice lower now, more intense. “If this is about someone else, then I deserve to know.”

Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head slowly. “It’s not about me,” he murmured. “It’s about you. And what you want, Jiyeon. Jeonghan’s my friend, but you’re also my family. I don’t want you stuck in something that’s not going anywhere, no matter what’s happening in my life.”

There was a flicker of something in Jiyeon’s eyes—hesitation, maybe. Uncertainty. She held his gaze for a long, tense moment, then finally exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly.

“Fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temples as if trying to soothe a headache. “But I’m not done with this conversation.”

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I didn’t expect you to be.”

You sat across from Jeonghan at the bustling barbecue joint, poking at the sizzling meat on the grill with a pout. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when he texted you about dinner. You’d envisioned fine dining, A5 Wagyu steak, and maybe a glass of an expensive, aged wine. It would have been a perfect way to celebrate one month of officially working at your brother’s company.

Instead, here you were, in a casual barbecue restaurant with loud chatter all around, the smell of grilled meat clinging to your clothes. Though, you had to admit—maybe reluctantly—the food did look good. And Jeonghan had been thoughtful enough to order all your favorites.

“Eat up,” he said, flipping a piece of pork belly onto your plate. “You’ve lost weight.”

You shrugged, choosing to ignore his comment. Of course, you had. You’d been strict about your diet lately. You didn’t want to show up in front of Seungcheol looking like a stuffed dumpling on a random day. But that didn’t mean you were going to deny yourself a good meal tonight. If nothing else, you’d at least get something out of this dinner.

Jeonghan glanced at you, probably noticing your half-hearted expression. “I heard you’ve been doing well at work,” he said, his tone light but watchful.

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a look. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

He smiled, unbothered. “Of course. I had to make sure my little sister wasn’t causing trouble for the marketing team.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a bite of the pork belly. Despite your initial annoyance, you couldn’t help but appreciate his support.

“Everything good with you and Jiyeon?” you asked suddenly, steering the conversation away from yourself. It had been months since you last saw Jiyeon ever since the car accident.

Jeonghan’s shoulders tensed slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah… we’re good.”

His words were casual, but you noticed the way his gaze dropped to the grill, avoiding yours. You tilted your head, watching him intently. “The feelings still the same?” you pressed gently, knowing you were treading on delicate ground.

Jeonghan took a deep breath, lifting his eyes slowly. His lips twitched, a shadow of his usual confident smirk appearing and then disappearing just as quickly.

He looked up, meeting your gaze squarely. “Jiyeon’s… pretty,” he said, almost to himself. “She’s smart, driven. She’d make a great partner for anyone.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. He glanced down at his hands, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just… there’s something inside me that stops me from falling for her. And I can’t put it into words.”

The frustration in his voice was palpable. It made your chest ache for him, this man who’d always been so sure of himself, now struggling to grasp his own emotions.

“It’s alright, Jeonghan,” you murmured, your voice soft, comforting. “You don’t have to force yourself to feel something that isn’t there.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond, his eyes drifting away as if searching for answers in the smoke curling up from the grill. The silence between you was heavy, filled with words unspoken and pain unaddressed. He’d been there for Jiyeon, done everything a good fiancé would do. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was only playing the role of a fiancé—not really living it.

And as you sat there, you couldn’t help but think back to Seungcheol’s words from earlier that day.

“If Jeonghan and Jiyeon finally decide to call it off… it wouldn’t be the end of the world, you know?”

You hadn’t understood what he meant at the time. But now, looking at Jeonghan’s weary expression, the way he forced himself to be the person Jiyeon needed, you began to see it.

Maybe, just maybe, calling it off would be the best thing—for everyone involved. Including Seungcheol, who’d seemed a little too relieved at the thought of the engagement ending.

You shook your head, trying to push away the unsettling thought. No, it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about what Seungcheol and you might gain. It was about your brother’s happiness.

You sighed, turning your attention back to the grill. The meat was starting to char at the edges, and you quickly flipped it over, frowning at the burnt bits.

Maybe Seungcheol was right. Maybe some things weren’t meant to be fixed, but to be set free.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time for Jeonghan to let go of the life he thought he was supposed to live… and find one where he could finally be happy.

Jeonghan removed his engagement ring and placed it on the table in front of Jiyeon’s parents. The sound of the metal touching the wooden surface seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. Jiyeon’s parents stared at the ring, disbelief etched across their faces as they looked back and forth between their daughter and Jeonghan. Jiyeon remained silent beside him, her gaze fixed on the table as if she could avoid the weight of the moment entirely.

