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hanniebaeee · 6 months ago

Text

Feral Puppy

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: colleagues/friends to lovers, fluff, smut

Summary: Hyunjin has the hugest crush on you, and you've been trying to avoid any workplace drama. He's an idol after all. But what are you supposed to do when this feral puppy is totally invested in winning you over?

a/n: Sweaty Jinnie is a weakness 🤭🤭🤭

You sat at your desk, deep in work. The office was quiet this early in the morning, except for the rhythmic tapping of keys. You were so focused on your task that you barely noticed the group of boys passing by your little cubicle.

That is, until a soft thud caught your attention.

You glanced up, just in time to see a certain dark haired menace dropping a cupcake onto your desk - perfectly adorable with heart-shaped sprinkles, no less.

Hyunjin flashed you a wink that could make anyone melt. And you? You were trying so hard to not react.

You could feel your heart skip a beat, and you sighed in exasperation, your cheeks heating up. Felix who was passing by gave you a wink.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I should be flattered or embarrassed.” you muttered, and Felix snorted in response.

"A little bit of both, I think." He said, picking off a sprinkle and popping it in his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laugh, because Hyunjin had been trying to get your attention for months. He was always sneaking little treats or flowers to your desk, or winking at you as you passed each other in the hallways.

It was adorable in the most frustratingly complicated way, especially since you were colleagues - technically- and it was strictly against the company policy. Especially since he was an idol and all that.

But you still felt a rush of affection that made your heart ache. Hyunjin was too cute, and you hated that you had to keep it professional.

---

It was just a little after lunch that you had walked into the practice room to have a word with Chan. You've been bracing yourself for impact, because you know what a feral puppy he could be sometimes.

The second you entered, naturally his head snapped around - he’d caught a whiff of your perfume. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the way his whole body seemed to tense.

"Down, boy!" Changbin barked, grabbing Hyunjin by the collar just as he took an eager step forward.

But Hyunjin just growled, still looking at you with those wide, pleading eyes.

"I just need to see her face," he insisted, his voice a little too dramatic, and oh dear, lets just say it hit you just at the right spot.

Felix was leaning against the wall now, clearly entertained.

"Bro, her face is your phone wallpaper," he teased with a wink.

The comment made you blush harder than you ever had in front of these idiots. Your eyes darted to Chan, who was supposed to be the mature one here. And now the said mature one was desperately trying to stifle his laughter.

You gave him a glare and he just shrugged, like there was nothing he could do to stop this chaos.

“Chan, are you serious right now?!” You hissed and he cleared his throat trying to regain some seriousness.

But before he could respond, Changbin was back at it, pulling Hyunjin back by the shoulder.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Down, puppy, down."

You couldn't help the little chuckle that left your lips.

God, you loved him. It was undeniable. But there was no way you could get involved with him, not with all the rules in place. You just had to keep pretending that his antics weren’t making your heart flutter in the most inappropriate of ways.

"You’re such a menace, you know that?" You muttered, shaking your head at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin's eyes sparkled with mischief as he said, "If that means getting your attention, then I’ll gladly wear that title."

Your poor heart screamed at that, because honestly, you loved every minute of it.

And so did he.

A few days later, you found yourself staying late at the office, finishing up some urgent reports. You were surrounded by an ominous stillness, because you were the only one left working on your floor and it was getting a little creepy by the moment.

You sent your emails quickly, packed up in record speed and bolted out of your workspace. But as soon as you turned the corner, you walked straight into a wall of muscle.

You froze, heart skipping a beat as you looked up slowly. And seeing Hyunjin’s sweaty, disheveled face staring back at you, you let out a sigh of relief.

That didn't last long because this exactly was your biggest…undoing. Sweat soaked Hyunjin was a weakness you didn't even like to discuss with yourself.

His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his body, and you could actually see the muscles in his chest through it. His damn hair fell messily around his face, and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, making him look like some kind of god sent from another realm.

His wide eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You looked away quickly, absolutely embarrassed, but the damage was already done.

You could feel the string of control inside you stretching taut, ready to snap.

Hyunjin watched you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Not aggressive. No, it’s playful - and so damn hot.

“Didn’t expect to run into you tonight,” he said, his voice husky.

You forced yourself to look up at him, and for a second, you both just stared at each other. Your body was screaming for release, but your brain was holding on.

You couldn’t cross that line. Not when it could ruin everything.

"I…uh, didn’t mean to startle you," you managed, your voice trembling just a little too much for your liking.

His scent is intoxicating, a mix of sweat and his cologne. And pheromones or whatever.

"Startled?" he teased, his lips curling into a smile. "You’re staring. Are you sure you didn’t come to see me?"

"I-I wasn’t staring," you stammered, but you couldn’t even look him in the eye. You were so aware of every inch of him right now - it was like the droplets of sweat trickling down his skin were begging for your attention.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a wave of heat shooting straight to your core. "You’re trying not to break, but I think it’s too late for that."

“Hyunjin-”

"How long are you going to pretend you don’t want this?" he asked, his words heavy with desire, making your heart race faster. "I can’t be the only one who feels it."

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling, your resolve completely gone. You wanted him so badly, it hurt. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to fight it anymore.

Seeing that he has tormented you enough, Hyunjin pulled back just slightly, giving you a playful look that said, I’ll let you off the hook for now.

"You’re so annoying," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

He just smiled, completely unfazed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Am I?"

The next few days were a nightmare. The lingering, burning tension that Hyunjin’s created between you two was literally frying your insides. And let's be real. Seeing him in all his sweat soaked glory, you were so unbearably turned on.

Seeing you at the edge of your own self control, has unleashed something in him. He knows you were just as interested. That little moment? He was holding onto it.

So you did the best thing - the only thing at this point - avoiding him. You asked Chan to meet at a conference room for a quick chat when it was necessary. Or you generally didn't venture towards the practice room.

You’ve learned to keep your distance, at least a little. And you hoped that Hyunjin wouldn't notice. But Hyunjin was not having it. No. He was making it his personal goal to make sure nothing went unnoticed.

---

You were walking through the hallway, minding your business, trying to get to the elevator. You heard the footsteps behind you too late. You could swear you felt the heat of his presence before you even saw him.

Hyunjin, being the menace he was, barreled into you out of nowhere, pressing you up against the wall in a move that was so absolutely ridiculous that for a split second, you wondered if you were dreaming.

“What the hell, Hyunjin?!” you exclaimed, flailing as you try to regain your balance, your palms slapping against the cold wall.

You're heart raced and you glanced around feeling kind of dazed. But Hyunjin just stood there, smirking, totally unbothered.

“What?” he said innocently, his body still pressed against yours. “There’s not enough space to pass.”

“Are you serious?!” You flailed again, trying to step aside, but he just shifted his body to keep you pinned, making it impossible to escape.

“Oh my God, Hyunjin, move!” You were flushed, not just from the physical contact, but from the audacity of it all. You didn’t even know if you were angry, embarrassed, or completely turned on.

He looked down at you, his eyes glittering with something so mischievously feral.

“I know you don't mind, sweetheart,” he said, and you groaned internally. How did he keep doing this? The way he was so confident, so sure of himself.

“Hyunjin, please.” You tried to get him to step back, but it’s like he’s glued to you.

“I didn't even do anything,”

Oh the nerve!

You tried to wiggle away, but his arms came up on either side of you, trapping you even further. You’re caught, pressed against the wall with nowhere to go, and his body is all around you.

“Let me go, Hyunjin,” you breathed, but it’s almost a plea now. “There are cameras everywhere!”

His grin widened as he watched you, and said, “Oh is there?”

You let out a soft growl of frustration, realizing you’ve lost all sense of control. Your grip on his shirt tightened, and Hyunjin bit his bottom lip seductively. Your were trembling in his arms.

Maybe that was what he was aiming for, because he dropped his arms and took a step back.

You quickly scrambled away, muttering curses under your breath as you speed-walked away. And Hyunjin watched you go, that mischievous smirk never leaving his face.

“See you around, sweetheart,” he calls out after you.

Hyunjin has successfully invaded every corner of your mind that you had so meticulously disciplined against doing exactly that.

The teasing. The tension. Oh the need - it's been eating you alive. You couldn’t focus at work. You couldn’t go anywhere without your heart hammering at the thought of him.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to compartmentalize it, but the truth is - you were well past the point of no return.

And then, of course, it happens again.

It was another late night at the office - one you tried so hard to avoid, but here you were. You were discreet and quiet.

You thought you'd made it. That this time you’d escaped his clutches. But as you walked down the dimly lit hallway, your heart just started to race again.

Because of course, he was coming toward you from the other side. And he stopped in front of you, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Are you trying to avoid me?" he asked, his voice so low and husky, you wanted to jump off a cliff.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head as you said, “Why would I do that?”

Your voice wavered worse than a leaf in a storm.

“Just making sure you don’t get any ideas,” he whispered - his face was so close now that you can feel his breath on your lips.

You were so damn tempted to lean in just a little. You shouldn’t. You couldn't.

“You know, I’m waiting for you to crack, baby,” he murmured. “Just let go, you know you want to.”

Your heart raced and flipped and fluttered all at once, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You tried to step back but obviously there's nowhere to go. But he followed, matching your every movement.

“Hyunjin,” you said his name so softly, a breathless sound that made his eyes flash with something darker, something predatory. “Please, just-”

But he was done playing nice. His hand came up to gently hold your chin, lifting your face so you couldn't look away and you were forced to meet his gaze.

“You think you can just keep running from me?” he breathed, stepping impossibly closer. “If you didn't want me, you would've said that by now. But you keep me hanging, and I'm just about done with that.”

And that was when you lost it.

Before you knew what you were doing, your hand came up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, unrestrained. The kiss was hot, messy - all tongue and teeth.

And it was everything you’ve wanted.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you even closer. His body was hard and slick with sweat, and you could feel the heat radiating from every inch of him.

His lips trailed down your neck, making you gasp as he kissed the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Told you,” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot. “I knew you couldn’t keep pretending.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss.

“I need to hear it, okay?” he said, his voice low and filled with promise. “Tell me you want this too.”

You looked at him, your breath coming in shallow pants. You were done pretending.

“No more running,” you whispered. “I want you too…”

And Hyunjin gave you a smile so radiant, you could die happily at the moment.

“Come on,” He said, taking your hand and pulling you away. “Let's go somewhere safe.”

A room next to their studio. Barely used. Kind of dusty. But it worked.

The minute you stepped in, his lips were on yours. He had you pressed up against the cold wall of the unused office, your bodies tangled together in an almost desperate need. Your hands tugged at his shirt, trying to get it off, and he didn’t even hesitate, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

His hands roamed over you, caressing, groping, pulling you closer as if he was starving for you.

“God, I love you-” He growled, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you into him. The heat radiating off his body and the feel of every muscle flex beneath his skin - you were blinded by it.

His hands were sliding up your sides, tugging at your clothes, as if he was hungry to see every inch of you. You gasp when his fingertips grazed the skin of your waist, as he took off your shirt.

"Hyunjin..." you whispered, breathless, the sound of his name escaping your lips like a prayer.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he growled, his lips finding their way down down chest. His fingers pulled down the cup of your bra, as he pressed soft kisses around the flesh.

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just breathy gasps as his lips wrapped around your nipple. The soft scrape of his teeth on your skin made you shiver, and you couldn't stop the low moan that escaped from deep in your chest.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned against your skin, his breath hot, sending goosebumps across your body.

“Hyunjin,” you gasped, tugging him closer, your hands finding his waistband of his sweats. He groaned, clearly as desperate as you are, and his lips crashed back to yours. His tongue sweeped over yours, and you lost yourself in the kiss.

His hands moved down to your waist, his grip tightening as he lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you felt how hard he was for you.

He carried you effortlessly toward the desk in the corner of the room. Placing you on the edge of the desk, his hands trailed up your thighs as he leaned in to kiss you again. You couldn't stop the trembling in your body as you pulled him closer.

Hyunjin’s hands move quickly, pulling off the rest of your clothes. His dark eyes take in your body, pupils blown wide with lust.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding over the exposed skin of your tummy.

“Hyunjin… now.” you said desperately, pulling at his pants again, and they're gone in a flash.

When he finally stood completely bare before you, the sight of him sent a shock of heat straight through your body. He was so beautiful - every inch of him.

His eyes never left yours as he positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your waist as he brought you closer to him. You felt his hard length pressed against you, and you whimpered softly at the thought of what’s about to happen.

“I need you,” you whispered, your hands running through his hair, pulling him in for another kiss. “Now.”

And with that, Hyunjin moved, spreading your legs and pushing into you slowly. You shivered as he filled you completely, stretching you out.

You gazed up at him, the beads of sweat (he was sweating again - again) trickling down the side of his face.

“Oh my God,” You whined softly, closing your eyes, and he grinned, a chuckle escaping his lips. He began to move, slipping in and out of you with every thrust. Your hands gripped at the edges of the desk, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure built between you both.

You were so wet, and Hyunjin couldn't stop looking at where you two were connected, and with a frustrated sigh, he pulled out completely.

You gasped and stared up at him, as he grabbed your legs and pulled you more to the edge and then, his face was in between your thighs.

You almost shrieked - because that was absolutely unexpected. He wasn't wasting any time, his tongue lapping at your dripping folds and nudging your clit. Your hand landed on his hair, pulling at it gently and Hyunjin hummed - the vibrations of it making you drip even more.

“Hyun… Hyunjin!” You moaned, as he licked softly over your clit and nibbled on it gently making your breath catch.

It didn't take long for your first orgasm to crash down over you, and when Hyunjin straightened, he had the most satisfied grin on his face.

“You're so sweet, baby,” He cooed and you were sure your cheeks were at least two shades redder than before. “I couldn't resist it.”

You laughed, a tired one at that and he laughed with you before stepping in between your legs again. He ran his hands up and down your thighs and you watched, breathing heavily.

“Can I?” He asked softly, and you nodded with a smile.

It felt deliciously good when he slipped in this time, and the rhythm between you was slow at first - tender - but it didn't take long for that to change. Hyunjin’s need took over, and he began to move faster and harder, his body crashing into yours with a force that left you breathless.

The sound of his body slapping against yours filled the room, and you couldn't stop the moans that escaped your lips. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you clung on to him tightly.

He was everywhere - his hands, his lips, his body - and you were drowning in him.

You pull him closer, you lips kissing down his neck - glistening with sweat - and you loved the way he moaned as you bit down right below his ear.

You didn't know this was such a turn on for you until today. This man did things to you that even you didn't understand. And you didn't mind really.

And you could feel that knot tightening in your belly again. Your eyes met, and you gripped him tightly, as his name escaped your lips in a breathless gasp.

Your whole body shuddered as you hit your peak again, and Hyunjin kept moving, till you heard him groan and pull out quickly, spilling all over your tummy.

You were both left breathless, hearts racing, tangled together in a mess of sweat and your releases. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Finally, Hyunjin gently cupped your face with his hand, his eyes softening.

“I love you, Y/N. So damn much.” He whispered and you could swear you've never seen him being this serious. Ever.

“I love you too, Jinnie,” You said, and your smile had him smiling. And the two of you were giggling and hugging each other tightly.

“I told you I’d make you mine,” he mumbled against your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there.

“Yeah yeah,”

The next morning, you walked into the office, trying to act like everything was normal. But as soon as you stepped in, the atmosphere just felt different.

You sat down at your desk, but before you could even open your laptop, Changbin, Felix, and Chan came strolling into the office like they’ve been waiting for you.

Oh they knew.

“Morning, Y/N,” Changbin said, his tone way too casual. “Sleep well?”

You forced a smile, trying to stay calm, but inside you’re screaming.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for asking.” you managed to say, as you avoided making eye contact with him.

“I’m sure you had a very eventful night, huh?” Felix was leaning against your desk now, his chin on his hand and a toothy grin in place.

You dropped your head into your hands, already feeling the embarrassment creeping up. And then, you heard it. That sweet, chuckle which had you wanting to crawl under your desk and never come out.

“Hyunjin,” you hissed, glaring at him as he strutted over to you, like a damn puppy who’s just been given a treat.

And he looked so fucking proud of himself.

"Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, dropping that mandatory cupcake on your desk.

You didn't hold back the sigh.

“Oh my God, Hyunjin,” you whined, burying your face in your hands in defeat. “Please.”

“What? You think they didn’t notice?” he asked innocently, pointing at the spot under his ear, where he sported a very evident hickey.

Oh you wanted to die. Felix snickered, totally enjoying this.

“And you’re glowing love, it looks good.” he said kindly.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you groaned, pressing your fingers into your temples. “Could you not?”

“You know we should have a talk about office etiquette. But then again... if it was that good…” Chan added, raising his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced between you and Hyunjin.

“I’m going to murder all of you.”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenarios #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut

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reiding-writing · 5 months ago

Note

Maybe a fic where Cold! Reader has been letting her softer side show around Spencer, and one day when she lets a smile slip he tries to tell her that he likes her smile??

THE SMILE THAT SLIPPED — SPENCER REID!

you don’t feel things like this. you don’t. ever. except maybe you actually do.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— this came out to exactly 2400 words and it’s so satisfying

The bullpen is quieter than usual.

The exhaustion of a closed case hangs in the air, making the usual rustling of paperwork and distant hum of conversation feel almost comforting. You sit at your desk, the last few reports in front of you, fingers idly toying with your pen as you force yourself to focus.

It’s late, but no one’s rushing to leave. The team lingers, unwinding in the way they always do after a case—half-finished conversations, shared glances, a collective sense of relief.

Across from you, Spencer is flipping through a file at an alarming speed, his knee bouncing beneath the desk. It’s a familiar sight, one you’ve grown used to. You don’t realize you’re watching until his voice breaks through the background noise.

*"*You know, statistically speaking, people who work late tend to make more errors in their reports. Fatigue impairs cognitive function—kind of like being drunk, actually. So, technically…” He looks up, eyes bright with something innocently fascinating. “We’re all just sleep-deprived, paper-pushing drunks right now,”

It’s not the words themselves. It’s the way he says it—earnest and slightly amused, like he didn’t mean for it to sound like a joke but realised it as he was saying it.

Before you can stop it, a small smile tugs at your lips. It’s brief, barely there, but it happens.

And Spencer sees it.

He stills mid-page turn, hazel eyes widening just slightly. His lips part, like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. But after a beat, his voice comes, softer this time.

“I like your smile,”

The words hit like a misfired shot, straight to the chest. Your breath catches.

You freeze.

For a moment, the bullpen fades—the low murmur of voices, the shuffle of papers, the distant ringing of a phone. All of it disappears beneath the weight of his words.

People have complimented you before. You know how to brush them off, how to let them roll off your back like they mean nothing. But this? This is different.

Because Spencer isn’t saying it in passing. He isn’t trying to flatter you or win you over. He’s just saying it, like a quiet observation. Like a fact.

And that unsettles you more than anything.

Your expression shutters in an instant. The walls go up before you can think, instinctual and sharp-edged. You look away, shaking your head slightly, as if dismissing the moment entirely.

“Get back to your report, Reid.”

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t want to see it. Instead, you focus on the papers in front of you, grip tightening around your pen.

But even as you force your attention elsewhere, his words linger. Nestle into the corners of your mind.

And that brief, impossible warmth in your chest?

You don’t want to think about what it means.

You don’t look at him again.

Not when he shifts slightly in his seat, the rustle of paper between his fingers halting for a fraction of a second. Not when he exhales softly, as if debating whether to say something more.

You just keep your eyes fixed on your report, willing the moment to disappear.

Your voice had been even, detached—just the way you intended. But there had been something else underneath. Too quiet for him to catch, you hope.

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his stare. A hesitation. A question he doesn’t voice. Then, slowly, the sound of him turning a page resumes, though less fluid than before.

Still, you don’t look up.

You can’t.

—

For the rest of the day, you keep your distance.

It’s not unusual for you to be reserved—stoic, even. No one questions it when you opt out of lingering conversations, when you choose solitude over small talk. But today, you’re avoiding Spencer in a way that’s painfully deliberate.

Every time he moves near, you find a reason to move elsewhere.

When he passes your desk to grab a file, you suddenly decide you need something from the break room.

When he glances your way during a briefing, you keep your gaze firmly on the case notes in front of you.

When he lingers near the coffee pot, shifting as if working up the nerve to speak, you bypass him entirely, opting for a bottle of water instead.

And Spencer notices.

At first, he thinks it’s a coincidence. Maybe you’re just having an off day. Maybe you’re distracted.

But by the fifth time it happens, the crease between his brows deepens.

Did he overstep?

He replays the moment in his mind, trying to pinpoint where he went wrong. He hadn’t meant anything by it—at least, not in a way that should’ve pushed you away.

He had just… liked your smile.

And maybe he shouldn’t have said it out loud, but it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could remind himself that you don’t do things like this.

That you don’t let people in.

So why had you smiled in the first place?

And why does it bother him so much that you won’t even look at him now?

—

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That the tension in your chest is nothing. That his words had been just that—words.

But as much as you try to shake them, they follow you.

