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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter One

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Mentions of death and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Layers of gosammer fabric rippled with movement as you smoothed the bodice of your dress. Warm sunlight flooded through the stained glass windows, getting trapped in the sheer material until you glowed shades of yellow and blue. You tugged the sleeves over your hands and took a deep breath.

It was a great honor to be invited to the Sun Palace, and for the Summer Solstice no less. The other Librarians of the 12th sector athenaeum - lovingly nicknamed The Alcove - had been absolutely astounded when the letter came addressed to you, hand delivered by pegasus. It was an honor. It was a great honor. You knew this. But your heart buzzed uncomfortably within your ribs like a bird desperate to take to the skies.

“Do I really frighten you that much?”

You swiveled your head to the side, finally acknowledging your High Lord after minutes of silence. Helion shot you a smile full of light and warmth. Light and warmth. Everything about Helion screamed it - from the sunburst crown on his head to the glow of his brown skin. He may as well have been carved from burnt amber. Helion’s very presence was enough to melt the hearts and open the legs of any fae - male or female. Even now you saw some of the female courtiers shooting you envious looks full of heat and longing. It made you cringe uncomfortably.

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the pearls woven into your hair settle at the base of your neck.

“No.” You said quickly, “I apologize, High Lord. It’s not you. I just… haven’t been around this many people before.”

“You take after your mother,” Helion said, that bright smile slipping into something fonder, more full of regret, “She was never one for parties either.”

You’d taken after your mother in just about everything - your eyes, your hair, the way you walked, even the way you took your coffee. Maybe if your mother had allowed you to be around Helion earlier on you would have learned his charm, absorbed his charisma like a sponge. As it was, the only thing you’d inherited from Helion was a stubborn power you couldn’t control.

You clasped your hands together behind your back, as if that would be enough to hide your talent. With the ability to absorb knowledge and memories through touch, Clairvoyants were incredibly rare and highly sought after in the Day Court. Helion had worked hard to conceal your power and your identity, so when you’d been given first pick of athenaeums following your apprenticeship, it was to no one’s surprise you’d chosen the one furthest from the city.

The Alcove. Your home. How you wished you were there now, nestled away in your attic apartment above the library. Comfortable. Alone.

Helion’s gaze softened as he regarded you. He shouldn’t have been as much of a stranger to you as he was. But he was no stranger to your work - always methodical, always precise, always handled with the same degree of love and attention that fae showed their children. You’d nearly died protecting The Alcove when Amarantha ransacked the Day Court libraries, smuggled books and knowledge across court lines during her reign.

Perhaps you had inherited some bold streak from Helion after all.

“How many times have I told you to call me Helion?”

“Six.” You said without hesitation.

“Of course you would remember such a thing,” He said, clicking his tongue, “Would you take a turn around the room with me?” He asked, extending a poor man’s olive branch, “I have guests I would like to introduce you to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You’d planned to remain glued to this pillar until nightfall, half hidden by the quartet that was beginning to rush the tune in time to the next song. The spirited piece was coming just in time for champagne drunk party goers to make their way to the dance floor.

You sighed, “Must I?” The performance of it all - the dress, the hair, the party, the pearls - was more than you were used to, something orchestrated by Helion to finally get you to leave The Alcove. He would have dragged you to more parties if you weren’t so stubborn about ignoring non-business related correspondences. Hence the pegasus.

“Your High Lord commands it.” Helion said smugly and moved his arm out to the side, gesturing for you to leave your little bubble of safety. “And you may very well come to thank me.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine.” You waited a moment before saying, “Helion.” The casual name felt unfamiliar on my tongue.

He clapped his hands together, attracting the attention of one of the sons of Autumn. He shook his head of flames and scowled into his whiskey, handsome features twisting into something uglier.

“Finally!” Helion’s voice boomed, “Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

You chased after his long strides, hoping to stay within the radius of space fae gave to a High Lord. And it worked. For some time. You bounced between various pockets of fae, dodging servers with platters of cheeses, wine, pastries, and more balanced on shoulders. Helion’s deep voice reverberated off the walls as he laughed and clapped people on their shoulders, whispered in their ears, and threw casual, flirtatious winks. He shielded you from the vipers and introduced you to his friends as a talented researcher instead of his bastard daughter. But despite your best efforts, someone still touched you, and your power reared its ugly head.