Before her parents could voice their outrage, Jiyeon took off her own ring and set it beside his, an unspoken affirmation that this decision had been made together. The rings, once symbols of a future they were supposed to build, now lay side by side, abandoned.

“I realized that I’m not ready to settle,” Jeonghan said, his voice steady but soft. He looked directly at Jiyeon’s father. “My priority right now is my sister. I don’t want to keep hurting Jiyeon by holding on to something I can’t fully commit to.”

Jiyeon’s father, a man usually composed and measured, narrowed his eyes. “And you’re prepared for the consequences of this?” he asked, voice low with an edge of warning.

Jeonghan met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes, I’ve thought it through. I’m aware of what this means for both our families, and I’m sorry for how this will affect our businesses. But it’s the right thing to do.”

A heavy silence settled in the room. Jiyeon’s mother let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, while her father’s stern expression remained unchanged. They knew what Jeonghan was referring to—the contracts and collaborations between the two families that would likely dissolve now that the engagement was off. But none of it mattered anymore. Not when Jiyeon’s empty gaze mirrored Jeonghan’s.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, offering a small, remorseful smile. “I apologize once again,” he murmured, bowing his head. It was a gesture not just of respect, but of finality.

The drive home felt like a blur. The city lights outside the car window blended into a sea of color as he navigated through Seoul’s busy streets. He should’ve felt lighter, relieved even. But all he felt was a hollow emptiness, a void where expectations and duty used to reside.

When he finally stepped into the house, he was greeted by the quiet stillness that came with being alone. The maid offered a polite smile and a nod before retreating, leaving him in the large, empty living room. His eyes wandered to the framed family photo on the wall—the one taken two days before everything changed.

A little you, perched on your father’s lap, smiling brightly at the camera. His younger self stood beside your mother, his expression carefree, with no trace of the weight he’d eventually carry. That picture captured a moment frozen in time—before the car accident that took your parents, before the responsibilities of the family business fell on his shoulders.

He’d been so young, barely an adult himself. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t prepared for the endless days and sleepless nights that followed, learning how to run a business while grieving. But he had to be ready. For you, for the legacy left behind. He pushed himself harder than anyone could imagine, hoping that if he tried hard enough, he’d find happiness at the end of it all.

But it never came. He never found it.

Until you came back to Seoul after graduation.

You’d breezed into his life like a whirlwind, bringing color and laughter back into a world that had been gray for too long. Your presence reminded him of what it felt like to be happy again. He cherished seeing you smile, watching you rediscover life with the kind of enthusiasm he’d long since buried.

Then he saw you, smiling at Seungcheol at the Heidos Group Anniversary. It was the first time he noticed that familiar spark in your eyes. The same one you’d had back in college, when he’d shown you a photo of his roommate and you’d teased him with a mischievous grin.

“Wow, you have a handsome friend. Why don’t you introduce us?” you’d joked.

He remembered the look on his face back then—the way he’d sworn he’d never let you two meet. Your crush on Seungcheol was a topic he never took lightly, though he’d played it off as an overprotective brother act. He hated it, seeing that giddy, admiring look on your face, even if he’d never said a word.

And then, he watched you grow up, choosing paths that always seemed to lead back to Seungcheol—whether it was working at Heidos Food or insisting on attending the same events. When you’d finally landed a job at Heidos Food, the excitement in your voice had made his chest tighten with something close to fear.

“The time has come,” he’d thought bitterly.

Jeonghan knew he couldn’t stop you. He couldn’t stand in the way of fate, no matter how much he wanted to. Because if there was anyone who could give you the kind of love and happiness he couldn’t, it was Seungcheol.

The day when he saw Seungcheol’s car parked in front of your house, he realized he’d been right all along. He’d sensed that whatever it was between you and Seungcheol was finally unfolding, blooming into something he couldn’t control.

And now, as he stood in the dimly lit hallway of his house, staring at that old family photo, he felt a strange sense of peace. Letting go of Jiyeon, refusing to force himself into a life he didn’t want, had been the right decision.

Because he couldn’t stand to see you unhappy. And if Seungcheol could bring you joy, then everything—letting go of his engagement, enduring the aftermath—would be worth it.

Jeonghan turned away from the photo, his gaze lingering on the empty, silent house. Yes, he thought, his heart aching but resolute. Letting go was never easy, but some things needed to be set free so that something new could begin.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to start letting go of the life he thought he should lead… and find one where he could finally just be.

The early morning light peeked through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Seungcheol shifted slightly, careful not to wake you as he looked down at the sight that had become his favorite—your peaceful face resting against his chest, hair slightly mussed from sleep.