“I like your smile,”

It had been soft. Unassuming. No expectation, no ulterior motive. Just an observation, spoken like a truth he hadn’t realised he was sharing.

And that’s what unsettles you the most.

You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one sees too much, knows too much. And yet, for one fleeting second, he’d seen something.

A crack in the armour.

And he hadn’t ridiculed it. Hadn’t pointed it out with some smug remark.

He had simply liked it.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

—

The injury isn’t bad.

It’s inconvenient, sure—annoying—but it’s nothing you can’t handle. A twisted ankle, a sharp jolt of pain when you put too much weight on it, but nothing that warrants the level of concern the team is throwing your way.

"You should ice that," Emily had said after the case wrapped, nodding toward your ankle as you leaned against the SUV.

“You should get it checked out,” Morgan added when you limped your way back into the precinct after your foiled foot chase.

“You should at least sit down,” JJ had pointed out, exasperated, when you waved off Morgan’s concern and started organising the paperwork.

And Spencer?

He hadn’t said anything.

He had looked—of course, he had. You could feel his eyes on you in the way that made your skin prickle, in the way that made you want to disappear under the scrutiny. But he never commented, never pushed.

It should’ve been a relief.

So why does it bother you?

—

You avoid going to the coffee shop down the street for obvious reasons. The last thing you need is for someone to make a fuss over you limping back to the office, and you refuse to ask anyone to go for you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the shitty break room coffee machine is fine. That it doesn’t bother you.

But when you come back from a meeting and sit at your desk, a familiar cup is waiting for you.

The logo. The exact order. The slight hint of caramel in the air.

You blink, staring at it like it might disappear.

You glance around the bullpen instinctively, but no one is paying you any mind. No one except Spencer, who doesn’t look away fast enough when your eyes find him.

The second you make eye contact, he drops his gaze back to his book, fingers twitching like he hadn’t meant to get caught.

You should ignore it. Pretend you didn’t notice. Pretend the warmth curling in your chest doesn’t exist.

Instead, your fingers tighten around the cup, a quiet acknowledgment only for yourself.

Then, you notice the note.

A small yellow sticky note, left beside your keyboard.

—Caffeine may slow the healing process, but I figured you’d rather risk it. Your ankle should improve in stages: swelling will peak in 48 hours, and mobility should return within a week. Try not to push it. :)

It’s simple. Factual. Exactly what you’d expect from him.

And yet, you feel something catch in your throat.

Not because of the words themselves, but because of what they mean.

Because despite the fact that you’ve been avoiding him for days, despite the fact that you shut down the last time he got too close, Spencer still noticed.

And he didn’t push. Didn’t demand a thank you. Didn’t hover or ask if you were okay.

He just… did this.

And you don’t realize how much it means until you’re alone.

—

You stare at the coffee.

It’s lukewarm now, condensation beading against the cup, but you haven’t taken a sip. You just keep staring, fingers curled around the cardboard sleeve, chest tight with something you don’t want to name.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s just coffee. A stupid, simple gesture.

And yet.

The fact that you have it at all. The note. The way Spencer had looked away when you caught him watching—like he looking at you just because he wanted to.

You swallow hard.

This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Not really. You replay the moments in your head—the subtle ways he’s always noticed things about you before you even noticed them yourself.

The way he hands you a pen without you asking, just as yours runs out of ink.

The way he subtly shifts so you have an easier exit from a crowded room.

The way he remembers your order at every coffee shop, even when you don’t go to the same one twice.

The way he never pushes, never demands, never asks for more than you’re willing to give.

The way he just… sees you.

And that terrifies you.

Because you’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, building walls high enough that no one could ever slip through. You don’t let people close. You can’t.

But Spencer?

He’s already there.

And somehow, you hadn’t even noticed until now.

Your pulse stutters, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in your stomach.

Oh no.

—

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency you don’t understand.

You can’t stop thinking about him—about Spencer. About everything. About how he’s seen you. And how that thought makes you want to hide.

You have half the mind to bury yourself in the earth and never look at him again. To pack up and leave the BAU and disappear into the anonymity of a new job, new city, new life. Somewhere no one could care enough to notice if you smiled or if you were limping or if you were secretly falling apart inside.

But you don’t.

You don’t run. Not this time.

Instead, you get to work early, before the team trickles in, before Spencer arrives and fills the room with that quietly intense energy he always carries with him.

You don’t know why you’re doing this. But the thought of avoiding him again, of pretending like nothing matters, feels too heavy to bear.

—

You don’t say anything.

You just do it.

You make his coffee—exactly the way he likes it. Not too much sugar, swirled black, in that old worn out starfish mug he should’ve thrown out years ago.

You’re silent in the break room, the hum of the coffee machine filling the space between you and the mug you slide carefully onto the counter. It feels like the most normal thing in the world to do, and yet, your heart is pounding like you’re stepping into a completely foreign territory.

You can already hear the steady click of footsteps approaching, but you don’t look up. Not until the moment is right.

He’s here.

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes flick to the coffee on the counter, then to you, and then back to the coffee as if trying to make sense of it. It’s the same as always, and yet it’s different.

He looks up at you, caught off guard, blinking a few times.

You turn away quickly, suddenly aware of the heat in your face, as if somehow your actions were a betrayal of everything you’d been trying to keep locked away.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing at all.

But then, before you can retreat into the familiar coldness, he smiles.

It’s soft. Quiet. Like he’s known all along what this was.

There’s no teasing in his eyes, no attempt to make light of the situation. Just understanding. And something else—something gentler than you’ve ever seen from him before.

His smile is everything you didn’t realize you needed.

And for once, you don’t run.

You let the moment sit.

You let the warmth settle between you.

You breathe in deeply, not pushing him away, not hiding behind your walls. Just standing in the same space with him, finally acknowledging what’s been there for far too long.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

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midascrow · 1 year ago

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Alastor x Reader

————

Favoritism Pt.2(1.5)

Part 1

———————————-||————||

Synopsis: Alastor finds himself wondering why exactly he favors you so much

a/n: this is more of a part 1.5 really, as it’s mostly just Alastair’s perspective of what’s going on, but I figured you guys would enjoy this 🍓

———————-<>—————————-<>———-

Fluffy red ears twitched back and fourth, listening to the idle and mindless chatter of the hotel inhabitants.

Alastor couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of mirth at the topic of discussion. While he made no attempts to hide his blatant bias, he hadn’t thought he was quite that obvious.

Though a tiny part of him felt a bit smug, especially at the claim of that empty headed serpent. A kiss?

The idea wasn’t unpleasant but he was unfortunately mistaken.

The two of you had never shared such an intimate gesture, much less in the company of others.

No-, he supposed the closest you had ever gotten was a small bump of the nose to one another’s. It wasn’t an inherently romantic gesture on the radio demons part, more instinctual than anything, but he could suppose there had been a certain layer of affection lined in the action nonetheless.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about Al..?”

His ears twitched forward to fully take in the sound of your candied voice.

Alastor didn’t consider himself a fan of sweet things like candy and cakes. But he always seemed to make an exception when it came to you.

“Hm..~ Seems our dear friends are under the impression that you and I are…an item of sorts.” His smile twitched, inching upwards with amusement when he saw the way your eyes widened, a warmth on your cheeks that roused a small huff of pride from his nose.

“Oh…well that doesn’t..upset you?…right?” Your concern is down right precious. So bothered with his comfort that it makes the fabric of his tail coat shift, just briefly.

“Hmm~…perhaps if it were another sinner who they believed I had such relations with. However because it’s you my dear, I can’t seem to find myself bothered by the idea.”

You were far too naive. (Cute). Your sparkly gaze almost made him angry. Like he wanted to squeeze you till it eased the tight sensation in his chest. Though he wouldn’t dare to act on such an impulse. For fear of losing such pleasant company of course.

But he couldn’t stop himself from teasing you. Just a little. “Infact…I’d say I’m rather flattered by the notion~. To think they see me a fit partner for a gem like you.”

That feeling got subsequently stronger as he watched you bury your face into the crook of your shoulder, a shy, perhaps embarrassed smile painting your lips and making a that shifting of his tail coat return. Like those aforementioned sweets had found their way into his system and subsequently thrown him into a vicious sugar rush. His heart was practically bouncing off the walls of his ribcage, though he hadn't the faintest idea why.

“Alastor…” His name was a garbled whine, swatting at him playfully as you returned to dusting the bannister, distracting yourself as he sidled beside you still, ever attendant while his shadow fluttered around, moving glasses and nicknacks for you to dust off. “Are you going to tell them then..?”

“What ever do you mean?”

Your eyes glanced back, lips pursed. “Well…you are going to tell them we’re not together right?”

Well that sounded unpleasant, and his immediate thought had been an internal grimace. But he pondered the thought for a moment, mindful of the eyes on both your backs as he stepped around the side of you, clawed hands dancing across your shoulder and arm thoughtfully.

“Hmm…~..No.”

He paused, ears twitched backwards as his lips connected gently with the skin of your nose, sweet and lingering as he failed to ignore the twitch of his grin at the gasps that echoed behind.

“No fucking way.”

“I say let them wonder..~”

……

Alastor could admit, even by his standards this was a bit mean.

His “loving” gestures had amped up quite a bit the following week at the hotel.

Lingering touches, thoughtful hand placements, small gestures and sweet words. Nothing explicitly romantic…but there was always something implied in his gaze that perhaps even he himself wasn't aware of.

It wasn’t in an intentional effort to lead you on. He was hardly that cruel. But some part of him…found deep satisfaction in watching your eyes shine and your cheeks darken and become hot.

And that itch had only gotten worse too.

Sometimes it was small. An urge to pinch your cheek which he acted on, mindful of his claws in doing so. His ears always twitched at your disgruntled whines, always tuned to your words and noises. Even unintentionally.

There had been one moment when, your silly little self had gotten caught on that same rug, again. Alastor had been on the other side of the room, but the moment your squeak reached his ears, they swiveled back, and a mass of tentacles lurched up from the ground, gently rolling you onto you greet before disappearing like they had never existed.

And Alastor hadn’t even turned around, still idly chatting with the stunned princess who barely hid her ever widening smile.

Husker seemed the most displeased with his current antics. Always preaching to the others that this was a trick. That he was playing with you. Toying with you.

The radio demon wished that was the case now.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He knew he favored you above the others. That was natural. Instinctual. Obvious. And while the others reactions, especially those of the spear wielding ex angel and the gambler were fairly amusing, if that had been the soul purpose it was likely he would’ve grown bored by now. And he would’ve stopped.

But it wasn’t. And he hadn’t.

And it was all becoming a bit overwhelming.

Yet you didn’t question it. Sometimes your brow would raise, at a particularly bold gesture or comment sent your way, and yes your eyes would dart around as if to see who was watching. But you never complained. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were enjoying yourself, if the sweetheart smile that graced your lips after each instance was anything to go off.

So Alastor didn’t feel the need to label what he was experiencing or truly ponder why. He was enjoying himself, as were you. To him, nothing needed to be said.

“So are you two bangin or nah?”

Though he supposed not everyone felt the same.

Taglist: @preciousbabypeter @ouroborostheunholy @chirimeimei @shanksstrawhat @for-hearthand-home @random-3455 @ittoehurt @salutations-demonsanddappers

(Anyone who wanted to be tagged and wasn’t, for whatever reason your blogs weren’t showing up,🍓)

#x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor

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sasahuaa · 5 months ago

Text

Vil Schoenheit as an omega

Riddle - Leona - Azul - Kalim - Idia - Malleus

hello! i finally recovered from my sickness!! and finally finished this, changed subspace to omeganspace bc i didn’t think the previous word had the meaning that i wanted, i wrote a very soft!vil, but i hope you enjoy it!

gn!reader; sfw; warnings: none

Vil is a very desired omega, from men to women, young to old, alphas, betas and omegas utter his name with countless praises. Though he is popular and has many types of people offering their suits to him, he hardly gives them a second thought.

He is too busy with work! He justifies with the partial truth. Vil is somewhat flattered by the confessions, but subtly scrunches his nose when he feels their intentions aren't heartfelt and merely wanting him for his appearance or fame - which, in his opinion, is very common, he is alright if people think of him nicely, but he can count on his fingers who really know him.

It's also a matter of his standards; an mate with great virtue, objective driven, earnest and passionate is hard to find. But he won't ever settle for less, Vil may not have personally seen amazing relationships, yet he understands what people are capable of doing for their loved ones.

His papa works very hard and is still doting towards him, during his breaks, sometimes he reads words of support his fans write for him and he admires the thoughtful gifts he receives during fan meetings.

It's not romantic love, but still is some type of love, if only he could meet his knight in shining armor to show him what passion is like…

Courting

Vil felt he developed a kind of kinship with everyone involved in SDC, not only because everyone was focused on the same objective, but also as a senior and housewarden, he charged himself to guide the entire group to the standards he expected of them. Vil knows potential when he sees one, so he has good intentions when he pushes their limits, though many misinterpret his determination to contempt.

This kinship towards you shook from time to time, he respected how you managed the rest of the boys and your words of support were great incentives to them, you were also generous and elegant, his eyes couldn't help but linger on your form as you helped around the house and during practices, the omega admitted to himself that you were a hard worker and admirable for that.

You sure had many qualities that he approved of, but what truly moved his heart was how heroic you could be, of course he heard of you dealing with overblots before, but you coming to rescue him alongside Rook and Epel was the cherry on top for him.

Vil is not one for romance, he does not open himself up easily, much less give opportunities to others, and yet he became quite infatuated with you. He made an exception out of you, and while he never chased for a relationship before, Vil was committed to be with you.

You miss all the shots you don't take, and he lived by this motto his whole life.

This dorm leader is not ashamed to be the one to pursue, though he would also enjoy being equally pursued. It's a matter of equilibrium for him, as such, he tries to nudge for both. Vil is open about his interest, but he hopes that you would be the one to seal the deal.

And what other better way to have your attention than to use his main prize? Vil knows he is an undisputable beauty, and is not ashamed to flaunt that. He begins to wear your favorite colors, his lips are more glossy, his hair up so he can show off his neck, and when he is in the mood to be a bit more daring, he wears dresses, skirts or mini shorts and puts his long legs to use.

“What do you think?” the omega asked, twirling around himself, the dress fluttering and revealing more of his skin “I made a haul recently, if you come to my room, I can model all of my new clothes just for you”

Clothes don't have gender, he thought so since forever, if it's pretty on him then it's more than fair that he will use it. Bonus points if he can make you gawk while embellishing himself.

He loves to see you flustered, might even be his favorite hobby.

Vil also gives you a lot of things, he says he is not spoiling you, that it's because you did something that made you deserve it, though his standards for this in particular are very low. You eating healthy is already an excuse for him to give you something, be it soaps, clothes, trinkets, homemade smoothies, and mostly items from sponsorships that he does not see a use for himself. Between the gifts, there's a lot of diy stuff, but in this case he likes to do it with you. The omega would invite you to come over and make subtle matches of necklaces and bracelets.

And dates! At first he doesn't call it dates, but his intentions are obvious at what he calls “one on one meetings in which we get to know each other more intimately”. Pomefiore is decorated from top to bottom when he decides it's a good day for a date, candle light dinners and fancy food are perfectly prepared for the night, picnic dates always have the most variety of food and the gardens are trimmed to magnificence. Maybe all of this is corny, and yet he wants to enjoy all the kinds of cliches possible.

Vil knows that people like to talk about their hobbies or preferred topics, and he has dealt countless times with alphas in the past that didn't know how to shut up. Although the dorm leader really hates when people talk over him, he finds it adorable when you get excited over a thing you are passionate about, you could be talking about the cycle of life of beetles and he would stop anything he is doing to listen.

Even when it's a subject he is connoisseur of, Vil's answers keep being “Oh yeah? Tell me more”, it's not like he will pretend he doesn't know about the topic, if you have any questions he will answer, but he won't ever interrupt and will encourage you to talk to him. It very much warms his heart when you are being zealous and intense around him.

All of that just to make you fall in love with him.

He wants so bad to hear you preaching for his name.

And he hopes that one day you will talk about him as ardently as your most dearly passions.

Growling

Self-control is a sacred behavior that everyone should learn, that's what Vil believes and expects from his dorm mates. Growling, in Vil's point of view, is an animalistic form of expression, impolite even when justifiable, and as someone who prizes his own dignity he learned from a very young age to suppress his growls. Nowadays, he barely feels the need to do so, and doubts he ever will when he is in the right state of mind.

Vil scolds his underclassmen if he hears them growling, Epel could tell, as he is a frequent victim of his stern gaze. Pomefiore learned quickly to avoid Vil if they need to put out their frustrations, though very unsuccessfully most of the time, as hardly ever anything escapes the loyal hunter by Vil's side.

If he is not in his right state of mind… it's rare for things like this to happen, but if he is close to his heat and he is not using suppressants to control his hormones, you would be able to hear an almost inaudible growl when Vil reads a proposal to act in another villain role, or when Neige gets more attention than him in an add or post. It's a self-deprecation most of the times, that he deserves better, that he can be better, he will seek to be under your care when this happens, but after he turns back to normal he sees it as another obstacle he needs to surpass.

Purring

Vil is not as against purring as he is about growling, although both are expressions of intense emotion, he sees more use in purring than growling. It’s just that he doesn’t see the reason in growling and expressing his anger, disappointment and upset in a verbal and yet uncommunicative way, it’s stressing to both him and whoever hears it in his opinion. But purring is different, it brings healthy benefits for himself, his alpha and, if he ever has one, future pups.

He also knows that some celebrities use their purr as a form of attracting fans, but he is not comfortable sharing it for the world, seven knows what weirdos would be doing with this kind of audio. Vil does have exceptions though, sometimes, when little pups get lost in events he is part of, he will purr away their frustrations until their guardians find them, but he makes sure that there are no cameras or audio recorders close by.

When he is with you, if you are being especially nice he will reward you with purrs, a good job deserves a exquisite prize after all. But honestly, his concept of “being nice” for him is really simple, taking care of yourself? Purr. Going out of your way to please him? Purr. Finishing your assignments so you have more time for him? Epel got jumpscared by the loud sound.

Nesting

Vil maintains a very neat nest, he changes the blankets, sheets and pillowcases each three days, he color codes and also separates by texture. Anytime he uses his nest he tidies it before he leaves, just like his appearance, not a single rumple is supposed to be seen in his safe haven.

As for the people he permits to go in it, not a single person besides himself and his mate are even allowed to see his nest. It's a very intimate endeavor for him, he can understand that some omegas are more catering towards pups and such, like Kalim and his communal nest, but he simply can't fathom the thought of also doing so.

It's not like anyone else was worthy enough anyway.

Months go by into your relationship before he invites you to his nest, he wants to make sure you are the right person before he does. Though he much prefers doing his daily skincare routine on his vanity, he also adores to make you sit on his nest, pull you to him until your back hits his chest and apply creams to your face, sometimes just sweep the brush on your face without any product, a gentle and slow movement in caress while he kisses softly the top of your head.

In all, he doesn't spend too much time in his nest, he chooses to do so when he feels particularly vulnerable or wants a deeply romantic time.

Marking

Vil likes to take one step at a time, because of that, it would take a while for him to properly mark you. He sees it as a matter of protection and privacy, it's not a secret that fans can be quite overprotective over their idols, and he fears that you would be an easy target, being someone from another world and, therefore, vulnerable.

At first, he would make essential oils, lotions and perfumes of his scent and gift to you, it's a disguisable form of marking and can be deferred as simply your choice of favorite smell and barely conclude that it's related to him, as these kinds of aromas have a superficial fragrance. It's enough for Vil though, at least in that moment of your relationship, enough for his omega purr in possession and chant that you are his, his, his!

Eventually Vil gets greedy, and lipstick marks blossom onto your skin. It's unseen in the start, hidden under your sleeves or collar, subsequently becoming more visible, until a visible kiss mark is placed on your cheek.

When he feels his public is ready or that he can't wait for the next step of your relationship, Vil would be more than honoured to receive and give a bite mark.

Omeganspace

He is not one to indulge very often, and this includes his omega instincts. It feels good when it happens, of course, but he gets quite uncomfortable later on, to be so vulnerable and out of control, he feels the possibility of falling out of perfection anytime he enters his omeganspace.

It would take a lot of trust in you for him to permit himself to strip off his senses. But when he does, he is quite talkative. Naturally, Vil likes to show off, and in situations like this he is no different, stretching out his body and whining for attention.

And if he is demanding being his normal self, he is hundreds times worse in this state, you won't get away from his line of vision, and he won't permit you to stray your gaze, cupping your face and snarling in warning if he sees your eyes tremble.

But, as always, even if his mind is filled with cotton, he promises to make it worth your while, you just need to cherish him, treat him as the queen he is, and Vil will deliver the greatest rewards for his knight.

☽ ☼ ☾

“Thank you for coming today, prefect.” Vil opened the door for you, his slender fingers circled around your wrist, subtly pressing his fingertips on your scent gland, he pulls you into his dorm “Your help is greatly appreciated.”

“It's no problem, what do you ne-” you swallow your words, and Vil feels chills coming up his spine.