It happened when one of the Summer Court delegates, drunk and giggling, crashed into a female in a flurry of teal silk, who - like a domino - fell onto you. You landed on your knees, palms stinging from broken glass as flashes of memory and knowledge raced through your mind.

A diagram of the Day Court cities taken in secret from the 29th sector cartography athenaeum. A page ripped from one of Helion’s private collection tomes. A sketch of a still, black lake, and the being of death and destruction that resided there.

Koschei.

The name spilled onto your mind like ink in water, followed by horrible memories of slaughter and violence. Enough blood to turn the lake red.

The flood of information dulled and the female became nothing more than a willowy tower of tulle with ivory hair retreating into the crowds.

You gasped for breath, limbs shaking.

The air. It was too thin here. Too suffocating.

Koschei

“Are you alright?” A male asked. His deep, careful voice felt like the calm before a hurricane.

You jerked back from the scarred hands that reached for you, wrapping your arms around yourself as you scrambled to your feet. A horrible rip sounded through the now quiet ballroom as you tripped on your dress and tore the bottom layers. And if it couldn’t become more embarrassing, when you stood up you came face to face with none other than the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Devastatingly beautiful - were the first thoughts that came to mind. So beautiful in fact that he shook you from your visions and the horrible power attached to the lake. The edges of him flickered in and out of existence, clouded by shadows that fluttered about like smoke above a flame. You flinched when they came closer to you before being wrenched back on some invisible leash. He was as gorgeous as the rumors claimed, every inch of him seemingly carved out of black obsidion.

The flash of shame that crossed his hazel eyes quickly faded into nothing and he clasped his hands behind his back, cursing Cassian for convincing him to go without gloves tonight.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Helion neared closer to you, pointing to your bloody hands. But the pain was nothing. You thought your heart might burst in your chest from the nerves. The more you thought about your splattered remains on the crisp marble tiles, the worse you felt.

The other members of the Night Court looked on with concern. You recognized the other Illyrian warrior - The Lord of Bloodshed he was called. His wings were partially extended, shielding you from the worst of the crowd. And the High Lord and High Lady needed no introduction, decked out in their slim-cut robes and dress. The silvery embroidery reminded you of the stars in the night sky you gazed at when you couldn’t fall asleep and the rest of the Day Court denizens had long since snuffed out their lights. There was a dangerous beauty that wrapped around the group as tightly as the Spymaster’s shadows clung to his body. And you’d just embarrassed the High Lord of the Day Court - your father - in front of them.

Azriel stepped back, reigning in his shadows despite their many desperate protests, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to-”

But you ignored his words, gathered up your skirts, and ran towards the palace gardens, leaving nothing behind but a thin trail of blood and silk, the scent of vanilla, and a brooding, heart-broken Shadowsinger.

Heavy air mingled with copious amounts of perfume, gave way to crisp clarity. The sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon, like two lovers whispering in each other’s ears as you sprinted down the stairs past two drunk Peregryn soldiers half-hidden behind a rosebush. Their tawny feathers dipped in and out from behind the leaves like ocean waves.

A child’s doll half-buried in ash. The ring of electricity in the air and the metallic, buzzing stench of blood and rot in your nose. Suffocating. Suffocating.

It was terrible. Worse than any memory you’d slipped into before.

“Y/n!”

Koschei.

Everyone had experienced horror under Amarantha’s rule and during the war against Hybern. You’d been subjected to it too many times to count. Every brush of skin, every well-meaning touch from someone else had been a cruelty.

The lake. What’s buried beneath the lake?

So why did this knowledge feel so different?

Andrian. ANDRIAN!!!

“Y/n! Stop!” Hellion’s robes billowed out behind him like sun rays, dazzling brighter than gold.

What’s buried beneath the lake?

You didn’t realize you were murmuring the words until Helion gripped you by the shoulders and spun you around. You were brought back by more comforting knowledge - Helion’s memories. Memories of you as a babe, chubby legs wobbling beneath you as you took your first steps into your mother’s waiting arms. A flood of pride entering his chest that felt more like sadness than anything else.

“Y/n!” He shook you again.

He has a room made up for you in the Sun Palace. He hides all the birthday gifts there that he planned to give to you, but never did. You are one of his greatest regrets.

You blinked rapidly, clearing out your thoughts and shoving the High Lord back with all your might. You didn’t need this right now. You didn’t need two hundred years of fatherly guilt to catch up to you. To the both of you. Not tonight. Not ever.