You’d stayed the night, and now, as he watched the rise and fall of your breathing, he couldn’t help but smile. This moment, the quiet intimacy of waking up with you in his arms, felt almost too perfect to be real. He’d often catch himself wondering how he got lucky enough to have you here, tangled up with him in sheets that were no longer cold and empty.

Slowly, as if sensing his gaze, your eyes fluttered open. You blinked, squinting against the morning light before looking up at him, a small pout forming on your lips.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shifted, stretching slightly but not moving away from his hold. “Morning… I should probably get going, though,” you mumbled, glancing around as if remembering where you were. “I don’t have any clothes here.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t need to rush off so soon. The lady who cleans the house brought over a bunch of women’s clothes the other day. Said she thought they might come in handy.”

Your eyes widened a fraction. “Wait, seriously? Why would she do that?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet room. “I might have mentioned something about a ‘guest’ staying over occasionally. Ever since then, she’s been pampering me with questions and insisting on stocking up on things.”

You groaned softly, burying your face back into his chest. “Seungcheol…”

“What?” He pretended to look offended, though his grin only widened. “I didn’t exactly ask her to do it, but I have to say, she’s been very thoughtful.”

“Still… it’s embarrassing,” you muttered.

He let out a low hum, running his fingers gently through your hair. “I like it,” he admitted softly. “I like having you around. Everything just… feels better when you’re here.”

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes, a softness and sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. He was serious. Everything was better with you.

Reluctantly, you nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay for breakfast, but I’m going home after that.”

“Deal,” he agreed easily, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before you finally untangled yourself from his arms.

A little while later, you were sitting across from Seungcheol at his kitchen table, the two of you sharing a simple breakfast. Despite the everyday setting, something about it felt special. The clink of utensils against plates, the smell of coffee filling the air—it was a scene you could get used to.

Seungcheol watched you from over his cup, unable to stop the smile that crept onto his face. Eating breakfast alone was something he’d grown accustomed to, but with you here, everything was different. The eggs tasted richer, the toast more buttery, and even the morning sunlight seemed warmer.

“I could get used to this,” he mused aloud, his voice light but with a hint of something deeper.

You glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast. Mornings. Everything,” he said, leaning back slightly as he took in the sight of you. “When you’re here, the food tastes better, the air feels fresher… even the cold water in the shower isn’t as bad.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Such a sweet talker, Seungcheol.”

“I’m serious,” he murmured, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You make everything better.”

Your cheeks warmed at the intensity of his gaze, but before you could respond, he was already standing up and gathering the empty dishes. You moved to help, but he waved you off.

“Stay. I’ll do the dishes,” he said firmly.

“You cooked,” you protested. “It’s only fair I help.”

He hesitated, then sighed, relenting. “Alright, fine. But I’m drying.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm at the sink. You washed, and he dried, his presence close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Every so often, his arm would brush against yours, sending tiny sparks up your skin.

It was just the two of you, sharing a simple, quiet moment in his kitchen. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Seungcheol’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You squealed softly in surprise, your soapy hands hovering awkwardly over the sink as you turned your head to look at him.

“Seungcheol, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“I just… needed to hold you for a second,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. His hands splayed across your stomach, holding you close as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “You’re always so busy, and I just wanted a bit more of you before you go.”

Your heart melted at his words. He sounded almost childlike, his usual confident demeanor slipping away to reveal the vulnerability underneath.

You turned slightly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

His gaze softened, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, lingering, as if he was savoring every second. You sighed against his mouth, your hands reaching up to wind around his neck.

One kiss turned into another, then another, each one deeper than the last. The dishes were forgotten, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the fridge and the ragged breaths you both shared.

“Seungcheol…” you breathed out as his mouth trailed down your jaw, leaving a hot path of kisses along your neck. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, trapping you in place as he pulled you closer.

But before things could go any further, the front door swung open.

You both froze, heads snapping toward the sound. Footsteps echoed through the hallway, drawing closer. Panic seized you, your heart racing as you looked up at Seungcheol with wide eyes.

“Who could that be?” you whispered frantically.

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered, releasing you and stepping back hastily.

The footsteps stopped, and a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Jiyeon?” Seungcheol blurted out, his voice a mixture of shock and confusion.

Jiyeon’s eyes widened as she took in the scene—your flushed face, Seungcheol’s disheveled hair, the obvious tension lingering in the air.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Uh… hi?” you offered weakly, your voice sounding embarrassingly small.

Jiyeon raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you with a knowing smirk. “Did I… interrupt something?”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, scrambling to regain his composure. “What are you doing here?”

Jiyeon shrugged casually. “I came to talk. But it seems like you’re… busy.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and you could see the teasing smile threatening to break through.