You look at him, truly look at him, his skin ignites everywhere your gaze lands upon. For a brief moment, he feels too exposed, thinking that the miniskirt he chose for the day was way too short, but an undeniable thrill began to blossom in his stomach. This is what he wanted all along, for your attention to belong for him alone.

“You look stunning” you settled to look into his eyes, and Vil's heart filled with indescribable warmth, he returned a soft smile.

“As always. You don't look bad yourself” yet, your eyes remained averted from his body, and despite the frustration he felt into the very pit of his soul, he rested easily knowing that your focus was still on him.

The longer he spent with you, nudging the corners of your mind to learn more about you, he came to an understanding that you were afraid of crossing his boundaries and making him uncomfortable. Adorable that you believe it would be disrespectful to admire him, even, but it’s quite bothersome when he dressed with intent.

It's no matter, soon you would come around your behaviour, and it would be impossible for you to notice anything else but him, Vil was sure of that.

Vil pointed to a pile of cushions, rushing you to sit on it. He rounded the room, stopping at his desk and taking many lipsticks with him, then he walked to your side, comfying himself on another pillow.

“I am testing new formulas for my make-up, though I am still uncertain which one is the best,” he started, uncapping the first lipstick “can you help me decide?”

“Mn” but as soon as you went to take one of the lipsticks, he swatted your hand away.

“Transfer proof,” Vil played with the cap between his fingers, coloring his lips with deep red “is the characteristic I am looking for.”

“I don't understand how I can help with that.”

“Stay still,” the omega got closer to you, his scent containing a hint of excitement “you will be the perfect test subject” and then, his lips touched yours.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #omega!vil #alpha!reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse

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irisintheafterglow · 2 months ago

Text

lot of pretty boys, lot of funny business!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: sabrina carpenter - "15 minutes"

summary: hired to be your bodyguard, lying that he's simply your driver. this job might be more complicated than sakusa expected.

wc: 4.3k

cw/tags: heiress!reader x mma fighter!sakusa, written with fem!reader in mind but gn pronouns used, brief peril, violence and blood, explicit language, angst/fluff with happy ending, miya twins cameo lol

note: welcome once again to iris is missing her grumpy jacked bf hours. i am well aware no one asked for this...but here it is anyway! enjoy hehe

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

— WORK LOG [K. SAKUSA]: 7:42 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: No more than an hour in the mall. Failure: Basically acted as a butler for an hour.

“You’re out of your mind if you actually think you’re going out in that.”

“It’s a birthday party, Omi, not a funeral. I’ll dress in however many sparkles I want,” you state stubbornly, giving him a spin in your salaciously flattering outfit. From the bottom of the stairs, he’s overjoyed that you can’t see the shades of pink dusting his face. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think that if your parents were still in the country, they’d beat my ass for letting you out of the house wearing those shoes,” he deadpans to hide every indication that he couldn’t stop staring. Your excited expression abruptly drops into a disappointed frown and you cross your arms. “Get a jacket and we’ll leave. The leather one with the lapels would look nice.”

“If you think I look ugly, just say that,” you huff, stamping back to your room.

“That’s not what I–Nevermind.” He sighs, running a hand down his face and checking the time on his watch. The party was already underway, no doubt. Sakusa would never be caught dead at a house on the infamous ‘frat road,’ much less the one owned by Daishou Suguru’s family, but every heir to a fortune worth gossiping about were expected to attend the celebration of the slithering son himself. Like you, Daishou Suguru carried a reputation with him on-campus that lingered wherever he went, leaving the air reeking of rumpled cash and Versace cologne. Whether they admitted it or not, every family wanted a piece of the Daishou inheritance, and they were willing to use all of their charm to secure it.

Everyone, it seemed, except you.

“Is it really that bad?” You ask quietly, fidgeting with a piece of thread undone at the hem of your oversized leather jacket. The drive to the Daishou estate was painfully silent, especially when he suggested you turn on music and you just shook your head. In spite of himself, Sakusa was ready to veer you both off the road if it meant you’d just put on your stupid bubblegum-pop-princess shit and stop moping.

“What?” Sakusa’s single-word answer comes out harsher than he wanted it to. You deflate a little more in your seat and he swallows thickly. Your voice is even quieter than before.

“My outfit. Is it really hideous?” You glance at him and see his fingers white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel of one of your family’s many sports cars. It was a perk that came with the job, driving fancy cars and eating in places his friends couldn’t afford with a full year’s paycheck. Komori joked that he might as well marry you to stay in the family, for the benefits and all. Sakusa’d thrown an empty energy drink can at his cousin’s head, but silently agreed that the perks were more enjoyable than he thought. Spending time with you, the untouchable heiress to the second-most wealthy family in the city, also proved to be more bearable than he presumed.

“No,” he manages to force out. “No, it’s…It’s fine. You’re fine.” Idiot! If he weren’t busy being a robotically perfect patron of the road—in spite of his usual tendency to burn rubber with the skill of an F1 driver—he would slap himself. To your amusement, his composure slips enough for you to notice the way his eyes squeeze tight in pure embarassment of what he just said.

“Fine?” You suppress a smirk, feeling a little more invigorated again. “You think I’m fine?”

“I’d be fine if you stopped talking for the rest of the ride,” he retorts weakly and you finally crack a smile. “Stop grinning like that, weirdo.”

“C’mon, let me have a little fun,” you tease. “We barely spent an hour in the mall getting me this dress, and I didn’t get to check out any of the new blind box shipments.”

“Because people kept coming up to you asking if they could tag along for your little shopping trip,” he points out. “The group by the food court asked me if I was just there to hold your bags. And then asked if I could hold their bags.”

“True, but you were there to hold my bags and give me feedback on clothes.”

“Neither of which were in this job description,” he reiterates tiredly. The car approaches a backroad devoid of obstacles, sloping down and then climbing into an easy hill that would be perfect for him to slam the gas. He exhales through his nose, instead taking the road at a speed that would make the slowest drivers honk angrily. You watch him with an unreadable expression.

“You drive like my grandmother,” you declare after the only sound in the car was the roaring engine waiting to be called upon.

“She must be a very safe driver then,” he monotones.

“She’s dead, so don’t consider that a compliment,” you quip and he rolls his eyes. Your spunk wasn’t in the job description, either. “So, are you gonna speed up or not?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could get fired?” He replies in disbelief and you shrug like it wasn’t even a remote possibility. “And I need the money to pay for next semester.”

“If you need money, I could just give you some,” you say truthfully and he shakes his head, declining to answer like he always did. You look at him too softly, with too much care, and it bothers him like a punch to the solar plexus. He wasn’t used to having someone ask about his day, about if he’d eaten yet, about if his physics exam was truly as bad as he described. You were nothing like the prissy, spoiled brats that prowled about the university campus, and he couldn’t help but feeling guilty that he was getting paid to essentially be a close friend as well as a chauffeur.

After what felt like an eternity, he was more than relieved to be pulling into the Daishou’s driveway. “I’m serious,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I have no idea where my dad found you, but I can always help pay for some of your stuff. It’s the least I can do since you’re always driving me around.”

Right. You still thought he was just your driver.

“I’m already getting paid by your dad,” he says, shutting off the car and taking a second to survey the swaths of people overflowing onto the front lawn. Every guest was wrapped in sickeningly bright shades of overconsumption, clutching red cups and swaying like palm trees in a strong wind. The Daishous’ valet approaches the vehicle and Sakusa steps out, crossing to open your door and offer his arm. “Really, don’t worry about it,” he assures you when you still have a skeptical pout. “Just have fun tonight and grab me if you need anything.”

— 11:16 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: Regulated drink count at Daishou’s party. Failure: Possible Miya presence (catastrophic).

The party is unsurprisingly predictable. He stays within fifteen feet of you at all times, stalking from corner to corner with a stone-cold expression that deters any drunks looking for a quick hookup. Sakusa watches you flit from one pack of rich kids to another, showering people with compliments and asking them about their lives in that painfully sociable way of yours. He even finds himself smiling as he watches you spray punch from one nostril after laughing at a close friend’s story, until an unwanted voice makes his eye twitch.

“You know, it was a lot easier to sneak into this place than I thought it’d be!”

“Atsumu,” he acknowledges dryly, eyeing his friend’s completely unbuttoned shirt and holographic party hat with obvious disdain. His hair, usually so obnoxious, was getting practically washed out in all the other neons of the party. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Lighten up, Omi-omi. Believe it or not, I was invited.”

“For what? As an entertainer?”

“It was one time. One time, I said I could make it as a stripper,” he protests as he throws an arm around Sakusa’s shoulders too casually to indicate sobriety. “To answer your question, no! I am not here to take my clothes off. At least, not in front of everybody.” Slightly disgusted, Sakusa realizes that he’s lost you in the crowd and sets his jaw, trying to stifle the panic in his chest.

“Go away, Atsumu. I need to do my job,” he orders and attempts to shrug off the imposing arm, but it’s in vain. The lights were strobing in Atsumu’s mind but no one was home.

“Your job is to kick the shit out of people, those people being me, and ‘Samu, and Kuroo, and Bokuto, and—”

“Do you always need to be making this much noise?”

“It’s to fill in the silence of your constant brooding, my friend.” Eventually, he tunes out Atsumu’s rambling and wordlessly shoves his way through the huddles of students, intuition guiding him out the kitchen side door.

The scene he enters outside makes his heart drop into his stomach.

“Omi?” His heartrate increases instantaneously, all the blood rushing to his limbs and fists. He could feel it growing, the fiery energy shooting through every vein and into his brain until he becomes nothing more than a feral, fighting machine. You’re backed into a corner by who he recognizes as some of Daishou’s goons, low-life guys the asshole pretends to be friends with until they worship the ground he pisses on. “Omi, just go. Please,” your voice wavers and he could break a tooth from how hard he was clenching his jaw. The jacket he’d forced you to wear was clutched in the grip of one of the goons, probably from an attempt to grab you that you’d slipped away from. “I’m fine. Please, go.”

“Ah, this is awkward, isn’t it? I’m Atsumu, by the way!” His buzzed friend greets politely from behind him and, if he weren’t busy assessing the guys in front of him, Sakusa would be knocking the lights out of the idiot behind him. “You know,” Atsumu continues, his hands somehow finding their way to Sakusa’s shoulders and shaking him as if to break him from a trance. “You and I could take these guys so easily.” Your eyes narrow and he can tell you want to say something, but he was too busy trying to stifle the red growing in his vision to give you any kind of reasonable explanation.

“What do you want with them?” He grits out and the guys scoff.

“Daishou’s got a matter to discuss with ‘em. Said to bring them to talk by whatever means necessary,” one of them replies and Sakusa could feel his blood boiling as he unconsciously opens and closes his fists. “Even if they ran,” he sneers. His dark eyes dart to you.

His first instinct is to walk away, money be damned. It would be wiser for him to turn his back and let the rich sort themselves out. You would hate him, but maybe that was for the best, and he could go back to bruised fists and broken cartilage to pay for the rest of his life—

No.

“You wanna talk to him? To Daishou?”

“Omi, go,” you plead. “It’s fine, I can figure it out.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Your bite your lower lip and he swears he catches your eyes start to get glossy. He’d apologize for his bluntness later; for now, he needed to get you into the car and away from this party. “Do you want to talk to Daishou? Yes or no.”

You whisper a terrified “no” that’s almost too quiet to hear.

“This dickhead thinks he can just decide shit around here,” another one of the goons says with a snide grin. “If Daishou wants something, Daishou gets it. Your poor ass wouldn’t get it. It’s only for us classy folk that get what we want.”

He brushes a curl from his face.

Atsumu’s knuckles crack from behind him.

“Want me to get ‘Samu?” The blonde Miya asks lowly, suddenly sober. As another fighter who brawled just to fund his schooling, the verbal attack struck deep. “Suna should be around too.” Sakusa shakes his head; he didn’t have time to wonder why all his fighting acquaintances were at this stupid party.

“No,” he replies with a cold tone that made you shiver in the humid summer night. “You got a car outside, ‘Tsumu?”

“Down the drive, yeah.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at the gym,” he orders, stepping closer to the circle of opponents. They laugh and roll their shoulders back, anticipating a fun session with a willing punching bag. Sakusa doesn’t dare look you in the eyes, not ready to face the fact that he’d lied to you for months about why your father hired him. “Get them out and don’t let anyone stop you.”

“Why do you always get to have the fun?”

“Atsumu,” he warns.

“Fine, fine, just don’t make a mess.” A flicker of a dangerously confident smirk tweaks the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t I always?”

He’s moving faster than anyone could react, pivoting and slamming the side of his shin into the back of the nearest goon’s knee. The guy falls to a knee and can’t even blink before he’s knocked out cold, the familiar warmth of blood and broken-nose crunch enveloping Sakusa’s senses. His body feels like it’s running at 150%, just as it always done when he’s fighting for his life in the ring. Without a doubt in his mind, he can attack, dodge, and think faster than everyone around him, at home as both the quiet eye and the flurrying hurricane.

Atsumu is at your side in an instant, laying his own quick combo on the guy holding your jacket. He gently takes your elbow, taking great care not to guide you in a way that would make Sakusa target him next as a threat, leading you down the dark side path of the house to a gate. The next moments flash in overwhelming blurs, Atsumu at your back to take out the goons attempting to pursue you out of the house, kicking off your shoes to better run down the driveway, a second figure that looks suspiciously like Atsumu with darker hair sprinting past you to take down a guard trying to prevent you from leaving.

This is why we don’t get invited to shit, ‘Tsumu!

Less talking, more running, ‘Samu!

Right when your calves begin to burn from sprinting away from the house with your apparent twin bodyguards, you spot red lights blink twice, parked against the curb. With Osamu holding the door and Atsumu jerking the ignition to life, you slip into the passenger seat and barely have time to ask what the fuck is going on before your driver slams the gas.

— 11:30 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: Shut down arranged marriage negotiations. Failure: Got a bad cheap shot to the ribs.

Osamu is waiting for him a few blocks down from the main entrance gate, leaning against the hood of his car like a disappointed father picking up his teen daughter from a sleepover gone wrong. The fire that fueled him as he fought his way out of the estate was slowly burning out, its embers glowing enough to give him the energy to slip away into the darkness as the Daishou family’s private security start to search the premises, no doubt from the orders of the only son.

“You look like shit,” his getaway driver observes. There’s no malice in Osamu’s voice; there never was, only the unaltered truth and the occasional sarcastic comment. “They give you trouble?”

“No more than you or Kuroo do,” Sakusa answers tiredly. “Just a pain in my ass, at most.” His friend nods, his gaze narrowing on the item in his fist. Your jacket. Atsumu must have either dropped it on the way out or failed to pick it up at all.

“What’s that? Souvenir?”

“No, just need to return it to its rightful owner.” Osamu’s mouth opens into an ah of understanding and he finally turns to climb into the car, Sakusa also clambering in with a pained groan.

“Don’t tell me they actually got a hit on you,” Osamu says shrewdly as Sakusa leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Hmm, they did get a hit on you then.”

“I am going,” he repeats slowly. “To punch you.”

“Were you pulling your punches? You never pull your punches.”

“Drive,” he all but growls and Osamu’s dry chuckle is followed by the hum of the engine.

“You really did all that, just for them?” Sakusa peels open one eye and takes in his friend’s blank expression, fixated on the road.

“Yeah, guess I did.”

“Are they worth it?” Sakusa doesn’t hesitate before he answers, and that’s when Osamu knows that the ruthless, selfish fighter that he’d trained with was no more.

“I wouldn’t do all this if they weren’t.”

— 11:57 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: They’re safe in the gym. Failure: They might hate me.

I should get him a proper lock for his birthday, Atsumu thinks to himself as he unties the double-knotted rope securing Sakusa’s locker door. He spots the extra set of clean clothes and pulls out the carefully folded sweatshirt with a faded print of the university’s logo. Atsumu thinks for a moment more before making his decision; he’d reap the consequences of rummaging through his friend’s stuff if it meant you weren’t shivering in the stale air of the gym. To no one’s surprise, you’re right where he’d left you when he exits the locker room, curled into yourself with your back against a corner wall. You initially refused to sit down, but hesitantly let Atsumu settle you on a bench once you tugged Sakusa’s sweater over your head. The smell of the detergent, the faint undertone of his cologne, and the well-worn fabric feel like safety. It gives you enough courage to finally start asking questions.

“Where are we?”

“MMA gym, just a couple blocks south of campus,” answers Atsumu. He sits at a polite distance from you on the bench, purposefully far enough that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable but still able to have a normal conversation.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Miya Atsumu. I train here with your, uh…bodyguard.” Your jaw tightens.

“I thought he was supposed to be my driver.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

“My father.”

“He wear a silver signet ring?” You nod, wide-eyed. “Yeah, he came in a while back asking about Omi-omi. Wanted to hire him for a job.”

“I’m assuming I was the job,” you conclude. “Dad’s been out of the country for a few months now, won’t be back for another couple of weeks. Omi was hired to what, protect me?”

“From what I know of. You know Omi; he’s a man of the least words possible,” Atsumu says. “Didn’t even share that he’d taken the job. Just stopped showing up at his usual training times and only explained where he’d been when I cornered him after class.”

“I bet he hated that.”

“Oh, he nearly broke my nose. For the fourth time.” You manage a small, tired smile that fades just as quickly as it appeared. As angry as you were that Sakusa had lied to you about what your father hired him for, you couldn’t shake the nauseating stew of nerves in your stomach. “It’s good he was there with you, though. Maybe your old man knew those scumbags might make a move.”

“Do you think Omi’s okay?” You let the sleeves of the sweater cover your shaking hands and run your fingers over the inside ribbing of the cuffs to ground yourself.

“He’s the most feared fighter in the gym. I think he’ll do just fine against Daishou’s bozos.”

“The look on his face…” Your voice trails off and you stare at your shoes, scraped and stained from running across the Daishous’ lawn. “Does he always look like that when he fights?” Atsumu thinks, his eyebrows pinching.

“No,” he decides. “He usually keeps his composure pretty well. It’s what makes him so scary in the first place; half of the fight is not getting intimidated by his aura.”

“I assume you fight him often, then, to know all this about him.”

“Sure, we’re BFFS. Best fighters forever.” His attention is temporarily taken by his phone, which buzzes and makes quiet clicking noises as he types a message and sends it.

“What was different about tonight, then? Why did he have so much—”

“Blood lust?” Atsumu finishes without looking up.

“Yeah. Like he was on the verge of killing someone.”

“Honestly, I’d say it was because they’d cornered you,” Atsumu says with a shrug, pocketing his phone and turning toward the main entrance doors. “But if you want a genuine answer, ask him yourself.”

Sakusa doesn’t know what to expect when he opens the gym door with a metallic creak. Half of him hopes that you weren’t there at all, that you’d forced Atsumu to take you home and declared that you would never want to see the face of a liar. The other half of him is expecting a firm slap in the face, a screaming match, and the same outcome where he’s left jobless and you’re never to be contacted. What he doesn’t plan for, however, is seeing you wrapped up in his clothes and looking so emotionally wrecked that it feels like he’s been punched in the chest again. He doesn’t plan for the way you open your mouth to say something, abruptly shut it when tears start to well, and shrink even further into his sweater like a sad turtle.

He certainly doesn’t plan for the way his arms instinctively slide around your waist to pull you close, or how you immediately melt into him with your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. Your face is hidden where his neck meets his shoulder and he can feel every shaking exhale against his skin. Sakusa waits for you to let go, to pull away and shove your knee into his crotch, but all you do is stand there, letting him hold you, and breathing him in. Both Miyas have disappeared into the back, leaving you enveloped in the quiet security of his presence.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he murmurs into your ear. There’s a speckle of dark red on his neck that you wipe with your thumb, making his throat bob as he swallows. Against your ear, his heart rate picks up significantly at the feeling of your finger on his skin.

“I know.” About the lying or the remorse, he couldn’t tell.

“Think you can forgive me?”

“Stay at the house tonight and I’ll think about it.”

“That can be arranged,” he replies and without another word, intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the car to take you home.

— WORK LOG [K. SAKUSA]: 10:04 P.M. Week 14 of 15. Success: Won all bouts. Failure: Running very, very late.

“What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?” He calls out, breathless, to the empty living room after hurrying over after the night’s fights. Earlier, you graciously allowed him to borrow your family’s green Mustang—something about the color matching his aesthetic for luck purposes—and he’d nearly flipped several times racing to get to your house from the gym. Now, he does a quick check of the entryway before kicking off his shoes and beelining for the bathroom upstairs.

“I only unlocked it recently, don’t panic. I knew you were coming home,” you reassure him as you round the corner that leads to the kitchen carrying a party-size bag of chips. You pop one in your mouth with an unhurried crunch. He exhales and leans over the stairway railing, fighting back a smile at the sight of you wearing his jacket over your fancy going-out clothes. “Also, what happened to, ‘Hi, love of my life, how was your day?’ You’re already on thin ice for being late.” You set down the chips and posit your hands on your hips as he obediently makes his way back down the stairs. Despite your faux-irritation, you don’t protest as he pulls you in by your hips and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Hi, love of my life, I would love to hear about your day when I’m not covered in blood and sweat,” he murmurs with facetious compliance. You snort, all too aware of the stray beads of perspiration hanging from his curls and the small cuts on his hands as he takes one of yours to kiss your knuckles.