Without another word you winnowed away.

__________

“I’m sorry about that,” Helion said, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his hands together.

He was grateful the party had returned to its previous rhythms in his absence, but Rhysand took note of the discomfort ladeled upon his shoulders, the hints of regret in his eyes. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with.

The sun continued to slip behind the peaks of the mountains, changing the temperature of the room as the ivory and gold-plated walls began to take on a warmer shade.

“Y/n is not used to such spaces.” He explained, “I should have done more to prepare her for tonight.”

Rhysand waved off the apology. “There’s no need for apologies, Helion.”

“I do hope she’s ok.” Feyre said. With a snap of Helion’s fingers the blood had been wiped from the floor along with the spilled wine and broken glass. “Her hands-”

Azriel stiffened, his arms suddenly hidden from view by the shadows that wound up his arms. Feyre quickly changed the topic. “This Y/n, is she the Librarian you’ve told us so much about?”

Helion’s smile was a prideful one, “The one and only.” He lowered his voice, careful to shield his words from any curious ears with a faint blanket of magic, “I would love to claim the credit for helping with your last pregnancy, but in truth it was all Y/n.”

Feyre blinked in surprise. Her second pregnancy - although much better than the first - had still been a struggle. Rhysand had reached out to Helion in desperation, hoping once again for a safer method of birthing their winged-daughter. After spending months on end combing through the deepest depths of the oldest Day Court libraries, she’d delivered to them a text on cesarean sections. The tradition was a human one, and had been considered too primitive for fae, but with Feyre’s success Madja was reevaluating its usefulness. The High Lord and High Lady had much to thank you for when it came to little Velaria.

Cassian raised his brows and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that teased his lips. For such a timid bookworm you’d saved them a great deal of trouble. All at once that sense of pride for a female he didn’t even know fell away. You’d looked at him with such… fear. Flinched away from his touch like you knew exactly the kind of monster he was when all he’d wanted to do was help you.

“We’ll have to thank her personally then.” Rhysand said.

He raised Feyre’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm and looking at her like the love-sick male that he was. He still had nightmares about Nyx’s birth - how pale Feyre had become, the stench of blood in the air, and Nyx’s tiny, motionless body. He was ready to offer you a mountain of gold for preventing such a thing from happening again.

Azriel lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by the look that passed between the two mates. It felt like an intrusion to be standing in front of them. It was hard to see his brother and Feyre so openly affectionate with one another and not feel slivers of envy enter his heart. Cassian would have similarly been glued to Nesta’s side if she’d accepted the invitation, and although Mor was reluctant to venture out into the public world of courtiers with Emerie, she would have made it clear that she was taken. It meant that Azriel was often left to stand alone at events like this, gracefully rejecting the advances of males and females who hoped to lure the mysterious Shadowsinger into their beds. He’d been close to joining you in your solitude when Helion had charmed and whisked you away.

Azriel shifted his attention to the quartet, specifically to the little alcove to the left of the stage where he’d first noticed you. You’d stood there so quiet and observant, politely declining any male who offered you food or drinks or a dance. And there was no confusion as to why. You’d looked breathtaking in a pearly gown that clung to you like wisps of fog over the Illyrian mountaintops.

“After the party I’ll take you to her apartment. Allow you all to properly introduce yourselves.” Helion said in a burst of brilliance.

Cassian prodded Azriel’s ribs, a knowing look in his eyes as he watched the now visibly uncomfortable Shadowsinger.

But if Helion noticed, he didn’t care. If there was any collection of fae with the power to break you out of your shell, it was them.

“But until then! We dance! Come now Cassian, dance with me.”

Cassian snorted as Helion clasped a muscular arm around his shoulders and heaved him over to the dance floor where fae were already congregated in a tangle of limbs and wine. Feyre and Rhysand joined soon after, the High Lady throwing back an apologetic smile as she joined the crowd with her mate and Azriel was left to stand alone once again.

Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

I have too many thoughts and ideas and got sucked into writing this one. Also, I wanted a nice Azriel fic to follow up Flame, Shadow, Beast so... enjoy!

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x day court reader #azriel x day court librarian #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #the day court #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver

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angellesword · 7 months ago

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Love Is Not Black and White, It's Purple (Like Your Eyes) | JJK (oneshot)

Summary: You and Jungkook are not soulmates. The fact that you have been married for ten years but still see in black and white proves that.