Seungcheol let out a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Let’s… talk.”

You shifted awkwardly, glancing at Seungcheol. “I should probably—”

“No,” Seungcheol interrupted firmly, taking your hand. “Stay. Whatever she has to say, she can say it in front of you.”

Jiyeon’s smirk widened. “Well, this should be interesting,” she murmured, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe, clearly enjoying the situation a bit too much.

As Seungcheol’s grip on your hand tightened, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever was coming, you’d face it together.

The brunch spot you’d chosen was a cozy little café downtown, known for its long queues on weekends. You glanced around nervously, feeling a bit guilty for dragging Seungcheol out here on a Sunday morning. He’d already spent the night taking care of you, and now he was stuck in line with you, waiting for pastries and coffee.

“I’m sorry for making you wait around like this,” you murmured, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I know you probably had better things to do than—”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, cutting you off with a gentle nudge. “Stop apologizing. I’m happy to be here. Besides,” he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear, “I’d rather spend a few hours queuing with you than not see you at all.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, and you looked away, pretending to be overly interested in the menu board. “Still… I feel bad that I’ve been so busy. It’s like everyone at work just dumped all their projects on me.”

“Maybe you should start messing with their work,” he suggested with a cheeky grin.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “As tempting as that sounds, Jeonghan would not be happy about it.”

Seungcheol’s smile faltered a little at the mention of your brother. “Your brother needs to cut you some slack,” he muttered. “You’re doing more than enough for that company.”

“Speaking of which…” You glanced up at the counter where the bakery display was set up. “I think I should get more almond croissants. Just in case Jeonghan decides to visit my place.”

Seungcheol’s frown deepened. “He should stop visiting your place so often. Doesn’t he have anything else to do?”

You tried to stifle a laugh. “No, he only has me.”

“Ugh,” Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his temples dramatically. “Right, I forgot. Your brother’s territorial complex. I don’t think he’s ready to share you yet.”

“Not at all,” you teased lightly. “Which is why you’re right—we should probably wait until our second anniversary to tell him, not the first.”

He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips despite his grumbling. “You’re going to make me wait even longer, huh?”

“Just a little bit,” you hummed, flashing him a playful smile.

It didn’t take much longer for the line to move forward, and soon enough, you were walking out with a bag full of fresh pastries and two cups of coffee. Seungcheol insisted on carrying everything, his hand lightly brushing yours every so often as you walked back to his car.

The ride back to your place was filled with easy chatter and laughter. Seungcheol had this way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, his presence so warm and comforting that you found yourself wishing you could stay with him all day. But you knew you couldn’t; there was still a mountain of work waiting for you at home.

When you finally reached your building, Seungcheol parked the car and turned to you, a small, reluctant smile on his face. “I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t have to,” you protested lightly, though you secretly loved that he was always so considerate.

“I want to,” he insisted. He carried the pastry bag and followed you to your door, his hand finding its way to your lower back as you fished for your keys.

The second you unlocked the door, Seungcheol pulled you into a gentle hug, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Promise me you’ll take breaks while working,” he murmured softly.

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “I will,” you whispered, your arms tightening around him.

“And text me when you’re done, alright?” he added, tilting your face up so he could press a lingering kiss to your lips. “I want to know when I can steal you away again.”

You nodded, smiling against his mouth. “Okay, I’ll text you.”

But before you could say anything else, the door behind you swung open, startling both of you. You turned around, eyes widening in shock as you found yourself face-to-face with Jeonghan.

His gaze shifting between you and Seungcheol. His eyes narrowed, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he processed what he was seeing—his little sister standing on the doorstep with Seungcheol, lips a bit too swollen and hair a bit too messy to be innocent.

“What’s this?” Jeonghan demanded, his tone icy as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Care to explain?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Seungcheol beat you to it. He took a step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, as if shielding you from Jeonghan’s cold glare.

“I can explain,” Seungcheol said calmly. “I know this looks… unexpected, but I can assure you that everything is fine. We’re fine.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine?” he repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “You’re standing outside my sister’s apartment looking like you’ve been making out for hours, and you’re telling me everything is fine?”

You winced, but Seungcheol remained unflinching. “Yes, because that’s exactly what happened.”

Your eyes widened at Seungcheol’s boldness. He shot you a quick, reassuring glance before turning back to face Jeonghan, his shoulders squared confidently.

“I like her,” Seungcheol stated firmly, his voice unwavering. “I’ve liked her for a long time. And I’d like to keep liking her—with your permission, of course.”

Jeonghan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Seungcheol’s directness. He glanced at you, his gaze softening slightly before he looked back at Seungcheol.