“You and your silver tongue.”

“You’re the one who said I needed another way to fight that wasn’t with my fists,” he reminds you, his mouth still brushing your fingers, “and Atsumu isn’t a bad teacher if you need to learn how to piss people off with just words.”

“Don’t learn too much from him, now.”

“Blame the teacher, not the student,” he replies with a sly grin. “Lemme shower and then we’ll go, yeah?”

“Fine, be ready in ten or I’m taking the Mustang without you.” You gently push him away and he sneaks one more peck on your lips. “I’m serious, Kiyoomi.”

“Promises, promises, baby,” he drawls, already peeling off his shirt as he climbs the stairs again. “You want me ready in ten, I’ll make it six.”

“Should I wear your jacket to dinner?” You ask and he pauses at the top of the stairs, looking down with the same old blush warming his face. “It goes well with my outfit, no?”

“I’ll have my arm around you anyway, so you won’t need it.”

“I won’t?” He smiles softly.

“Never.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #kiyoomi sakusa x you #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n

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forgeofthenine · 11 months ago

Note

Ok so we've had tail HCs for a non-tief SO, how about some tail headcanons WITH a tief SO? Which of the boys would notice them doing the horny tail thing at them first? Would they notice but pretend NOT to to be polite, or just start doing it back and confusing everyone in the party except for Karlach etc etc 👀👀 - my tief!Tav would like to know, for a "friend", who may or may not be very horny for Dammon *wink wink nudge nudge* XD

Surprise, guess who's dropping in :)

I'm currently rotting away at home while recovering from a work injury so I thought I'd finish this request up. Luckily I shouldn't be away from work too long (though the injury is looking slightly more iffy recovery time wise than we first thought). I hope you all enjoy, I love some casual tail stuff being dropped in my requests. I'm also slightly shocked that it's taken me this long to write for a female character considering I'm very much bisexual...

The Bachelors (+Karlach) when your tail gives away your feelings

Dammon

Dammon is a very perceptive person, deceptively so

Having lived in the hells for even a short time will do that to a person

Naturally, he tends to look at peoples body language

So you can bet he notices every little curl and lift of your tail when you come to visit his forge

He's also quick to show his own interest, curling and flicking his own tail in a less than subtle way

If you didn't realise that you were even doing 'the tail thing' you'd definitely notice Dammon doing it back to you

It's honestly something he finds extremely flattering, having someone showing such open interest in him is a definite ego boost

And Dammon is a very confident man, he has no qualms about anyone seeing him return such a display of affection

When the two of you are together it's like you're having full conversations only through your tails

Your party members also have no idea why Karlach is always laughing at the sight and leading them away

She will tell you later on to "hurry up and get on with it" with a firm slap on the back

Dammon is definitely a very happy tiefling when you take her advice and wrap your tail around his for the first time

Zevlor

He genuinely convinced himself that he's just imagining things

This poor, tired paladin is so convinced that someone like you would never see him in that light

So when you start doing the tail thing Zevlor completely ignores it at first

It doesn't matter how obvious you are, you could bend over his desk and curl it up over your back like you're in heat, and he'd still believe it's not what he thinks

And everyone can see the way you're pining for him, curling your tail up and away from your body every time he speaks

Zevlor is also mildly scandalised by how open you are with the gesture, only learning later from Karlach that you have no clue what it means

It becomes a regular thing for you two, much to the dismay of all the other tieflings around, purely because Zevlor is just slightly too embarrassed to mention it

It's only after the tiefling refugees are safe, and he's had a few drinks in him, that he'll indulge your long standing desires

Though it's only in private that he'll respond to it, his tail carefully curling and winding around your own

Rolan

The first time Rolan sees you curl your tail like that he almost chokes on what he was drinking

Your fussing over him as he coughs doesn't help the blush growing on his cheeks

He tries to ignore when you do it, despite the fact his own tail itches to reciprocate

Once Cal and Lia see you lift your tail while talking to Rolan it's all over for him

The teasing is absolutely endless, to the point he'll start to blush when you merely enter the same room the three siblings are in

It's a wonder he doesn't simply pass out when you do the tail thing while talking to him with your crew and the other tieflings around, he looks like he's about to

As much as he enjoys the sight, it's all horribly embarrassing that everyone knows, though it's not embarrassing enough for him to stop you

It takes a long time, and plenty of confidence gathering, but Rolan does eventually do the tail thing back

He has to make sure you two are absolutely alone first, but it's very apparent when he returns the gesture

Though, Rolan looks just as grumpy as always while doing it

Karlach

Karlach has few ways of showing affection to people she cares about while her body is still a walking furnace

When she sees the way your tail curls and lifts as you speak to her she's absolutely beaming

Karlach responds almost immediately, her tail mirroring your own in a clear expression of interest

The others in the group can't figure out why the two of you are animatedly moving your tails, they end up deciding it's just a normal tiefling thing

If you don't even realise what it is you're doing and question why her tail is 'like that' she'll absolutely cackle

Expect to never live it down and to always be lovingly teased over it

It becomes a regular thing for everyone on the crew to see, they do ask questions when the two of you don't do it while talking to other tieflings though

Karlach doesn't only express her interest in how her tail moves, you'll get plenty of flirting from her too

But doing the tail thing is a simple way for you two to reinforce your interest in each other until you're able to touch her

Dammon, having seen how you both interact, is hardly shocked at how quickly Karlach intertwines her tail with yours when she's able to touch others again

She's still going to do the tail thing to tease you though

#bri answers #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 dammon #baldurs gate 3 dammon #dammon x reader #bg3 zevlor #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #bg3 rolan #baldurs gate 3 rolan #rolan x reader #bg3 karlach #baldurs gate 3 karlach #karlach x reader

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honeyhonest · 4 months ago

Text

warning for domesticity1!!!

okay now get this. you wake up one morning and Grim is a human.

Not a teenager, at this teenage boy school. Grim is like, four years old at most. Okay, sure, he acts, and talks, and thinks like a very small child, but that was when he was a fucking cat! He poops outside and licks himself when he thinks you aren't looking!

So now you have this fucking, tiny human child in your house. Okay. And you have no idea why he is suddenly a little baby. Malleus and Vil both have a look at him and can't detect any abnormal magic. No potions, no poisons, no curses, no hexes, no spells, no blot.

You are not cut out for single parenthood. If you're going down, then someone is going down with you.

Obviously the first and second years are not equipped to be a step-father, even if platonically. The third years, too. If you even look in Leona's general direction he'll pick you up by the scruff of your neck and dropkick you off the island.

But that's no problem! You're a grown-up, there are other grown-ups here, someone has to help!

Your first pick is obvious. Lilia has the most experience, and is the most helpful. He's even offered to babysit cat-Grim before!

And he's flattered, but... no. Babysitting is quite different from raising a child, he just doesn't have the time or energy for that anymore. He has his family, and throwing another kid (+ partner?) into the pot might upset his boys, especially since Malleus'... uh, episode wasn't that long ago.

Then there's Trein. Raised two daughters on his own, years of teaching experience, reputable and reliable and- no. No, absolutely not. He's a girl dad through and through, and he's had ENOUGH of raising the NRC boys to be somewhat respectable young men. Again, he must consider his daughter's reactions to randomly adopting a baby with one of his coworkers-slash-students. And poor Lucius... so, he hands you a wad of thaumarks and tells you exactly what to buy.

Sam jokes about being a cool uncle but isn't much help otherwise. He does give you a slight discount on the diapers, though (Grim is not potty-trained).

Vargas isn't really good with the whole "baby" thing, so even if he did want to help, you'd be stuck doing most of the work anyhow.

Crewel bursts into maniacal laughter and slams his door in your face.

You're at a loss.

While everyone had offered something- their advice, their condolences, and their thaumarks- none had offered to help. How are you supposed to raise a whole BABY on your own?? Let alone one that breathes fire!!!

You can't just abandon him. He's your responsibility, and you have an obligation to...

...Oh, right.

No person, not the staff, nor your friends, had the obligation to help you.

Except for one.

All Crowley says when you throw his door open and drop a thumb-sucking Grim (not that he's that young, he's just enjoying having opposable thumbs for the first time) on his desk, is, "Well... this is quite the predicament you have, isn't it?"

"You mean the predicament WE have,"

He pales, which technically shouldn't be possible, considering the nearly blue shade of his skin.

"Now, let's not be rash, Prefect-"

"Either fix him or help me. We're your responsibility, Headmage,"

He curses under his breath (probably something like "goodness me!") and stands from his seat.

Crowley mumbles something about hatchlings being less difficult while he tries to get Grim's shoes on his kicking feet. The Headmage keeps looking at you, either for help or approval, and you have to remind him that you don't know what you're doing, either. It's not like you gave birth to this thing, anyway.

Baby Grim is also a biter. Every ten minutes you can hear Crowley yelling for you because he's got metal in his mouth again. You haven't had a moment alone in, what, a week?

Potty training is even worse than it sounds, if only because Grim refuses to do anything you ask of him. He's somehow more stubborn as a child than he was as a cat. He won't eat anything but sweets and tuna sandwiches, which you and Crowley are both getting very, very sick of.

There are some upsides to it, though. Ramshackle is cleaner than ever, since Crowley got tired of having to pry glass and peeling wallpaper out of Grim's mouth. Grim has better control of his magic now, and he's less clumsy with thumbs. The Headmage even went out of his way to buy a nicer, bigger bed for the three of you, since he was jealous that you and Grim got to have the bed and he was resigned to the couches in the guest room when he stayed the night.

Crowley is, weirdly, not awful at this. He insists on making the food and feeding Grim (it's a bird thing) and cleans him, too. Even when it's spit-up because Grim can't seem to resist testing the limits of his new stomach. But the Headmage also sees that you're sleeping enough, studying enough, and eating enough, too. And when you're running his errands under this new pretense, it feels more domestic than professional.

Everyone on campus thinks you're absolutely demented btw.

One day you'll get too lost in the sauce and Crowley will tenderly say "Let's have another one" and you'll have to remind him that Grim is a fucking cat.

#dire crowley x reader #✧˖°.crowley.post

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itsmemuffy · 5 months ago

Text

Oh, Lover Boy

♡27 Days of Love: A Valentines Series (x)♡

Day One: A Secret Admirer

Contents: Logan Howlett x fem reader, pure fluff, reader is implied to be bisexual

You trotted down the quiet halls to your classroom. The sun had risen just enough to illuminate your surroundings with hazy rays of light. It was one of those slow, easy mornings when it served no purpose to be in a rush.

Skipping a hot morning meal in favor of a breakfast bar, you were setting up earlier than all the other professors. All the others except for Logan, that is. It was typical for him to be up before everyone else, savoring the quiet dawn.

Logan stood facing the hall leaning back on his desk. The hot mug of coffee in his hand was strong enough to fill the surrounding air with its toasty, bitter aroma.

He spotted you passing by his classroom door, greeting you with a wave and a lazy grin. You only smiled in response, the both of you in unspoken agreement not to break the morning silence just yet.

After you enter your class and open the blinds, you notice something you don't immediately recognize on your desk. On it sat a modest bouquet arranged in a glass mason jar- red and pink carnations grouped with clusters of baby's breath.

Beside the makeshift vase sat a plain piece of folded cardstock. Within the card was transcribed;

For the sweetest girl.

I could eat you right up.

You repeatedly turn the card over in your hands, attempting to process what was happening. In your time here, you have received the occasional flowers. Once or twice for teacher appreciation day or to send you well wishes after getting injured on a mission. Never with a note attached like that.

One thing that immediately stood out to you was how... nice the handwriting was. Definetly nicer than what you saw on a daily basis grading worksheets. The cursive on the note was neat and old-fashioned. Every dip and curve connecting the letters appeared to be penned out with care, deliberate but posessing minimal embellishment or frills.

The list of potential suspects that may be behind this was admittedly short. The night previous you stayed up grading papers until a late hour. Not to mention how early you had arrived today. It could only of been from someone within the mansion.

You cancel out everyone already in a relationship. Oh god, unless Jean and Scott need a third... And then you rule out some less likely contenders. It's probably not Charles... right?

Now you analyze the most likely suitors. Did all those times Ororo put a hand on the small of your back mean something? Was there an alterior motive when Kurt asked you to join him on his yoga sessions? You stand there driving yourself crazy with these thoughts until the morning bell chimes, signaling students to start rolling in to class.

To say you were flustered would be an understatement. The warmth in your chest persisted throughout your lessons. You couldn't tell whether to be flattered or embarassed.

The past couple of years you had shifted your focus away from romance, dedicating your life to help build a community for your fellow mutants. February had become just another month. Being the object of a secret affection was not something you were prepared for.

It was all you could think about, and you couldn't look any of your colleagues in the face while not knowing who left those flowers. After you dismiss your students for lunch, you cook up a scheme to get to the bottom of this. Your plan of action was to visit each class in the hall, peeking at the chalkboards and comparing the handwriting to the one on your note.

You start with the room adjacent to your own. On the board, Ororo had written out an introduction on the ecology unit she had just begun with her students. Unfortunately the letters were too small and close together. Decoratave loops gave her writing a regal effect- beautiful, just like her. Unfortunately, not a match.

One door over brought you to Kurt's drama class. His scribe was much more loose and relaxed than the mystery candidate or Storm's. Something about his handwriting was quite adorable. You find yourself getting sucked in reading pointers he left on Shakespearean tragedies before moving on.

You encounter an issue with your strategy when you find Logan's classroom still occupied by its professor. He sat as his desk doting over a stack of essays on the revolutionary war. To make matters even worse, his chalkboard was blank- freshly wiped down and ready to teach the next group of students.

So caught up in thought, you couldn't have realized you were awkwardly standing in his doorway for quite some time. A rough, easy voice spoke out to you and snapped you out of it.

"Can I help you?" Logan locked eyes with you.

"Oh, I uhh..." You wrung your hands as you made up an excuse, "I was wondering if... you had any spare clipboards? I can't seem to locate mine."

"Clipboards?" He scoffed, but his tone was softer than what was usual for him. You felt a wave of embarrassment crash over you. "Yeah, think I got one in one these drawers."

Logan turned to his desk and started digging for your requested item. He rummaged through piles of probably-dead pens and junk he never uses. You slowly step forward until you stand right behind him.

You leaned in closer, trying to peek over his shoulder discreetly. Close enough to smell the stale tobacco that clung to his jacket. Underneath you picked up the scent of the woodsy cologne he always wore. He never sprayed too much, using just enough where you could only sense it in intimate proximity.

You shift your weight to one foot to keep your balance as you lean forward. Suddenly, the bottom of your shoe loses traction with the floor beneath and you slide into his desk. You catch yourself on the surface of the wood with your arm.

Logan jolts as your hand slams in front on him. "What's the hold up, bub?" You picked up the annoyance in his voice and immediately wanted to dig a hole to bury yourself in.

"Oh, I was just trying to see if..." Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was embarass yourself further. "Nevermind, it's nothing."

He takes your wrist within his grasp, touch much more gentle than you anticipated. "Are ya going to tell me why the hell you're acting so weird?"

You were now within his hold facing him, closer than you think you've ever been to Logan. Your hands crane as your not quite sure where to put them. He lets your wrist go to hold onto your arm.

"It's nothing..." your eyes dart trying to avoid his gaze. "It's... nevermind."

"Can't be nothin' if it's got ya actin' so jumpy." His breath is fanning the strands of hair dangling over your face.

"Well, someone left me flowers on my desk this morning." He nods in response. "And I was trying to figure out who they were from by the writing on the note." He nods again, like a light bulb went off over his head.

"Ah," Logan tsks. He steps forward and your hands in front of you naturally fall on his chest. "Didja like 'em, sweet girl?"

Your breath caught in your throat as he brings his free hand to lift your chin to meet his gaze. His pupils were so dark and wide you could fall into them, but his expression was relaxed.

Logan was now the center of gravity and you were falling into him. Soft, thin lips and rough stubble had you in his orbit. Your mouth goes slack and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hand on your chin traveling to cup your cheek. You never had a kiss that took your breath away quite like this. By the time he pulls back to look at you, you are already desperate for more.

"Figured ya would."

#I normally don't have Logan call the reader bub #but I can do it one time (as a treat)#Wolverine imagine #Wolverine fanfiction #Wolverine x reader #Logan Howlett imagine #Logan Howlett fanfiction #Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett fluff

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killuakiru · 8 months ago

Note

OMG HI I love your writing! Can I request killua and gon head canons (seperate) with a reader who’s like very sweet and everything but has a hypnotic singing voice? Kinda like a siren. But she’s very sweet and usually she sues it to put people to sleep or calm somebody down. But like maybe they meet during the hunger exam? Idk I just love the idea of that for some reason. Take care!🫶

HII FINALLY BACK OMFGG m so sorry for suddenly disappearing i was prepping for finals and i am doneee !! As usual, ofcs I can do this anon 🫶 thank you for your request ! Such a cute lil prompt 🥹 Will be clearing out my inbox then sprinkle a lil ideas i have 🫡

⊹₊⋆ Serenus !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⊹₊⋆ F!Reader x K. Zoldyck, G. Freecss ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

༉‧₊˚. Let's Start !༉‧₊˚.

༉‧₊˚. Killua Zoldyck !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• Honestly, hearing your voice at first made him uneasy.

• Your voice reminded him SO much of Illumi, the hypnotizing sensation when he listened to your voice made him think you had ill intentions.

• It doesn't help that you used an ability that can make someone sleep within seconds in the First Phase of the exam. ( In your defense, he was a total weirdo, he kept staring at people in a weird way. )

• When Gon said he had befriended you let's say.. After the Trick Tower.

• He was super cautious of you, while you had such a warm presence, the whispers of rumors made him tense.

• And thus; you'd always get the cold shoulder whenever you'd interact with him. A simple gruff response with a stoic expression, or when you request something he'd hesitantly agree because you're still Gon's friend.

• Though after a few months, he had learned what 'Nen' is, you weren't so bad. He had learned to appreciate your soft presence and loved the sound of your hums whenever the two kids were going to sleep.

• When he apologized, he was just an absolute mess of embarrassment and shame.

• "My.. My bad, I just thought you had er ill intentions.." He mumbles as he rubs his head, a soft shade of scarlet forms in his cheeks as he occasionally steals glances at your face.

• You of course, accepted his apology. Who wouldn't? Killua The Zoldyck was actually apologizing– to you, no less. You felt flattered! Also because his little blush was so adorable!!

• After that, Killua and you bonded like Gon and he. There were no moments where someone was left out, well, at least a little, but you still loved both of them dearly.

• Now ! I have a feeling he'd use your voice to his benefit. In combat, he'd use you as bait! Your voice was so alluring that a lot of people would think you'd be a great victim and then from behind! Boom! Killua's sharp bloodied nails just a few centimeters from your face, and the target's dead!

• This actually happened one time, except it wasn't intended. In York New city before meeting up with Kurapika, you were almost a victim of child trafficking– so Killua had to do it! Why would he let his precious friend be abducted?!

• Another one of his benefits, is simply for his ears. Growing up, he wasn't used to such an alluring and beautiful voice, so whenever you'd talk and someone intended to cut you, he'd send them a glare and continued to listen to you.

• The effects your voice had on him was completely different from Illumi's hypnotize. He felt at peace when you'd speak to him or when you'd sing to him.

• To him, your voice is your most charming aspect.

• While other people also thought your voice was beautiful and that you were talented, to him, your voice was more than talent.

�� He viewed your voice as an angelic symphony. A piece of music he'd never get bored of despite playing it over and over again.

• To him, you were art. To him, you were everything beautiful. To Killua, you were his most beloved, even if it was one sided.

༉‧₊˚. Gon Freecss ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• Gon was absolutely entranced by your voice!

• He's never heard a voice like yours– how your voice sounded like a beautiful melody that scratched his brain in the right way!

• He wondered what it was– so he approached you with the brightest smile and asked about your voice, and to hear it was natural blew his mind!

• You and he got along with a simple snap! There was just this spark you two had and just clicked!

• When you two met during the Second Phase of the exam, he found you soothing a random applicant that was shivering to his core. He had tears in his eyes, crying that he didn't want to jump off that cliff for just an egg.

• Again, he was curious, but he was also so.. Mesmerized. The sight of your soft smile as you hummed a simple child's lullaby and instantly calmed the man into a slumber, he was in wonder.

• He introduced you to his little group and everything just escalated from there.

• He learned that you were a Transmutter, similarly to Killua! He thought it would fit you a lot, he could imagine little music notes surrounding you as a replacement of your aura and just attack with your voice, depending on the tune and highness of your voice!

• Well of course the children didn't know if that was possible, but you all trained diligently nonetheless!

• During the Heaven's Arena training, Gon really appreciated your voice when he was internally stressed– to the point he hadn't realized it himself.

• During the Chimera Ants, your singing was one of the few things that would always keep him at bay.

• Your soft voice that reminded him of his childhood, where he was just relaxing back in Whale Island. Your soft voice that reminded him of the group of five where everyone was complete and just goofing around the Hunter's Exam.

• He longed for that feeling again. To make reckless decisions and enjoy life.

• Ultimately, his desire to avenge Kite– the closest thing he had as a father clouded his appreciation for his friends. His rage and hatred consumed him truly, not even Killua nor you could make him budge.

• It was inevitable for the three of you to split up in the end. You knew, yet you still longed for Gon's presence. Had your feelings hadn't stayed in silence, would your outcome be different?

༉‧₊˚. End !༉‧₊˚.

Thank you for reading ! This strictly belongs to me / killuakiru and I do not give permission for you to repost on other platforms, thank you !

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh 2011 #hxh fanart #hxh killua #hxh x reader #hxh gon #hxh x you #killua x reader #gon freecss #killua zoldyck #gon x reader #killua hunter x hunter #gon hunter x hunter #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x reader

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itsnesss · 5 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | you accidentally send your valentine’s letter to minho, leading to awkward encounters and unexpected feelings. by the end of the day, you realize he’s your crush all along, and a kiss seals it

warnings | mild angst, romantic tension, and the theme of miscommunication

word count | 2.3 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

If someone had told you that you'd end up caught in a Valentine's Day drama with Minho, you would have laughed out loud. But here you are, holding a box of chocolates in one hand, a letter in the other, and an increasing sense of desperation in your chest.

Because this wasn’t the plan.

The plan was simple: leave an anonymous letter in your crush’s locker, hope he reads it, and maybe get some sign of interest. Nothing complicated, nothing too obvious. Just a little confidence boost, courtesy of the spirit of Valentine’s Day.

But, of course, something had to go wrong.

And that "something" is Minho.

“This is a joke, right?” he asks, holding the letter with an incredulous expression.

You, on the other hand, want to disappear.

“How did you get this?”

“It appeared in my locker.”

Your stomach sinks.

It can't be.

No. No. No.

“There’s a mistake,” you stammer, snatching the letter from his hands. “It wasn’t for you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, no?”

“Of course not,” you reply firmly, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

His expression changes.

“Then... who was it for?”

You bite your lip.

“It’s none of your business.”

He smiles.

“Oh, but it is.”

And that’s when you know you’re in trouble.

You try to explain it, to make him understand that the letter ended up in his locker by mistake, but Minho won’t leave you alone.

“Let me guess,” he says, following you down the hall. “Dae?”

You shoot him a glare.

“No.”

“Q?”

“Nope.”

“Florian?”

“NO!”

Minho smiles smugly.

“Then it’s someone embarrassing.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to tell me who it is, it must be because you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

You look at him in exasperation.

“Or because it’s none of your business.”

“You know what?” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now it is my problem.”

You sigh.

“Why do you care so much?”

Minho shrugs.

“Because it’s entertaining to see you so nervous.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

You try to forget about it. Really, you try.

But Minho won’t let you.

He shows up at your locker with questions.

He bothers you in the cafeteria with insinuations.

And when he thinks no one’s looking, he flashes you little smiles that make you want to punch him and… maybe something else.

The worst part is that you start getting used to it.

The way his presence feels less and less annoying and more… comfortable.

And that’s a problem.

A BIG problem.

Because Minho is not your crush.

Right?

Valentine’s Day arrives faster than you expected.

The halls are filled with balloons and hearts, and the KISS students are enthusiastically exchanging cards and sweets.

You try to ignore the discomfort in your chest as you watch Minho surrounded by girls, accepting chocolates with his typical charming smile.

It doesn’t bother you.

Of course not.

Except that it does.

And you hate him for it.

“You look like you want to commit a crime,” Kitty says, appearing beside you.

You sigh.

“I’m just tired.”

“Tired of watching Minho flirt with the whole school?”

You look at her, surprised.

“What? No.”

Kitty smiles with amusement.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

You roll your eyes.

“I don’t like Minho.”

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Talking about me?”

You turn your head, and sure enough, Minho is there, looking at you with an arched eyebrow.

Kitty smiles.

“Actually, yes.”

“How flattering.”

“It’s not,” you say quickly.

“Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day. At least you could be a little nicer to me.”

“I could. But I don’t want to.”

Minho laughs.

“Fine, in that case...” He leans a little closer to you. “Can I ask you something?”

Your heart races.

“What?”

“Did you already give your ‘mysterious crush’ your letter?”

Your stomach churns.

Kitty watches the two of you with curiosity but doesn’t intervenes.

“That’s none of your business,” you respond, trying to sound indifferent.

Minho smiles, but there’s something different in his expression.

“Then you still have time.”

You don’t know how to respond.

But before you can say anything, he walks away.

And you’re left standing there, heart racing and too many questions running through your mind.

The day goes on, and you keep thinking about it.

You can’t get Minho out of your head.

Not his smile.

Not the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice.

Not the possibility that… maybe, just maybe… your crush was never the wrong person.

Maybe, from the start, it was him.

The thought scares you.

But it also excites you.

And before you can stop yourself, you grab the letter you wrote and run to find him.

You find him on the rooftop, looking at the horizon with his hands in his pockets.

He turns when he hears you approach, and his expression changes when he sees the letter in your hands.

You don’t say anything.

You just step forward and offer it to him.

Minho looks at it for a moment before taking it.

He carefully opens the envelope, pulls out the sheet, and starts reading.

Your heart is about to explode.

When he finishes, he looks up and stares at you.

“Was it for me from the beginning?”

You swallow hard.

“No.”

“Then what changed?”

You close your eyes for a moment before responding:

“I think it was me.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he smiles.

And before you can process it, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft, but sure.

And when you pull away, Minho murmurs against your lips:

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And this time, there’s no confusion.

This time, Cupid hit the mark.

#minho xo kitty #minho moon #minho x reader #minho x you #minho #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty

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jungkoode · 4 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #10 死

† wound tight †

"You’re in the Seduction Division, you’re supposed to be the seductress here, not the other way around. But then he falls asleep on your bed, and he suddenly looks so human… The morning brings him back to normal though, as you remain unaware of how thoroughly he has to wash your scent off his skin. And if that wasn’t enough… AD’s cryptic warning seems more acidic than the lemon breeze that wafts off him.

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7k

rating: mature

content: secret rdvz, jeon popping a boner in the most awkward moments, thrill of being discovered, stirring arousal, battling self-control, almost masturbation (m), cryptic warnings, scents that linger too long for their own good

☠ author's note ☠

As promised, chapter 10 delivered the SECOND we hit that goal! Took y'all less than 24 hours on Wattpad which is both flattering and deeply concerning. You're all menaces and I love you, but the bar is officially being raised. I refuse to be bullied by my own readers (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

MY SLEEPY BOYYYYY (;'༎ຶٹ༎ຶ')

He's so traumatized and I am so mean SORRY *dodges all your punches with the grace of someone who absolutely deserves to be punched*

—Don't worry Y/N, we all feel that way towards Jeon, it's totally normal. The "I want to simultaneously slap him and kiss him" experience is universal. Don't beat yourself up over it (〜￣▽￣)〜

This chapter was a whole cocktail of POVs, I know! But there were so many things happening simultaneously that it just came out like this. Think of it as one of those split-screen moments in action movies except instead of car chases it's just traumatized gang members making questionable life choices.

I must say I'm actually happy with how this chapter turned out because we're finally diving deeper into the spicier themes! The thrill of forbidden attraction! The danger lurking around every corner! The "I shouldn't want this but I REALLY want this" internal struggle! And the sexual tension thick enough to cut with one of V's knives! PEAK FICTION!

Anyway, thanks for reading as always! Your comments sustain me through the dark nights of writer's block and existential dread. Love you all, you magnificent enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You're about to crawl into bed when someone knocks on your door. At 3 AM. Because of course.

Opening it reveals Jeon standing there like this is totally normal, holding a plastic bag with your hoodie peeking out.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You whisper-yell, heart immediately kicking into overdrive.

"Just want my jacket ba—" You slap your hand over his mouth before he can finish.

His lips are warm against your palm and you try very hard not to think about that.

"Are you actually insane?" Your voice drops even lower. "You can't be here!"

"I know." He scowls when you remove your hand. "That's why I want to make this quick."

"Ever heard of morning? You know, when people normally wake up?"

"Not like I'm sleeping anywa—"

A cough echoes from one of the other rooms and your body moves on pure instinct. You grab his wrist and yank him inside before anyone can catch Kkangpae's deadliest assassin lurking outside your door at ass o'clock.

He stumbles, definitely more from surprise than your strength, and his mouth opens—maybe to curse you out—but you slap your hand over it again, gesturing frantically at Yunjin's sleeping form with your free hand.

"Don't," you mouth, somewhere between begging and threatening.

His dark eyes lock with yours, and something electric crackles between you. Your hand is still pressed against his mouth, his skin burning against your palm, and suddenly you're very aware that you just dragged Jeon into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

Shit.

You drop your hand from his mouth, careful and slow. The jacket's on your bed, and you edge toward it like you're approaching a wild animal. Jeon follows, surprisingly quiet for someone who radiates danger like a space heater. Sets the plastic bag with your hoodie by the bed.

Just as you reach for his jacket—because of course this whole mess started with that stupid piece of leather—it slips through your fingers. The thud it makes hitting the floor might as well be a bomb going off in the silent room.

Your heart stops.

"Y/N?" Yunjin's sleepy voice makes your blood run cold.

Pure panic takes over.

Before you can think it through, you're shoving Jeon onto your bed and climbing on top of him. His hands grab your hips automatically, and you press yourself against him, trying to make his tall frame disappear under yours.

You yank the blankets over both of you, praying they hide his shape. Your heart's beating so hard you're sure Jeon can feel it where your chest meets his. The whole situation would be m̶o̶r̶t̶i̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ dangerous if you weren't so terrified of getting caught.

"Everything's fine," you whisper-call back. "Just dropped the jacket."

Jeon's frozen underneath you, every muscle locked tight. You can feel his chest rising and falling, his breath hitting your neck in controlled bursts. He's warm—too warm—and solid in all the places you're trying very hard not to think about.

"'Kay..." Yunjin mumbles. "Sleep soon..."

You nod uselessly in the dark, too aware of Jeon's hands still gripping your hips. Moonlight catches his eyes, and even in the shadows, his gaze burns into yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

This is fine. Everything's fine.

But it's like time itself freezes.

You hold your breath as Yunjin shifts in her bed, the sheets rustling before she settles back into sleep with a soft sigh. You stay perfectly still, counting heartbeats, waiting to make sure she's really out.

When her breathing evens out again, you let yourself relax—as much as anyone can relax while straddling Jeon in the middle of the night. The room goes quiet except for your matched breathing, and suddenly the blanket cocoon feels very small, very intimate.

You lift your head slowly, trying to minimize movement, and fuck—his face is right there, barely inches from yours. His dark eyes catch what little moonlight filters through the blanket, and there's something in them beyond the usual annoyance.

Something that makes you almost sigh.

"Don't move," you breathe, barely a whisper. "Just... wait till she's deeper asleep."

The silence feels thick enough to choke on. Because everything seems to shrink to this moment: the warmth of his hands on your hips, how solid his chest feels against yours, the way his breath mingles with yours in the tiny space between you.

His eyes dance upwards, gaze locking with yours momentarily.

Then it drops to your mouth—for a split second—before snapping back up, and your whole body tingles like you've been shocked.

This is insane. This is really fucking insane.

How his fingers press into your hips, how your thighs are bracketing his sides, how close your faces are.

You can see little details you've never noticed before, like the faint freckles across his nose you've somehow ignored all this time.

You don't know why you seem to catalog that information.

But you do know why your heart pounds so hard you're sure he can feel it where your chests meet.

Because you can say whatever, but he's definitely hot. And this is dangerous.

So, so dangerous.

Jeon shifts under you—just barely, but enough to make you notice how tense he is. His whole body feels impressively stiff, and you ponder if he's really as unbothered by this position as he's trying to act.

You need to focus. Need to ignore how his eyes look softer in the dim lighting, or how his hands seem the perfect fucking size on your hips. There must still be some remnants of vodka on your body that making it hard to think about anything except how close he is.

"Jeon," you breathe against his cheek. "You need to—"

He moves again, more obviously this time.

You lose your balance for a split second, shifting to catch yourself, and—oh.

Oh fuck.

"Shit—" The word hisses out between his teeth like he's been burned.

You want to die.

You want to drown.

Because that's definitely his cock pressing against your ass through the thin cotton of your pajamas.

A tiny gasp escapes before you can stop it as everything clicks into place—why he's so tense, why his breathing sounds so controlled.

He's hard.

You freeze, heart thundering in your chest. This was already dangerous, but now it's dangerous dangerous. You try to tell yourself it's just biology, just a normal reaction to having someone straddling him. Nothing personal.

He's just a guy, after all. These things happen.

That's what you tell yourself, but it's getting real hard to think straight when you can feel exactly how hard Jeon is underneath you.

And why does that knowledge give you chills?

This is Jeon—the guy who's been nothing but cold and distant since day one. Mr. Perfect Sniper with his perfect control, dick hard just because you're straddling him.

It shouldn't be hot.

You shouldn't find it hot.

But then again... you're already thinking about how easy would be to shift your hips, to feel more of that thick line pressing against you.

You could play it off as getting comfortable, just an innocent adjustment.

Your body practically vibrates with the urge to move.

But no. No. You're not that desperate. This is just adrenaline and proximity making you stupid.

Except... you can't make yourself pull away. His warmth seeps through your thin pajamas, and when did his eyes get so gentle? You've never seen him look like this—all that ice melted into something darker, hungrier.

That goddamn silver chain around his neck catches some light, drawing your eyes to where his black turtleneck hugs every muscle. You wonder if his tattoos extend past what you can see, if his skin is as hot everywhere else as it is under your palms.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out how right he feels under you. But the question burns in your mind anyway, dangerous and tempting:

What if?

You jerk away from him like you've been burned, the what if still echoing in your head. Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you're surprised Yunjin can't hear it from her bed.

Now you're lying next to him, shoulders touching, and his body heat feels like it's trying to brand you.

Embarrassment hits you in waves, hot and suffocating.

What the actual fuck just happened?

You're supposed to be better than this. You're in the fucking Seduction Division—you're trained to be the hunter, not the prey. You're the one who's supposed to make people fall apart with a look, not the one getting flustered over an accidental boner pressed against your ass.

But here you are anyway, frozen like a rookie, your body still tingling everywhere he touched you. The ghost of his hardness against you refuses to fade, and you hate how your stomach flips at the memory.

"Get it together," you whisper to yourself, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

You close your eyes, take a big breath, willing your heart to slow the fuck down.

The minutes crawl by as you listen to Yunjin's breathing, waiting for it to even out into sleep. And when her breaths finally turn deep and rhythmic, you allow yourself to relax slightly.

Time to end this disaster.

"Jeon." You elbow him gently. "Coast is clear."

Nothing.

You frown, poking him harder. "Jeon, get up."

Still nothing.

Annoyance bubbles up in your chest, mixing with something that feels dangerously close to concern. You turn carefully, trying not to make noise, and—

This motherfucker fell asleep.

The notorious Chief of Tactical Assassinations, Kkangpae's deadliest sniper, passed out in your bed like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here you are, having a whole crisis, and this asshole just... falls asleep. The audacity.

You let out a long breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You should be planning how to get him out without anyone noticing, or worrying about what happens if someone catches you. Instead, your traitorous brain keeps replaying how his hands felt on your hips, how his breath hitched when you—nope. Not going there.

You turn around slightly, noticing the little details of his face. You've never seen him like this before. All those sharp edges are soft in sleep, his usual scowl smoothed away. His stupidly long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that's weirdly hypnotic.

Something twists in your chest. It's strange seeing him so... vulnerable.

No ice-prince mask, no walls—just...

Jeon.

You can't help but stare a little. It's not every day you get to see him with his guard down. Not that you want to see him like this. He's still an ass. A very attractive ass who's currently making little sighing noises in his sleep, but still an ass.

The anger from earlier starts to fade, replaced by something d̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶o̶u̶s̶ inconvenient. You blame it on the late hour and leftover adrenaline from earlier. Because you definitely don't care about how peaceful he looks right now, or how his hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers itch to brush it back.

You sigh in defeat. No way to wake him without risking Yunjin catching you, which means you're stuck with your division chief in your bed until morning.

Ideal, really.

You pull the blanket up over him carefully, definitely not caring about waking him up. It's just common courtesy. You'd do it for anyone.

Right.

Sleep tugs at your eyes as the adrenaline crash hits. Your last thought before drifting off is that Jeon better not snore, or you're smothering him with a pillow, Council member or not.

What a fucking mess.

Jungkook drifts into consciousness slowly, which is... strange. Usually his body snaps awake like a rubber band, heart racing from whatever nightmare decided to visit.

But this morning feels different. Peaceful. His mind is oddly quiet.

Then the cold hits him—an empty space beside him where warmth should be. His eyes flutter open, adjusting to unfamiliar shadows.

This isn't his room.

The realization shoots through him like ice water.

He bolts upright, heart finally doing that familiar panicked dance against his ribs. Everything's wrong—the walls are too close, the air too soft. Even the smell is different. No pine or wood here, just something milky and spiced that makes his insides whirl.

His eyes scan the room frantically, survival instincts kicking in as he—

Oh.

Oh right.

Last night.

The jacket exchange. The whispered arguments. You shoving him onto your bed when Yunjin almost caught you two. The weight of you on top of him, how his body betrayed him, the way you felt pressed against—

Jungkook cuts that thought off sharply. More important is the fact that he slept. Actually slept, without a single nightmare tearing him awake. No blood-soaked memories, no echoes of gunshots, no accusing eyes.

Just... peace.

He sits there, trying to process this impossibility. His fingers find his lip ring automatically, playing with it as his mind races.

When was the last time he slept through the night?

Months?

Years?

But you're gone now, the room empty except for lingering traces of chai tea in the air. Something uncomfortable twists in his chest.

Where are you?

The thought comes unbidden, unwanted. He pushes it away, along with the memory of how perfectly you fit against him in the dark.

The door opens and you walk in, wearing fresh clothes like this is any normal morning. Jungkook's jaw clenches automatically. Your casual confidence grates against his nerves, reminding him that he's somehow let himself get tangled in something he can't control.

This isn't how things are supposed to work. His world operates on precision, on distance. On rifles and gunshots and detachment.

But here in your room, surrounded by vanilla and chai tea and you, all his careful walls feel paper-thin.

You look at him and he feels exposed, like you can see right through him. His hair falls messily into his eyes, a far cry from his usual slicked-back perfection. He knows he must look disheveled, vulnerable in a way that makes his skin crawl.

"Good morning, thundercloud."

Your voice is gentle, warm and buttery like the aroma you embody. He manages a nod and a vague sound of acknowledgment, the nickname washing over him without really landing. His brain feels fuzzy, slow—but not in the usual way, not with the sharp edges of sleep deprivation and nightmares.

For the first time in... he can't even remember how long, his mind isn't screaming with V's cold glare or AD's hatred.

Something coils in his stomach.

"What time is it?" The question comes out rougher than intended, an attempt to ground himself in something concrete and measurable.

Your presence feels too solid, too real in the soft morning light. Like if he looks at you too long, he'll have to acknowledge how well he slept with you nearby, how the nightmares stayed away for once.

He doesn't want to think about what that means.

Your eyes dart to the digital clock between your and Yunjin's beds, then back to Jeon. You can't help but think he looks weirdly soft in the morning light, all rumpled clothes and messy hair.

"10:30AM."

His eyelashes flutter like he's still processing, then his eyes go wide. You can practically see the moment it clicks.

"What?"

It's weird, seeing him process this. For someone like Jeon, who probably schedules his bathroom breaks, sleeping past dawn must feel like the world's tilted off its axis.

And truly, the contrast is striking—this is the same man who can take out targets from impossible distances, who makes seasoned gang members nervous with just a look.

Yet right now, looking like he just rolled out of bed, he looks almost c̶u̶t̶e̶ stupid.

You can't help but study him while he's too thrown off to notice. The sharp edges of his jawline seem softer, the perpetual tension in his shoulders gone. Even his stormy aura feels rather like a gentle summer brain.

You wonder what it means that he actually slept here. The man who probably counts sheep with a sniper scope, passed out in your bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But those aren't questions you get to ask, and they definitely aren't ones he'd answer.

Still. It's kind of fascinating, really, seeing Jeon so out of it. Like catching a trick of the great and powerful Oz.

And the thing is... It's a well-known thing, his morning routine. Always first at breakfast, like some kind of deadly alarm clock for the rest of the gang... His empty table by the window is probably sitting there right now, throwing off the whole cafeteria's ecosystem.

You see the exact moment reality crashes in. Ten-thirty means he's missed his usual spot, missed being the first one there.

It means people must have noticed.