“You like her?” he echoed, as if testing the words on his tongue. “Since when?”

Seungcheol hesitated, his jaw clenching slightly. “Since… well, since before I knew I wasn’t supposed to.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in his gaze, only a protective wariness. “And you,” he turned to you, his voice softer now. “Is this what you want?”

You swallowed, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze squarely. “Yes. I want this,” you said quietly but firmly. “I want to be with him.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the tension almost palpable. Then, slowly, Jeonghan let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

“Well… I guess I can’t really stop you,” he muttered, his lips quirking up in a reluctant smile. “But I swear, if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Seungcheol interrupted, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I promise, I won’t.”

Jeonghan eyed him for a long moment, then nodded, a small sigh escaping him. “Alright. But don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Seungcheol replied with a grin.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching up. He turned to you, his expression softening. “And you—don’t think this gets you out of our lunch plans tomorrow.”

You laughed softly, relief flooding through you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jeonghan shook his head, muttering something under his breath about troublesome siblings before stepping back inside. “Just… behave yourselves, okay?”

You nodded, smiling as you watched him retreat into the apartment.

Once the door clicked shut, Seungcheol let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He turned to you, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and amusement.

“Well, that went better than expected,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms again.

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning into his embrace. “Way better.”

“Now,” he whispered against your hair, “let’s finish that kiss properly, hmm?”

You laughed, tilting your head up to meet his lips again, this time with no interruptions, no worries—just the sweet, undeniable feeling of being exactly where you belonged.

It was well past midnight, and your living room was dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. Papers were strewn across the coffee table, along with empty coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich you’d forgotten about hours ago. You sat hunched over your work, typing furiously, as if sheer speed could somehow help you finish everything your colleagues had dumped on you.

Seungcheol sat quietly beside you on the couch, his presence a steadying comfort. He had come over a few hours ago after seeing your “busy” message and the growing bags under your eyes during your video call. You didn’t ask him to stay, but you didn’t have to—Seungcheol knew you too well to leave you alone on a night like this.

He glanced at you, his brows furrowing slightly in concern as you groaned softly and ran a hand through your hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

“I swear, I won’t work there anymore—even in my next life,” you muttered under your breath, your eyes glued to the screen.

Seungcheol’s lips curled up into a small smile. He shifted closer, one arm wrapping around your waist as the other began to gently rub circles on your back. His touch was warm and soothing, slowly melting away some of the tension that had built up in your shoulders.

“You’ve been saying that for months, you know?” he teased softly, his hand moving up to trace comforting patterns across your tummy. “Yet here you are, still working your ass off.”

You sighed, leaning back against him slightly, grateful for his quiet support. “This is why I hate nepotism. It never works fairly! It’s either you become the evil one, or you get eviled.”

Seungcheol pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “It’s unfair,” he agreed softly. “And I hate that you have to go through this. But you’re strong—you’ll get through it, like you always do.”

“Only because you’re here,” you murmured, turning your head to look at him. “You know, I could’ve accepted your offer to go back to Heidos, but…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “But I chose this. I chose to stay with my brother’s company. Maybe this is my karma—maybe I deserve all this headache and exhaustion for turning down your offer.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened, his gaze filled with nothing but love and understanding. He shifted slightly, cupping your cheek with one hand as he leaned in closer. “Hey, none of this is your fault,” he murmured gently. “You don’t deserve any of this stress. And just because you chose to help your brother doesn’t mean you have to keep suffering like this.”

Before you could respond, Seungcheol kissed you softly, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way. He pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours.

“I can make you feel better, though,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing as his thumb caressed your cheek. Then, without waiting for your answer, he kissed you again—deeper this time, slow and lingering, like he was trying to pour all his love and support into that one kiss.

You sighed into the kiss, your shoulders relaxing for the first time that night as you melted against him. All the stress, the exhaustion, and the frustration seemed to fade away, replaced by the warm comfort of being in Seungcheol’s arms.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips when you finally pulled away, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Seungcheol smiled, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair. “You don’t have to worry about that, because I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’ll always be here—for every late night, for every breakdown, for everything. I’m with you, always.”

And in that quiet, intimate moment, you knew—no matter how tough things got, no matter how much work was thrown your way, as long as you had Seungcheol by your side, you could get through anything.

The night stretched on, but with Seungcheol’s arms around you and his comforting presence beside you, the workload didn’t seem so daunting. You could finish it, you would finish it. And when you finally shut your laptop hours later, you curled up against Seungcheol’s chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

The last thing you heard before drifting off was his soft whisper in your ear.

“I love you.”

413 notes · View notes