You drift to the little table by your window, pouring water just to have something to do with your hands. Because there are so many ways this could go wrong. The Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeping in a recruit's room? That's the kind of scandal that gets people transferred to different divisions—or worse.

"People are gonna notice you weren't at your usual brooding spot this morning."

"I know." His voice is steady, controlled—familiar coldness seeping back in. "I'll handle it."

Something about his confidence settles your nerves a bit. This is Jeon after all—co-leader of the Assassination Division. If anyone can get out of this mess without starting gang-wide gossip, it's him.

Still. The sight of him in your room, black turtleneck rumpled from sleep, is going to be burned into your brain for a while.

"What about your roommate?" His voice is low, tense.

And okay, it's a bit funny. The fearsome Jeon, worried about getting caught in a recruit's room like a teenager sneaking out past curfew. Sounds like a joke.

"Training session." You watch his face carefully. "Yunjin left early. Didn't see you."

The relief that washes over him is subtle—just a slight drop in his shoulders, a loosening around his eyes. But you catch it anyway. The last thing either of you needs is gossip about why Jeon spent the night in Seduction.

He sighs like he's been holding his breath all morning, pushing tattooed fingers through his messy hair. You realize it's not often you see him without his usual rings, without that careful polish he maintains.

It shouldn't be hot.

It is.

His eyes track from your door to the space outside, probably calculating escape routes like the assassin he is.

Old habits die hard, apparently.

"Need to get back before people start asking questions." He stands in one fluid motion, and there's the Jeon you know—precisely lethal and absolutely in control.

"Yeah, we should be careful." You try to keep your voice neutral. "This could cause problems if anyone finds out."

His dark eyes meet yours, and silence tickles between you.

You both know what's at stake here. One whisper about Jeon sleeping in your room could start an avalanche neither of you is ready for.

Kkangpae might feel like family sometimes, but rules are rules. And you've heard enough stories about what happens to people who break them.

Plus, after last night's revelations about RM's brother and his fiancée's betrayal, the "no attachments" policy makes a lot more sense.

The irony of looking like you have broken that exact rule less than twelve hours after learning why it exists isn't lost on you.

Especially with Jeon, who lives by them like they're written in his DNA. Being on the Council means setting an example, and last night was... an accident. A weird collision of circumstances that shouldn't have happened.

Still, when he pauses at your door, something twists in your chest. You wonder if you'll ever be this close to him again.

It's probably for the best if you're not.

"Thanks." The word sounds foreign coming from him, like he's not used to saying it.

"For what?"

"For... not waking me up." His voice drops so low you barely catch it.

"Don't mention it." You try to sound casual, like your heart isn't doing stupid flips. "Looked like you needed it."

He nods, and holy shit, is that...

A smile?

His hand lingers on the doorknob a second too long, which is weird for someone usually so decisive. Then he's gone, slipping into the hallway like a shadow.

The door clicks shut and you lean against it, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Your room feels too big now, too quiet. Like all the air got sucked out with him.

Get your heart out the gutter, bitch.

This is stupid. Attraction isn't a luxury you can afford in Kkangpae, especially not to someone like Jeon. He's literally the kind of danger that comes wrapped in leather jackets and piercings.

It's not just his physical skills that make him lethal. It's the way he commands attention without saying a word, how his gaze pins you in place more effectively than handcuffs ever could.

But fuck if that isn't exactly what makes your heart race.

You push away from the door, pacing your room like a caged animal. It's too early for this shit. These thoughts are dangerous—the kind that get people killed in places like Kkangpae. But your brain keeps circling back to the weight of him against you, to that split second when his breathing stuttered.

Focus.

You've seen what Jeon can do. The way he moves like death given form, how people scramble to clear his path in the hallways. It's m̶a̶g̶n̶e̶t̶i̶c̶ terrifying how much power he holds.

He's powerful. Dangerous in a way that shouldn't be alluring.

Your eyes drift to the morning light streaming through your window, painting greenery in soft gold. Out there, people are going about their normal lives, no idea that one of Korea's deadliest assassins just spent the night in your bed.

And that thought makes you laugh—a weird, choked sound that holds no humor.

Because Jeon isn't just a bad idea. He's career suicide wrapped in pine and tobacco scent. He's everything you should run from if you want to survive in this world.

You keep pacing, trying to outrun the memory of his body pressed against yours, the hard line of his cock against your ass.

It was just biology, you tell yourself. Basic human reaction to having someone straddle you. Nothing personal.

But god—the way his breath hitched, how his fingers dug into your hips... When was the last time anyone looked at you with that kind of raw hunger? Like they wanted to d̶e̶v̶o̶u̶r̶ destroy you?

Stop it. You're supposed to be the seductress here, not the one getting all hot and bothered over an accidental boner.

You know exactly how Jeon operates, how his division operates.

He's not the type to lose his cool over something as basic as physical contact. And yet... the way he reacted to you was definitely not part of his usual 'get away from me' persona.

Nah.

You're probably reading way too much into this. Making up some romance novel fantasy about the deadly assassin who secretly wants you. He's probably in his office right now, rolling his eyes at how obviously affected you were. Because this is Jeon—cold, aloof Jeon who can pin a target blindfolded while solving complex math equations in his head.

So his dick got hard. Big fucking deal. He's human, unfortunately equipped with basic biological responses. Doesn't mean anything except that friction plus pressure equals exactly what you'd expect.

But... You bet he'd look fucking hot losing that control, having all that stupid lethality focused entirely on f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ having you... Your body hums with the memory of his hands on your hips, how easily he could have f̶l̶i̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ moved you.

And the thing is—it wouldn't have to mean anything, right? Just sex. No feelings, no drama, no breaking RM's precious rules. You're both adults who sometimes need to blow off steam. Simple solution to a simple problem.

Except nothing about Jeon is simple.

Honestly, he's probably already forgotten about the whole thing, while you're here having a whole crisis over how his hands felt on your hips.

You're just another recruit to him, an inconvenience at best.

Right?

Yet... Maybe he still wants you? Sexually, at least?

Fuck. You don't know anymore.

"For fuck's sake," you groan into your pillow.

Enough. This is pointless. Jeon is who he is—cold, controlled, untouchable. Even if technically hooking up wouldn't break any rules (it's not a relationship if it's just sex, right?), he'd never go for it. Trying to seduce him would be like trying to melt a glacier with a match.

Last night was a fluke. A perfect storm of circumstances that'll never happen again. You need to focus on training, on surviving in this cutthroat world. Focus on anything but how his fingers dug into your skin, how his voice roughened when—

"Fuck," you tell your empty room.

Maybe that's exactly what you need, b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ though.

The scent of you haunts him like a ghost he can't exorcise.

Jeon slips from your room like a shadow, silent, deathly like he's been trained to. The door clicks shut behind him and he exhales slowly, only now realizing he'd been holding his breath.

Your scent—chai tea with undertones of something softer, more intimate—clings to his clothes, his skin, his fucking hair. It makes his head spin in a way that's dangerously close to intoxication.

The morning light streaming through the hallway windows hits different somehow. Brighter. Sharper. More real than it has any right to be. Or maybe it's just his sleep-addled brain trying to process the fact that he actually slept through the night.

No nightmares clawing at his consciousness.

No haunting memories of thorned roses and blood-soaked floors.

No phantom voices snarling accusations in his ear.

Just... peace.

Weird, unsettling, unwanted peace.

He needs to move. Questions will start flying if anyone notices his absence from breakfast. Eyebrows raised at the feared assassin missing his usual spot at the corner table, back to the wall, eyes on every entrance.

The thought makes his jaw clench hard enough to hurt. He needs his quarters, his routine, anything to ground him back in the cold reality he's built for himself.

The common area of the Seduction Division stretches before him like a minefield. His footsteps make no sound as he crosses it—a habit born from years of training and necessity. His ears strain for any sign of movement, any hint that he's not alone—but the silence is clear.

There's no one around to see him, to wonder why the Chief of Tactical Assassinations is sneaking through the Seduction Division at dawn like some guilty fucking teenager.

His card practically stabs the elevator scanner, urgency making his movements sharp and jerky. The wait feels endless, each second increasing the risk of discovery. The faster he can get back to his floor—back to his world of order and control—the sooner he can forget how w̶e̶l̶l̶ strange it felt waking up in your bed drenched in buttery smells.

As soon as the elevator arrives he steps in, jabbing his floor number with force. The doors slide close, and another wave of chai tea hits him—your goddamn cloying scent.

It's absurd, how your presence somehow kept the demons at bay when nothing else has worked for years.

No.

He shakes the thought away violently, like a dog trying to dislodge a tick. The elevator descends, and he forces his breathing to slow, to steady. Rebuild the walls brick by brick. Lock away anything resembling vulnerability.

By the time the doors open, his face is a perfect mask again, all traces of the man who slept beside you locked away behind steel and concrete.

The walk to his room feels longer than usual, each step carrying him further from your door but not from the memory of what happened there. Only when he's inside his quarters, surrounded by the familiar scents of pine and wood that he's cultivated so carefully, does some of the tension leave his shoulders.

He stands frozen in the center of his room, trying to piece himself together.

But your scent still clings to him, sweet and spicy and maddeningly comforting. Because he can't escape the memory of your body pressed against his, warm and soft in all the places he's been cold and hard for so long.

A groan slips past his defenses as he scrubs a hand over his face. Chai tea has invaded every fiber of his clothing, every pore of his skin. It's suffocating, asphyxiating, and he can't fucking breathe without inhaling more of you.

"Shit," he mutters, fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

The fabric feels charged somehow, holding the ghost of your curves like some kind of cruel imprint against his skin. He needs to get it off, needs to wash away every trace of you before it sinks in any deeper than it already has.

His clothes hit the floor in a messy heap that would shock anyone who's seen the military precision of his quarters.

But right now he doesn't care, because he needs to wash off the lingering remnants of your proximity. So he stalks to the bathroom, steps echoing his frustration against the tile floor.

This shouldn't be getting to him. You're nothing but an annoyance, a complication he never asked for.

So why can't he shake the feeling of your hands on him, your breath against his neck, your body yielding beneath his?

The shower spray hits like ice, shocking a hiss from between clenched teeth. Good. Let it freeze out the lingering heat of you, the maddening softness that threatens to unravel years of curated self-control.

He braces against the wall, water pounding down his back as he hangs his head. It's been so long since anyone touched him like that. Not since...

The thought stings, an old wound that never quite closed, still seeping poison into his veins after all this time.

But his body is a fucking traitor because it clearly gives 0 fucks about old wounds or hard-learned lessons. All it knows is the memory of your hips under his hands, your thighs straddling his lap, the perfect curve of your ass that he's caught himself staring at more times than he'd ever admit. Arousal flares hot and insistent despite his best efforts to quash it.

His tongue finds his lip ring automatically, worrying the metal in that nervous tell he can never quite shake. But even this small habit betrays him, reminding him of how your eyes had lingered there, dark with want that mirrored his own.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

It was just biology. Basic human response to friction and warmth and proximity. It's not like he wants to f̶u̶c̶k̶ touch you specifically. It could have been anyone. It should be anyone else.

But lust is a bitch, so naturally, horror floods him as he glances down to find himself hardening—a basic impulse he can't seem to control no matter how much he despises himself for it.

And maybe for one dangerous moment, he considers giving in. Because how long has it been since he last touched himself?

The memory feels distant, buried under missions and paperwork and endless nights of insomnia, and his hand drifts lower, drawn by the promise of relief after so many months of n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ numbness.

"Fuck." He jerks his hand back like it's been burned, water droplets flying from his fingertips.

What the hell is he doing? He's the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, not some hormone-driven rookie who can't control his basic urges. You're just an ensign in the Seduction Division, and he's already learned what happens when chiefs get involved with recruits. The scars from last time still keep him up at night, still haunt him every time he closes his eyes.

This isn't him. He doesn't do this—doesn't let physical needs compromise his control. That's V's territory, letting desire override discipline and common sense. Jeon is better than that. Has to be better than that. The alternative is unthinkable.

He cranks the water to ice cold with a snarl, punishment for his body's rebellion. The shock of it steals his breath and sends goosebumps racing across his skin, but at least it kills the arousal. He finishes washing mechanically, movements sharp with self-directed anger that borders on violence.

The freezing air hits him like a slap as he steps out, raising goosebumps across his skin and making his muscles tense.

Good. The cold helps him think clearly, helps him remember who he is and what's expected of him.

He dries off quickly and dresses mechanically, creating barriers between himself and the untamed arousal stirring somewhere in the lower regions of his brain.

By the time he emerges from his quarters, he feels like he's back to normal—no trace remains of the man who woke up in your bed. His expression is pure ice, posture rigid, shoulders straight.

Though if someone were to look deep into his eyes, they'd see them dark and stormy with everything he's trying to bury.

But that doesn't matter, because the Chief of Tactical Assassinations doesn't lose control.

Not for anyone.

Your body feels like it's been through a meat grinder, and honestly? You're kind of into it.

You drag yourself toward the elevator, muscles screaming in that satisfying way that only comes from getting absolutely demolished during training.

Kazuha had you doing laps for what felt like eternity, her burgundy hair streaming behind her like some predatory sea creature as she demonstrated "proper form" for the fifteenth time. The chlorine smell still clings to your skin despite the quick shower, and your hair's doing that weird half-damp thing that's going to look like absolute trash in about twenty minutes.

"Swimming builds stealth," she'd said earlier, pushing wet strands from her face with that intense look she gets when she's in full instructor mode. "Helps you move silently. Might save your life someday."

Can't really argue with that. In this line of work, the more ways you know how to not die, the better your chances of, well, not dying. Even if your arms currently feel like overcooked noodles and you're pretty sure your lungs have filed for divorce.

The hallway stretches ahead like a never-ending tunnel. Whoever designed this place clearly had a hard-on for minimalism—all sleek surfaces and indirect lighting. Very "secret criminal organization with excellent taste," which you suppose is the point.

You notice Kazuha keeps glancing at her digital card as you walk, the blue glow illuminating her face in quick flashes. She's got that look—the one that says she's sitting on information and trying to decide if it's worth sharing. After about the fifth glance, she finally breaks the comfortable silence between you.

"Heard about the camping trip?" she asks, voice casual but eyes watchful.

"The what now?" You slow your pace, raising an eyebrow so high it might actually leave your face. The words 'camping' and 'deadly criminal organization' don't exactly go together in your mind.

"Moon's latest idea." Her lips quirk up in that way that means she finds something both ridiculous and amusing. "Team building or whatever. Though knowing him, it's probably more about testing survival skills than roasting marshmallows."

You snort—actually snort—imagining Seoul's deadliest criminals sitting cross-legged in a circle singing campfire songs: V with a guitar. Jeon scowling at a marshmallow. AD refusing to leave his tent without Wi-Fi. The mental image is too much.

"When's this happening?" you ask, already mentally cataloging what outdoor gear you own (approximately none) and what you'll need to borrow (approximately everything).

"Next weekend. Mandatory for everyone—even the Council." She grins, and there's something almost childishly delighted in her expression. "Can't wait to see how some of them handle roughing it."

"Bet Jeon's secretly a wilderness expert." The words tumble out before your brain can slam on the brakes. "Probably knows fifty ways to start a fire with just his glare."

And why the fuck do you always do this? It's like your mouth has a direct line to the Jeon-obsessed part of your brain that you try so hard to keep locked in a box labeled 'do not open, contains bad decisions.'

Kazuha's laugh bounces off the walls, bright and genuine. "True. But I'm more excited to watch V try to pitch a tent. That'll be worth all the mosquito bites."

You both crack up at the mental image—V, with his designer clothes and perfectly styled hair, struggling with tent poles and swearing elegantly. Doing some dramatic gestures as he insists this is beyond his pay grade.

The conversation flows easier after that, like a dam breaking. Division gossip (apparently someone from Logistics hooked up with one of J-Hope's medics), latest missions (Flower's team extracted information from some politician last week), the weird mix of normal and deadly that makes up your daily life.

But part of your brain keeps circling back to the camping trip. It might be interesting, seeing everyone outside these walls. Away from the usual hierarchy and rules. Maybe even see certain people—a certain person—in a different light...

Stop it. Bad brain.

The elevator takes its sweet time arriving, but for once you don't mind. These moments—just chatting and laughing like you're normal twenty-somethings instead of trained criminals—make the whole "chose a life of crime" thing a bit more bearable. Almost like you could be two friends heading to a coffee shop instead of two members of a seduction team returning from combat training.

Then the doors slide open with that soft pneumatic hiss, and the mood shifts faster than V's trigger finger.

Because AD is there, and he looms in the elevator like a human popsicle in pajamas. His blonde hair's a disaster zone, like he's been running his hands through it for hours, and his expression screams 'I will digitally erase your entire existence if you so much as breathe in my direction.'

You and Kazuha instinctively hang back, keeping a respectful distance as you step inside.

The silence is thick enough to choke on. You exchange glances with Kazuha, her eyes wide in a silent what the actual fuck is his deal today? AD's usually grumpy—it's like his personality setting is permanently stuck on 'irritated genius'—but this is next level, even for him.

The elevator hums, counting floors with soft electronic beeps. You study the back of AD's head, noting how his shoulders are hunched forward like he's carrying something heavy.

Something's definitely got the Chief of Cyber Intelligence more pissy than usual.

Maybe someone touched his keyboard. Or breathed near his servers. Or existed in his general vicinity when he was coding.

"Seduction Division?" His voice breaks the silence suddenly, barely above a mumble but somehow filling the entire space.

You stiffen, feeling your spine straighten automatically. Kazuha goes still beside you, her usual fluid energy freezing in place.

"Yes?" you answer, because someone has to and she's not opening her mouth.

AD turns slowly, pivoting on his heel. His dark eyes meet yours, and there's something in them that makes your stomach drop—not anger or irritation, but... Concern? Fear? Something you've never seen on his face before.

"Be careful," he says softly, but there's steel under the words, a warning wrapped in those two simple syllables.

Before you can process what that means—before you can even think to ask what the hell he's talking about—the elevator stops, and AD steps out without another word, his pajama-clad form disappearing down the hallway like some bizarre sleep-deprived ghost.

The doors slide shut, and you let out a heavy breath.

"What was that about?" Kazuha whispers, looking as confused as you feel.

"No idea." You shake your head. "But when AD warns you about something..."

"You listen." She finishes, expression thoughtful.

The elevator continues its descent, but your mind's stuck on AD's warning. He's not exactly known for caring about other divisions' business. Whatever prompted that cryptic message must be serious.

Question is: what is he trying to warn you about?

goal: 125 notes. next chapter will be posted immediately AS SOON as the goal is reached. 🧚🏻 do your thing kiki nation. <3

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liillyliilly · 1 year ago

Text

Halo

oikawa tooru x reader words; 10249 synopsis; He'd always been in love with her, it just took her a long time to feel the same.

When Oikawa was sixteen, she was eighteen.

“I swear you have a halo, just look at the way the sun curls itself around the edges of your hair. You have a halo around you.” She sat next to Oikawa and used her hands to create an imitation of a camera or frame that focused on how the sun backlit Oikawa.

The greenery of the hill they were pausing at, resting from a walk, was vibrant. The breeze filtered through the blades of grass and made a scent of earth linger around them. A setting sun was the backdrop of their conversation, she used it to flatter him.

He was so annoyed with her when she did that, his ambition was overwhelming for those around him but it never scared her off from him.

He wonders when that would change. It was a thought that remained; when would he cross a line and she would view his hunger as repulsive instead of laudable?

Oikawa scoffs, “You may think I’m an angel, but in reality, I’m just a drop in the ocean. Nothing special. One amongst many.”

“But just being counted among those many is still special. If the ocean didn’t have millions of small drops contributing and doing their part it wouldn’t exist in the first place.”

He bites his tongue. His deflections never worked on her.

She was older than him by two years, and she was best friends with his older sister. Oikawa also claimed her as a best friend.

Despite her being the younger of the duo, she was an outstanding example of poise and maturity in contrast to his older sister who was more like him, rash and immature. Oikawa could care less for his older sister’s other friends, but he loved it when she would come around. She could turn any moment into something special and memorable for him.

The halo moment with her happened when he started high school, while she was beginning the end of her journey in high school as a third-year student. His sister had already moved out and was living with her fiance.

While it was annoying that the older Oikawa sibling had asked her to watch over him, he didn’t mind her walking him to school in the mornings and her waiting at his volleyball practices to take him back home. She would always do homework or sit outside the gym and read with her headphones on.

“Let’s keep going, your mom is making katsu curry tonight.” She brushes off some grass from her school uniform, reaching out a hand for Oikawa to take so she can pull him up from the ground. He did have a halo in her eyes.

He tugs her back down, so she’s almost in his lap, “Ten more minutes.”

He likes it when she’s close to him. He’s sixteen, but he hopes that she could see beyond that. He hopes she doesn’t make this year the year she gets a boyfriend. She’s gone on dates with younger guys before, albeit, only one year younger than her. Maybe she’d make an exception for a two-year gap.

She takes her hand back from him and shoves him playfully. “You have five minutes and then we need to go.” He nods his head, staring at the mountain range that sits nearby.

She sighed, and laid back onto the ground, hands behind her head and legs crossed over each other. Her eyes were closed and she was soaking in the way the air cooled down slowly but surely as each second passed and night overtook day.

Oikawa tilted his head, resting his temple against folded arms that were lying on his knees that he had pulled up close to his chest. He just watched her.

When he was seven, she was nine. He’d felt ill when he heard that she’d be going camping instead of coming over to his house to spend time with his sister for an entire week. Just the thought of her being gone was agonizing.

That’s why during family dinner he declares a plan.

“I’m going to ask her to run away with me. It’s the only solution.” His face is covered in food and his mouth is full of mashed potatoes.

The older sister spits out her apple juice and laughs loudly. The mom chuckles from behind her napkin. She reaches over and touches Oikawa’s arm, “Honey, she’ll be gone for a week, and then back to keep playing for the rest of the summer break.”

Oikawa drags his hand down his face and complains. “That’s too long.”

His sister perks up and starts picking a fight with him, “You just want her not to leave so you can keep staring at her when she comes over here.” She makes a kissing face and puts her hands on her cheeks.

He turns red, calling for his mom to see what his sister is doing to him. Oikawa’s mom spent most of that week counting down the days until the soothing presence of a nine-year-old girl returned from camping in the woods.

Oikawa had spiraled down to the depths of volleyball sooner rather than later.

If he wanted to be the best, then he’d need to work harder than everyone else. Hours poured into practice, studying, focusing his lens on only volleyball.

In his second year of high school, he sustained a knee injury. He bottled it in. For a sport that was meant to be so much fun, he was in agony over his incapabilities at that moment. You play a sport for fun, you enjoy something for the love of it. If that was the case then why did he feel so utterly destroyed?

It wouldn’t be a problem, but when his mom took him to the doctor, the doctor said it was a stress fracture. He’d been playing too intensively for too long and would need a few months of recovery if he wanted to play the rest of the season. The antiseptic environment struck him as unloving. Medicine never understood the reality of sports, the deep driving passion that wasn’t bound by science.

Even if he couldn’t do serves or jumps, he could still run. He could still stay up late watching games of his opponents. He could still linger around practices and work on his tosses. He broke some rules and did receiving practices as well. But he made sure to take Mondays off, he only did low-intensive workouts on Mondays, long walks, and extensive stretching.

Maybe it was his fault for being addicted to volleyball.

His mom called her over one night when he refused to respond to his mom’s requests for him to go to sleep. She was at college now, her first year. She enjoyed what she was studying, and she liked that she had freedom. There was still a sense of responsibility for Oikawa Tooru that she carried.

Her best friend was married now and had given birth to Takeru who was growing up faster than expected.

When she got the call asking if there was anything she could do or say to get Oikawa out of his funk, she drove over and told the worried mom to go to bed, and that she could handle it.

Could she handle him, could she mitigate the tension in his soul? She knew that Oikawa loved volleyball and that his injury had made him bitter. When his actions began to worry others though, she drew a line there. Nothing was worth the hurt of worrying.

She knocked on his door, but he didn’t respond. She opened the door, and saw him at his desk, pen in hand taking notes of a volleyball video. It was of him playing against a rival school, each time he saw something he didn’t like he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and gritted his teeth.

She picked up his desk clock. Lightly beginning her approach to tell him to back down from his focus, “You never seem to look at the clock anymore, it’s nearly two in the morning. Tooru, you’re going to make yourself sick with all the time you spend watching those videos.” She tried to get him to look at the timekeeper in her hand. He pushed it away and she set it back on the counter.

The prodding she performed struck a cord in him.

“I can’t practice? I can’t analyze games? Do you want me to be a bad volleyball player?” Oikawa set the pen down, rubbing his eyes which felt dry and strained. The words he intended to come out as inquisitive came out accusingly instead.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. You need to incorporate more moderation into your life. This obsessive hyperfixation on the gap between your dreams and current reality is driving you to the brink.” She rubbed a hand on his shoulder, trying to lull him away from the desk and towards his bed.

There was no use in focusing so intensely on the gaps between desire and truth. She thought he would see reason. She wanted him to understand that he needed to recover more fully before diving back into volleyball. There was nothing more important to her than helping him find out that life isn’t built upon strenuous achievement to get to the end, because the goal line was always being moved. How could Oikawa expect to get anything accomplished if the footing he was gaining would keep changing?

Oikawa slinks away, pulling his chair closer to the desk, and his face closer to the screen, “It’s the dreamer and reality face-off. And I’m losing. I’m losing and you can’t see it.”

She leans over and shuts his laptop, he spins around to her with a scowl. She puts her hands on each of the arms on his chair, boxing him in with her surrounding him from all sides.

“You are losing. You’re losing yourself. Tooru, you’re losing because you aren’t taking a step back to enjoy life right now. You think you’re losing, but no one else is playing this game with you.” She moves a hand and points to his bed, “Get out of this chair and go to bed, you dumbass.”

He feels bad that she’s here instead of in her bed sleeping. Her hair was messy and riddled with tiredness, her clothes were pajamas with a jacket over the top.

She was wearing the sandals that she got during a trip his family had taken that she went along with. When she was busy splashing around in the ocean with his big sister, he sat on a towel watching the way the water made her glow from the sun’s reflection on her skin. If only he’d gotten in the water instead of playing by himself and tossing volleyballs into the air, trying to reach the sunlight from his place in the sand.

He mumbles an agreement to her request, going to his bathroom to brush his teeth while she watches from the doorframe.

Clambering into his bed, Oikawa wraps himself in his blankets and ignores the way his body tenses up at first, but slowly eases into laying down on his bed.

There wasn’t a move from her to leave his room quite yet, but she was yawning. When she made a step forward, she stumbled a little.

He leaned up and spoke, “Can you even drive?”

Swallowing, she replies, “I’ll probably just sleep in my car, I thought I wasn’t that tired when I drove over here.” Another yawn she tries to muffle is released.

Oikawa grabs a pillow that was wedged in between his bed and the wall that it was against. He moves closer to the wall, trying to make room for her.

“Just stay.” With me.

She purses her lips. He’s still a child. He may be seventeen but he’s a child and he doesn’t know what he wants, that was her thought process. She was nineteen, she had to be the realistic one, a girl who didn’t give any kind of fake chance or inclination that would reciprocate feelings.

“I’ll see you later, Tooru. Don’t cause any more problems for your mom.”

She leaves, and he’s sitting up in his bed, hands curled up in his sheets, watching her leave.

It’s almost like she’s always the one to leave, she’s the one who puts the distance that he despises. He feels reduced to a kid. Like he’s a child that needs to be coddled and watched over. Although, he supposes his behavior did warrant a need for a babysitter.

When he was fourteen, she was sixteen. Blossoming into a young woman might have gone under the radar when it was his sister, but when it was her, he couldn’t think of anything else.

How could he think of anything else when she was right there sitting on the sidewalk making chalk drawings in a tank top and shorts? Her thighs had streaks of blue over them, and the legs of her shorts had handprints from where she rubbed off the excess chalk dust.

“Oi, Tooru! Come look at this!” She waved her hand so he’d move from his place on the porch to where she was sitting on the pavement. That’s when he noticed she’d accidentally gotten chalk handprints on the sides of her chest, standing out against the black spaghetti strap tank top. After he saw the chalk marks, naturally his eyes scanned the rest of her chest.

He almost chokes on his saliva, sticking his feet onto the panels of the front porch. “I, um, I’m good right where I am actually.” Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and he silently prayed that his body would relax instead of shooting hot rushing blood through his body. He leaned back into the bench, trying to sink into it.

His sister knew better than that though, “Oh really? But she really wants you.” His sister had to have been pure evil, “She wants you to come over.” The slight pause between ‘come’ and ‘over’ went unnoticed by her but Oikawa hung onto the words like monkey bars.

“No, I’m sure I’m good.” He lets out a blase whistle, trying to think of anything but her body.

She throws him a thumbs up, “Sounds good.” When she goes back to drawing, her best friend leans into her ear. The laugh Oikawa’s sister lets out shocks his focus back to the pair of them.

Her eyes were darting anywhere but him and she was using a hand to slightly cover her face, using her other hand to bring the front of her top up a little more. He could’ve passed away from mortification right then and there.

When the pair of friends finally came back into the house, and Oikawa was playing video games with Iwaizumi who had come over, his ears were burning. She leaned into the living room to see what game they were playing, giving her input on the game, “Mario Kart is the best.” Her little chuckles at the way Iwaizumi was goading Oikawa had him addicted.

She laughed when Oikawa spun out of the track from spending just a little too much time looking at her rather than the screen.

Iwaizumi had left the house after an hour or so, and Oikawa’s sister was taking her turn in the tub. She was staying the night for a sleepover, waiting in the living room. Oikawa had forgotten to clean up the controllers so his mom told him to go clean up the TV area, only to be faced with her playing on her flip phone in the center of the couch.

He tried to pivot to avoid any more embarrassing exchanges between the two of them, but she told him to freeze where he was.

“Sit down.” She patted the space next to her.

Sitting down, he attempted to leave a huge canyon width of space.

She cleared her throat, “It’s okay that you think I’m attractive. Don’t be ashamed at all, it's perfectly fine and natural. As much as your sister does tease you, don’t let it make you feel gross or anything.”

He covered his face with his hands and groaned a little. The fact that they were even having this conversation made him want to go back in time and tell his parents to never have kids.

“You’re cute.” She ruffled his hair.

He blinked a few times and felt confidence flood in. “You think I’m cute?”

“Sure, you got pretty eyes and your hair is always super soft.” She crossed her legs, still messing with his hair as he slowly reclined on the couch.

Oikawa figures he’d been teased enough for one day, so it wouldn’t hurt to be just a little flirty back. “I think you should always have your hands in my hair. Feels like heaven.”

Her laughs run around his head before settling into his heart. “I’ll see what I can do about that then.”

“Great, that way I don’t have to ask you. You can just see me and know I want you to run your hands through my soft hair by default.” He wiggled his head a little from side to side, amplifying his attempt at charisma.

She just smiled at him in response.

Repressed feelings and self-loathing were most likely why his next fit was so soon after she had first pried him away from his screen during his second year. It was now nearing the end of his second year, and his injury had mostly recovered, it would never be the same knee, but it would function close to regularly again.

Much too late at night, once again, she’s knocking on his bedroom door, and he’s watching volleyball. Her voice is scratchy from a concert she attended the day before, with some guy who liked the same music as her. Oikawa never understood why people would want to date those who had the same music tastes. Maybe it was because he didn’t care all that much for music.

Iwaizumi was a music lover, and Oikawa just listened to whatever Iwaizumi played. Oikawa liked her music though. It was usually the sad kind of piano music. Her other favorite type of music was the kind of music that screams out into the universe and declares, no, demands, a presence.

She sounded scared. “Tooru. Open the door. I can hear your counterclock ticking. I’m listening to the ticking of the clock and I can’t hear you at all.” She wonders if he had escaped out the window to make stupid and rash teenage mistakes.

He sighed deeply, hoping she would hear that. She does. Oikawa had failed to make it to Nationals yet again, he had spent too much time this year working for his team to make it.

Ushijima had gone up to him and told him that Oikawa would have a better chance at making it further if he’d joined a different school. Ushijima knew nothing. Oikawa knew he was a good player, but why did every attempt to advance become reduced to another failure? Oikawa wanted to win with his team, with Iwaizumi, Takahiro, and Matsukawa. They were his team and Oikawa wanted to provide them an opportunity unlike any other.

It was an insult that Ushijima presented. The conditional offer to conceptualize the fact that Oikawa was not enough to bring his team through the games to a victory. That he couldn’t magically make a chance for them to fight on the main stage at Nationals. Ushijima had essentially told Oikawa that Oikawa was a talentless, worthless player, and if he wanted to win then he would’ve needed to join a team that could win with or without him. Oikawa was an inconsequential factor in the game of volleyball.

At least, that was how Oikawa interpreted the discussion with Ushijima after the tournament.

He’d have to work harder, he reasoned.

The door isn’t locked, so she finally enters. It isn’t quite as late as midnight, but it’s dark outside and the shadows slink into his room through the window. The moon casts a light in the center of his room.

He’s not sure if he’s crying or not. He’s cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey.” She scrutinizes his face, she can’t determine if she sees tears or if it's just the reminiscence of fear on his face. He makes a noise of acknowledgment. She sits on the corner of his bed.

He pours out his thoughts. The conversation with Ushijima, the way he feels his team looked at him, the way he hated his knee for being a physical reminder of his lack of talent.

She puts a hand on his face, guiding him to look at her.

“Do I see tears? Or is it just that the fear dwelling within you is making an annoying appearance again?” He shakes his head and uses his hand to wipe away at his face in case there are tears. Her thumb traces the bridge of his nose.

Anyone could tell that he seemed scared. But it was a deeper worry than just scared, it was a deep-rooted fear of lacking the abilities to be a good volleyball player. The ego he held close to his lungs was shattering and leaving shards, affecting his breathing.

He knew his internal locus of control wasn’t enough. He wanted to control more than was within his ability. Oikawa wanted the world on his shoulders, but he could barely balance it with open hands.

His chest starts to heave again, and his bottom lip wavers. She tries to shush him, but he lets out a strangled sob. Pulling him into her, she runs a hand on his head, soothing him by running her hand through his hair. She just keeps saying his name, pressing light kisses to the top of his head. The front of her shirt was covered in wet spots from how he had his face in her neck.

Shakily, he brings her into his lap, wraps his arms around her, and hugs her tightly.

“I’m sorry.” He kisses her with his whole heart, bumping their noses into each other. He kisses with too much force, but it conveys all the feelings he has. Love, pain, turmoil, affection.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He leans in again, but she puts a hand on his chest, putting space between them.

Patting his head, she tells him that she has to go back home. She thought that he just needed to get the kiss out of his system and that it didn’t mean anything.

When she pulls out of the driveway he yells into his pillow. His mom comes into his room and sees him hugging himself. Oikawa’s mom decides to leave well enough alone. She had only come to check on him again because Oikawa’s mom had asked, but it was all dependent on Oikawa and how he took what she said or did.

They never talk about the kiss in person. Oikawa thinks about it every day. It crosses her mind frequently enough to warrant a quick rant to Oikawa’s sister, replacing Oikawa with a differently named seventeen-year-old boy who used her as an emotional crutch.

In response to the rant, Oikawa’s sister had told her to let the boy off gently and to ghost him.

How could she ghost Oikawa Tooru though? Especially when he texted her and kept saying he was sorry for what he did and that all he wants is for them to be friends again.

She devours her pride and accepts his offer. They could be friends. Oikawa didn’t want just friendliness, he wanted love. He wanted her love.

When he was fifteen, she was seventeen. A third year in middle school, Oikawa had settled into the personality that he crafted. He wanted to be everything that a girl would like, charming, suave, and flippant. He wanted to be everything he thought she would like.

If it wasn’t for that annoying first-year genius, then Oikawa definitely would have had a chance to see if he could finally have a shot with her. Not necessarily ready to date her, but sensing if he at least was on a roster list for her.

She came to most of the games if she wasn’t busy with her part-time job or with schoolwork. He recalls how he had tossed her one of his backup Kitagawa Daiichi jerseys, with the captain’s mark and a shining number one on the front and back. He told her that if she was going to come to the games, she might as well show off who she was going to watch play.

She had said that the jersey would make it seem like she attended the junior high instead of her actual high school, he shrugged and said it didn’t matter. But each game that she went to, her wearing that jersey demonstrated how much it did matter to him. Beaming at her when he finally caught her eyes in the stands.

Oftentimes, Oikawa’s mom needed her to pick up Oikawa after practice since his older sister was out with her boyfriend. She didn’t mind going to Kitagawa Daiichi to pick him up since she liked the route to drive there. Covered in trees and a smooth straight road where she could go just a little over the speed limit and no cops cared enough to make her slow down.

Waiting at the entrance, she saw Oikawa cleaning up the gym. A black-haired boy had turned the corner and bumped into her.

“Ah, sorry.” He stood awkwardly like there was a ruler against his back preventing him from slouching at all.

“It’s all good!” She noticed his uniform, “You’re on this team aren’t you? What position are you?”

“I’m a setter.” Instinctively, the boy tries out a smile, it doesn’t look quite legitimate, but she dismisses the strangeness of it. He gives her his name, Kageyama Tobio. He questions her, “Who are you?”

She explains her relationship to Oikawa, being his older sister’s best friend. “Although, I’m another sister to him at this point.”

“A sister?” Kageyama makes a slightly bitter face, “You’re not blood-related though right?”

“No, no, just friends. But I’ve known him since he was in diapers.”

“Ahh, that’s why he was talking to Iwaizumi-san about what to get you for White Day.”

Furrowing an eyebrow, she thinks out loud, “I didn’t get him anything for Valentine’s Day this year though?”

Oikawa had rushed over once he saw Kageyama with her, shoving the mop into the closet and quickly getting to them. The floor was still wet though, so when she heard a thud and a string of curses, turning her head she saw Oikawa rubbing his back with a scrunched-up face.

She waved Kageyama off, going to Oikawa and crouching down next to him.

“Tooru, I think the floor is still wet.”

“No, really?” The words are laced with sarcasm. She giggles a little before giving him a hand, he takes it and stands up, still rubbing his backside.

As they made their way to her car, an old beater car that she had made into her dream car of sorts, she asked Oikawa what he was going to do on March 14th. Checking her review mirrors, and messing with the keychains she had hanging from the mirror, she backed the car up so she could get onto the main road.

“March 14th?” Oikawa faked dumb. “Nothing is happening on March 14th.” He folds his arms and settles into his seat. He wonders what Kageyama had told her during their conversation and if that had anything to do with her questioning his White Day plans.

“Okay good, I’ll be with Ito that day, so don’t have anything in mind.”

Oikawa grimaced. Ito Yuuta went to a different school than Aoba Johsai but was still way too involved in her life for Oikawa’s liking. His sister had shown Oikawa photos of Ito and her together at various hangouts.

“Ito Yuuta? The one that smells like he drowned in a forest?”

“Is that what she said he smells like? Yes, he does smell like evergreens. However, you betcha I love the smell of trees. He’s yummy.” She didn’t realize that she had begun to discuss someone she was interested in with someone who was extremely interested in her. “And his hair? Ugh, the way he gels it has me nearly weak in the knees.”

She pulled into his driveway, waiting for Oikawa to hop out. He didn’t.

“Tooru, we’re at your house?”

“Don’t leave yet, I have something for you.” Oikawa exits the car but keeps the door open so she can’t reverse.

He tossed a small box at her, and she barely caught it in her hands. She tugged at the small white ribbon on top of the blue box. “Wait!” She looked at him, “Don’t open it yet. Open it when you get home, okay?”

After he shut her car door and went to his room, he bounced his knee and waited for a text message from her.

Inside the white box was a card of course, but also a bracelet. It was a thin chain, with several charms attached to it. She picked up the card, and on the front was a legend of sorts, describing what each charm was for.

A key represented his wish for her to always have security and safety. A book charm was to show that he thought she was super smart. Her favorite charm though was the star, because he intended for it to mean how much she shined in his eyes.

The inside contents of the card were short, just about how glad he was to have her in his life. The other drafts of the card had been continually vetoed by Iwaizumi. Stealing poetry from Shakespeare would not have gotten the right emotion across. And confessing that he thought about her all the time would’ve come off as too stalker-ish. The best option Iwaizumi said was to go with the K.I.S.S method. And the K.I.S.S methodology went as follows, ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’

(tooru, thank you for the present.)

He saw that she was typing, and another message was loading.

(it’s sweet that you thought of getting me this for white day.)

He bit at the inside of his mouth. She had sent a photo of her holding up a peace sign, her wrist had the the bracelet on display.

(love you! 💛)

He sighed, falling back onto his bed. He wondered how embarrassing it would be if anyone knew he was fifteen and still kicked his feet a little to physically convey his blend of elation and how much fondness he had for her.

He hadn’t officially given her a White Day present, because he gave her the gift on March 12th. Which he thought was probably better than any sort of White Day gift. His present was special because of his simple desire to get her something rather than the bracelet being for a yearning for her to reciprocate something like a White Day confession.

The third year of high school was supposed to be his year. He bounced back from his second-year depression, using the time off of school to hone his skills, to practice being perfect. He felt as if he was close to attaining the perfection he aimed for. He still loses out on a chance to get to the Nationals. Losing to Karasuno in a devastatingly close game.

During the game, she saw him land on his bad knee and she almost jumped out of her seat. After the game, and watching how all the third years were struggling to hold back their tears, or the way that Oikawa harshly slapped Iwaizumi’s back to get him to line up, she appreciated volleyball just a little more.

When Oikawa threw his white kneepad into a garbage bin unceremoniously, she held back any comments or questions. His kneepad being thrown away was the end of a chapter for him. His mom got after him for throwing away a perfectly good kneepad, but she just gently put a hand on Oikawa’s mom’s shoulder and made an expression to not push the kneepad incident further. It’s not until a month after that loss to Karasuno that Oikawa and her get into an argument.

At the dinner party his parents throw annually Oikawa sneaks a glass of beer and sips it outside on the balcony. People chatter inside the house, talking about how much Takeru has grown up and what a lovely couple Oikawa’s sister and her husband are.

She comes out to the balcony to escape the adults asking her about her life. Too many questions about boys, books, and her future for her to have a settled stomach. Outdoor air always calmed her stomach down.

“Tooru, being naughty are you?” She puts a finger on the rim of his red plastic cup. He turns his head away to hide his blush. She just laughs a little in response.

“Are you ready to be done with high school?” She asks. Leaning over the railing, her hands clasp onto each other. Elbows splayed out on the metal railing, and Oikawa copies her so that his elbow is touching hers.

“I think so.” He answers. Oikawa takes a drink from his cup, the starchiness coating his throat uncomfortably. “I’ll be going away after graduation. Argentina.”

He wants her to ask him to not go.

“That’s amazing! Tooru, I’m so glad that you’ve found a path to follow.” Her smile betrays the way her stomach can hardly take the news. She’s just the friend of his older sister, she’s just someone who watches out for him. Why would he, a brilliant person, ever halt his destiny for her?

“Yeah, I’ll be playing for a team that I think could be fun.”

She forces another smile.

He forces a smile back. But then he gets upset. Why should he have to pretend like everything is fine? He thinks she deserves to know how he feels.

“You know, I’d be more fun if you were there too. With me.”

“You’re funny, did you know that?” She fakes a laugh, “Me in Argentina? I hate summers here, imagine how I’d react to the weather in Argentina.”

“You’d adapt. You always do.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

He turns to her, putting the hand that wasn’t holding his drink on her hip. She tries to detach from him, but he just grips her tighter, linking a finger through her jean loop and tugging her into him closer. He loves it when she’s close to him. She relaxes into the hold he has on her.

“I want to offer you so much more than just kindness.”

Biting on her lip, it was her turn to move her face away from his stare, hiding the way her eyes kept flickering across his face and landing on his lips.

She wasn’t unaware that Oikawa felt something towards her, but she diminished his feelings as a crush that kids have on older girls. Each time they met, she realized that that wasn’t the truth. He saw her and she didn’t appreciate the way that he would look at her. He looked at her like she was his lifeline.

“I think your sister is calling for me.” Oikawa’s sister was in her old room putting her son to sleep.

Oikawa kept pulling her into him, their hips fully touching now. He ran a hand over her arm, from her elbow to her wrist. “You can’t keep avoiding me.” It’s a tone that is lightly sing-song but also carries a grittiness.

She hadn’t been around his house as frequently as of late. Using school or work as an excuse to not watch movies or let him try to teach her volleyball again.

“I’m not avoiding you.” She wriggled, trying to escape him but not putting much effort into her withdrawal.

“Don’t lie.” His tone now balances on the edge of a knife, one side was a typical cheeky silly tone, and the other was an abrasively tormented tone.

“I’m not interested in you like that, Tooru.” It was a last-ditch attempt to see how far he was willing to go. How close he was going to come to ripping apart their fragile friendship. She didn’t have any sewing materials left in store to repair what was going to occur.

He swallows thickly, eyes searing into hers. “You’re being mean.” His tone had fallen over and landed flat on the tormented side.

He lets the words sting her, not softening their blow. Oikawa wonders if she’s lying or telling the truth. It was a fine line between whether he should urge the issue to finally crack her shell or if she was being honest and she was totally out of his reach.

Managing to finally break away from the way Oikawa lured her in, she went into the main kitchen that opened into the living room where everyone was making conversation. He downs the rest of his alcohol and tosses the plastic cup into the outdoor trash can.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many more drinks he steals from the kitchen, watching her talk to people and gently touch shoulders in acknowledgment and understanding.

The moment Oikawa accidentally and drunkenly breaks a vase with zinnias, primroses, and calla lilies, his parents shut down the party. His sister heads out, asking her best friend if she needs a ride home. She says that she’s good, she’ll enjoy the February blossoms on a walk home.

Oikawa’s mom asks if she’ll check on Oikawa before she leaves. She says she doesn’t know if that would be a good idea, but Oikawa’s mom begs to differ. As it turns out, when she was outside the house, talking to her best friend, Oikawa hit his hand against the concrete wall of his house. His mom had bandaged most of the scrapes, but she couldn’t do anything about the way his eyes seemed empty.

She wonders if his aversion to her right now had anything to do with his earlier confession and her adamant rejection. Or if his anger is all due to his volleyball woes. She reasons that it ultimately has to be the loss to Karasuno.

“You’re letting yourself get bothered? You’re letting this moment tick you off and you go and punch a wall?” She’s knocking harder on his door. “Get off your ass and face me.”

“Go away.”

“You’re falling down a path that I can’t save you from. Tooru, listen to me please.” He doesn’t respond. She hears the ticking of the clock in his room from where she sits outside his bedroom door, her head resting against the wood.

On the other side of the door, he’s hugging his legs on his bed, his face on top of his knees as he glares at the doorknob where the lock is turned. His stubborn, obstinate, unyielding pride prevents him from getting up and opening the door so he can cry everything out and so she can hold him. He just wants her to hold him.

This fit isn’t about volleyball anymore, it’s about them. She knows it. The way that he sealed her into his life and now that she wants to be unstitched. He feels wounded.

She investigates. “Are you ready for whatever you’ll go through throughout your life? People will probe you, instigate you, and deride you infinitely worse than what I’ve ever said to you.” People will be able to say they love you and I can’t.

He opens the door, “No one will ever hurt me more than you hurt me. You hold so much more power over me than anyone else,” He waves his hand that’s wrapped in white cloth to emphasize his point. “You make me feel like this. Like every emotion is dialed to one hundred.”

“I can’t choose how you feel. I can’t make you feel anything.” She pokes him in the chest. “You’re a child and you’re acting like it too, get over your facade and get over your surface-level crush on me. You don’t know me and don’t you ever pretend like you do.”

He raises his hand, she reacts with a flinch. He finished the motion, he was going to run his hand through his hair. His stomach drops and he realizes that she just thought he was going to slap her.

It's a whisper of, “I’d never hurt you.”

He backs into his room, wanting to disappear from the exchange. The argument ended there.

“I know, I just reacted, it’s okay.” Hearing his barely audible whimpers, she crosses the threshold of his door. A suitcase is half-filled in the corner, with clothes hanging out of the case. A book on speaking Spanish is on top of his laptop.

The silence is cut with the shuffles of their feet on his carpet and intermittent sniffles.

His chest tightens, short releases of air paired with overzealous inhales. “I miss you even when you’re around. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” She sits on his bed, and he curls into her side, rubbing his nose on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. My words failed me, I’m a liar. Tooru, you know me better than my family does.”

He kisses her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her neck. Hot breath is on the side of her face.

“I need you to let me go. I’m not your person.” She wishes she was, but she felt like she just wasn’t.

Oikawa can’t help the crack in his voice, “Why do you get to decide that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers.”

“To me you do, you have all my answers.”

They begin to cry at the same time.

He replicates what he remembers her doing to him so many times. Caressing her hair and pressing his lips to the top of her head repeatedly. She seems so much smaller than him nowadays. He’s been six feet tall for a while now but only when she began to seem removed did he realize that he’s bigger than her.

“Tooru.”

He mutters in response. They had begun to lay in his bed, with Oikawa pulling blankets up to cover the both of them, his arm encasing her waist and keeping her close to him. His ceiling fan kept spinning overhead. He had his head on the pillow and wanted her to just release the stiffness in her body and soften into his touch.

“Tooru?” She tries to sit up, but he’s tired of that and refuses to let her go. She faces him, twisting around in the embrace. Both their heads are on pillows now, he keeps his eyes closed. “I want you to know that I do love you.”

He raises his eyebrows in wariness, unsure of where she’s taking her words.

“I love you but I can’t be what you want. I can be a sister figure, I can be a best friend, I can be someone you can talk to, but I cannot be a lover.”

Oikawa wanted to hug her tighter, but he was already leaving imprints on her waist that were sure to leave light bruises and tenderness the next day. All he can say in response is a hum.

As soon as Oikawa had fallen asleep, she left.

The dreamer and reality face-off was Oikawa’s least favorite thing. The way that he could dream all he wanted, but reality failed to match those expectations. People always say that the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams, but where’s the beauty in knowing that your future is sullied because of being born in the wrong year? For being born in the wrong life this time. For being born as the person she wasn’t going to end up with.

The spring after his graduation, Oikawa was messing around with her. He had to have been. Their fight at the dinner party weighed on them, but more so on her.

She wonders if she made the right choice. Her feelings had flipped on her and she knew it. Instead of pushing him away due to her unease about the age difference, she pushed him away because she was afraid of how deeply she would fall.

All the times her friends had teased her about being a cradle-robber, or a cougar for having such a smitten boy around her, she had let those comments get to her. It was ironic, the same hyperfixation that Oikawa had for volleyball was matched in her hyperfixation on the way she was older than him and tried to always act like it too.

Oikawa decided to stay persistent. He knew that she still appreciated that quality about him. He wanted to put his ambition to good use.

He lounged without a shirt around his sister’s place when she was there to visit. He’d caught her looking at him once, or three times, and the way he could see her begin to play with her fingers, wringing them out was more than enough for him to embrace a level of confidence he hadn’t shown to her before. He was on the older end of eighteen, she was on the cusp of twenty into twenty-one.

She had been looking at pictures, trying to avoid where Oikawa took up space in the living room. It had been ten minutes since his sister had left and she hadn’t said anything to him, not even a greeting. He did not appreciate that.

If she was so insistent on being anything to him but a lover, then he would treat her like that.

Wrapping arms around her may have been the breaking point, but he committed to the final blow, “Hey best friend.” She rattled out a titter, but any move she made would result in her brushing against the bare skin of his arms, or his chest, or worst-case his stomach.

He rests his chin on her shoulder, “Oh wait, you wanted to be called sister yeah?”

She gritted her teeth, still trying to decode a breakaway moment. Oikawa’s sister was stuck in traffic from picking up some fast food. Takeru was at daycare, the husband was at work. It would be just Oikawa and her for another twenty minutes or so. She hoped he wouldn’t be so insistent to keep touching her for the entire duration until his older sister returned.

“My name works perfectly fine Oikawa.”

He turns her around, still grasping her, “Oikawa?” He tisks, sliding his hands from her back to her waist. “That doesn’t sound right to me.”

Within her shoes, she kept wiggling her toes uncomfortably.

“I know your name, and you know mine,” He lowers his voice, “So use my name.”

Shaking her head she closes her eyes.

“C’mon, it’s just two syllables. Too-ru. Your turn.”

Adamantly she leaned away from where she could feel his breath, increasing the span between them.

“Sisters and brothers use each other's given names.” He tightens his hold, one hand on the small of her back and the other on her waist still. He leveraged his lack of a shirt to see how close he could get, knowing she didn’t want to touch him. She’d let him get away with slipping around her while she stayed frozen in place.

“Stop it! We are not related!” She opened her eyes and stomped her foot a little. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were wide.

“Good. Never wanted you as a sister anyway.” He wanted her in extremely not sisterly ways.

“Tooru quit it.”

“Why? Isn’t this what best friends do? They tease, they taunt, they play.” Oikawa grips her face, smushing it gently in his left hand. He smiles at her. His grip was so delicate but his touch was heated.

The best response had to have been dishing up what he was serving. So she slid her hand over his chest, resting on his pectoral. He could feel the vein in his neck pulsing. He drops his hold on her and takes a step back, his calf hitting the coffee table. Her step forward to him is calculated.

He wishes he was wearing his shirt now.

“We can play whatever you want Tooru.”

He stutters.

“How cute.” She pinches his cheek, then puts her hand back on his chest.

The door handle turns and she drops her hand, fixing her shirt a little from where Oikawa had grabbed at her. Oikawa doesn’t even notice her move to pick up a book and scan through the pages in the far corner of the living room.

Oikawa’s sister had bags of greasy food and she jutted out her hip, “I got the good stuff.” His sister scans the room, “Put a shirt on. Is it too hot in here? You’re red from the ears down.”

“I’m good.”

“Weirdo.” Oikawa’s sister rolls her eyes at him, “Now, let’s eat.”

Their dynamic bounced between them. Oikawa pushing and pulling in various directions, while she tried her best to stay still. He did settle down, calming his nerves.

Could say he did everything if he didn’t give one last attempt for her heart?

He’s twenty now, and she’s twenty-two. He asked if she would go on a car ride with him. She agreed. Piling snacks and drinks into her passenger side, she asked where they would be going. He sidetracks.

They end up at a beach, far along the coastline. There’s a rocky platform, but they crawl down to the sandy area, where the water laps up the seashells trying to bring them home to the cold ocean.

He postponed Argentina for two years. One month was left on his pause before going where he knew he needed to be. His club would only wait so long for him before his spot would be filled.

He sits on the large towel he brought. She’s picking through seashells, squatting by the water.

An idea runs through his head. He doesn’t let it die out. He’s just a kid after all.

He pushes her into the water with a laugh, she splashes him by lifting her cupped hands and dumping salty water over his head. He catches her by the torso, but she manages an escape and starts going further into the water, he just follows after her.

They shiver as they stand both waist-deep in the ocean. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and her teeth chatter but it doesn’t detract from the way she’s smiling.

Oikawa swims closer to her. There’s maybe an inch between them. He lays all his cards on the table when he holds her face in his hands. Goosebumps riddle the expanse of their bodies.

“Since I can’t have you in this life, I want just one more memory with you.” A shiver runs through her. Oikawa continues, “So before I leave, I need you to promise that we’ll find each other in the next life regardless of who we are?”

“We’ll find each other, in every life. Just like how we found each other in this one.” She’s quiet, but he can hear her perfectly. She’s trying to make herself seem older with her words, more mature. She grasping onto straws making it seem like she isn’t wrecked by what he’s asking.

She moves her fingers through the water, he takes his hands away from her face so he can position her hands onto his shoulders. He goes back to cupping her face. She wraps her arms around his neck and lets their bodies mold against each other.

Their clothes are soaked through, her long sleeve is getting stretched out from the waves. Sweatpants absorb the icy water and stick to their legs. His shirt is clinging to him and leaving an exact outline of his torso.

Oikawa’s a little choked up but he wants her to know what he’s thinking so he gets the words out. “Promise we’ll end up together in the next life?” He moves his head so their foreheads are touching.

“How we are right now, again?” She splays her fingers, intertwining the hair at his nape between each finger, he shudders from the contact.

“No. Like we were meant to be. Like we were made for each other. I want to find us as lovers.”

She lets the weight of her head fall into his hands and he lets out a short muted sigh of relief at how the tip of her nose hits his.

“Okay.”

His eyes flicker to her lips, she notices. He brings his head down a little, “Just once? Once where you kiss back?”

She’s softer with how she kisses than he is. She’s more experienced, but she goes slower than Oikawa expects. It’s just pecks, and he wants more. When he licks her bottom lip, it’s salty from the ocean, but he thinks she tastes perfect. He can’t help the way that he moans into the kiss or the way he grabs her thighs and makes them wrap around his hips.

It’s all in the way she’s the first one to slide her tongue into his mouth slightly.

He wants to consume each noise she makes. He hardly notices the way he runs out of breath when he starts moving from her lips to her jaw and then back to her mouth. When she backs her head away, his head keeps coming to follow hers, trailing her lips with his.

Pressing a hand right below his neck, her fingers touching his shoulderbone, she makes distance between them so she can force Oikawa to pause and get some air.

“I lied.” Oikawa’s eyes are blown out, pupils dark and filling in his irises. She purses her lips, and she goes to loosen the way her legs are around him, but he holds her where he wants her. Legs still around him. “I lied because I know I can’t wait until our next life. I need you in this life, and all the other ones.”

She goes to speak, but he keeps going. “I’ll make it work, I’ll make everything work out the way it should. I just want you to say yes. I want you to want to say yes. I need you to say yes to me because I don’t think my soul could take anything less than your entirety.”

He pauses and she opens her mouth again, Oikawa doesn’t know when to stop and the words rush out, “One more- I’ll be quick.” He steals an open-mouthed kiss, running his tongue over hers.

She rolls her eyes, and Oikawa steals another peck on her lips.

“Okay, two more.” He shrugs a little, “I’m not any sort of genius, yet, but I know that I was meant to be yours. Maybe I knew it when I was seven, maybe I knew it when you shoved that stupid counterclock in my asinine face and told me to go to bed. But I know it.”

The sun officially setting made the water so much colder, so she tucked her head into his neck, “I love everything you’re saying right now but I’m freezing.”

“You love what I’m saying?”

“I’m cold Tooru. Focus please.” He lets out a sound of understanding. It’s cute how she waddles out of the water, but he realizes he’s probably doing the same side to side penguin walk.

He picks up the towel and waves it out so the sand gets off the fibers, then he wraps it around her shoulders. He’s hugging her from behind and pressing small kisses to the side of her face. Attempting to get back up to the car with him attached like a koala is difficult but not impossible.

The engine of the car is running, and he fidgets with the heater. He has a tic where he’ll mess with the amount of air blowing, then the level of heat, and then go back to the amount of air. Each knob he twists changes the temperature until he finally settles on a lull of heat.

Her head is resting against the window, getting slightly rocked by the movement of the car on the road. The towel was still wrapped around her. Oikawa had found another one in the trunk and had it wrapped around his waist, he had forgone a shirt since the heater was working just right and he didn’t want a wet t-shirt on anymore.

“I meant what I said you know.” Oikawa had one hand on the wheel and one hand on her armrest. “I’m going to make everything work out the way it needs to work out.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m yours now.” Oikawa lets his smug smile roam on his face.

“Mine? No title? Not boyfriend?”

Oikawa moves the hand from the armrest onto her thigh, “The title I’m settling for is husband or soulmate. Take your pick. I’ll propose soon, don’t worry angel.”

She tilts her head up and laughs. He rubs his thumb over her knee.

In contrast to the way his hair had a halo in the sun, she had a halo made of stars and the moon. Instead of creating an outline of her hair, the night sky embedded itself and adorned her. Rather than trying to amplify her, the moon and stars realized she naturally had a halo around her and wanted to say congratulations by shining through her rather than on her.

Although she declines the first four proposals, she accepts the one right before he leaves. Oikawa would never tell her but he was relieved that she accepted, he couldn’t handle the idea of him not being around and her getting moved in on by some other guy- despite her telling him consistently that she would turn other guys down.

The ring didn’t act like a perfect deterrent, but it made him feel secure. He liked that she wore all the stuff he got her on the same hand, his ring and his bracelet from way long ago.

Oikawa sends her a new jersey almost every month, with his signature across the front near his player number. He also sends all sorts of knick-knacks he finds in Argentina. He makes a point of calling when she’s eating lunch, and he’s about to go to bed so that she doesn’t have to stay awake to answer his calls. His mom and sister get annoyed that he spends hours talking to her but only minutes talking to them. He tells them that true love takes precedence over family.

She has to chastise him to get him to actually stay on call with his mom for longer than thirty minutes.

They fight a few times about where to live. He wins the argument and she moves to Argentina once she officially graduates college.

An apartment filled with her stuff and his stuff side by side makes him giddy. But he especially gets excited with the fact that he gets the side of the bed closest to the bedroom door, and she gets the side furthest away from the bedroom door.

Sometimes he’ll stay up much too late, his back against the headboard of their bed watching volleyball videos.

“Tooru, go to bed.” She nuzzles against her pillow a little more, her back towards him as she tries to avoid the light of the laptop screen on his legs.

“One more video.” He clicks on a replay of a match that goes all the way to five sets with commentary during each timeout instead of the video cutting to the next play.

When he chuckles a little, she turns over and shuts the laptop. “Bedtime.” She makes a fake sleeping sound. Oikawa sets the laptop on his side table, turning the table light off.

She lifts her head so Oikawa can put his arm under her head. She presses a kiss to his bicep.

“What’s the clock say?”

He slings his leg over her torso and puts his other arm across her stomach.

“It’s not even midnight yet.” She clicks her tongue and he fixes his response. “It’s 23:14.”

He kisses the corner of her mouth. When she doesn’t say anything, he gives her a real kiss. Still no response and he licks the length of her jaw to her chin. She lets out a small din of disgust.

“Fine! Goodnight Tooru.”

He whines a little.

She groans. She sits up a little and leans over him, ruining the positioning she had spent minutes working on. She rests the length of her arms on either side of his head, her face right above his.

One of her hands begins to play with his hair, which begins to twirl around her fingers, softly grazing her palm. He uses his arm to force her back down so that her chest is pressed to his, he lets out a coo to express gratification when her weight is on top of him.

“I love you, my pretty boy.” She kisses his cheek, “Handsome, intelligent, angelic, slightly egotistical-” He nips her bottom lip. “I love you, goodnight, I’ll be here in the morning.”

He’s living his dream. There’s no difference between his dreams and reality now. No gaps to fight against. Only a pair of invisible halos for the rest of their lives.

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