It is never an issue for you two until…

"Jungkook, my eyes… they're purple."

Jungkook's heart stops.

You can see colors now. It only means one thing:

You have met your real soulmate, and it's not Jungkook.

Genre & Content Warning: soulmate au, housemate au, mention of murder, past child abuse, domestic violence, fluff, crack treated seriously, attempt at humor, marriage au, established relationship, kissing, blind!jimin, fashion designer!taehyung, alcohol, cursing, HAPPY ENDING. (tags are just for formalities, but tbh this fic isn't heavy at all)

Pairing: Detective!Jungkook x Fashion Designer! Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

****

Out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it would still not be as effective as listening to you talk.

"Jungkook, my eyes...they're purple."

Really. You don't need a plastic bag, a rope, or a pillow to suffocate Jungkook. With your harsh words, Jungkook could feel the air leaving his lungs.

He can't breathe. The terrible realization asphyxiates him: you--his best friend--his wife, can now see colors. For a moment, Jungkook doesn't know what to make out of the fact that he's now alone in this monochromatic world—a place where people see in black and white until they look into their soulmates' eyes.

Jungkook has looked and drowned in your calamitous eyes before, but he never saw hues.

"Jungkook...?"

Distantly, Jungkook hears you utter his name, but all he can grasp is you will abandon him. Jungkook is rarely wrong. He's a detective, after all. One word, and he can deduce the situation, making this whole ordeal more painful.

"That's..." Jungkook intends to hide his hurt, but he feels his voice getting choked up. He has no choice but to pause.

However, you are thrilled to hear what he has to say, so Jungkook forces himself to continue.

"...great. You, that's great. So great!" Perhaps repeating the same words can convince him that his statement is true. It's not. Jungkook's heart breaks when you beam at him.

Calm down. Jungkook tells himself. But he can't. Everything hurts. His heart, his soul, his words.

"So, tell me. Where's the divorce paper? Should I sign now?" Jungkook's words hurt like a knife. They cut your heart into pieces.

"What the fuck are you talking about." Your face falls. "Shitty Jungkook, are you kidding me right now!? I'm not leaving you for someone I just met!"

Now, something about your reaction takes Jungkook's breath away. Maybe it's the anger that quickly turns into panic as you take in Jungkook's words. Or perhaps it's the apparent trembling of your lips as you desperately speak of your promise of forever. Either way, your fear-inducing expression somehow reassures Jungkook.

You and him are not over. Not yet, at least.

"I'm just kidding~." Jungkook chuckles and clicks his tongue, "Of course, you're not leaving me. I'm the only one who can tolerate you, ya know?"

The joke doesn't lighten your expression at all.

"Jungkook, I'm not leaving you," you repeat. The assurance is softer this time, and despite the lack of color in your eyes, the detective can see determination in them.

Jungkook puffs out air. His heart aching a little less.

"I know, darling." Jungkook stops his jokes. He engulfs you in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that ever again." You wrap your arms around Jungkook's waist. "You're my best friend. I love you, alright?"

****

10 Years Ago; 2013

Unlike others, your relationship with Jungkook is reversed.

"Let's get married."

"The fuck?" You choke on your water the second Jungkook opens his mouth. "Are you high again, bastard!?"

You punch Jungkook mildly. The latter moves away, exaggeratedly cradling his jaw. "Ow! Why are you always so violent? Can't you hear me out first? I'm being serious here!"

"Serious?" You laugh incredulously. "You just asked me to get married!"

"Exactly!" Jungkook ignores the painful thug in his heart. "It's for our benefit. Didn't you say you want to live in PM Village?"

Apartments in PM Village are too damn expensive. You and Jungkook recently finished college; your individual income is not enough to cover the monthly amortization of a house, but it's different if your incomes are combined.

"You're crazy. We can't marry because of a fucking house, Jungkook!" You are still not convinced.

"Why not?" But Jungkook intends to change your mind. "We're both single, and divorce won't be difficult in the future. We can just tell the court we've found our real soulmates. Besides,"

The newbie detective drags his words, knowing that he'll be able to convince you in the end, anyway. "You're gonna be rich soon. You don't have any living family members anymore. Do you really wanna give away all your money to the government when you die?"

"Why? Is giving my money to you any better!?"

"I can at least maintain your wine cellar," Jungkook shrugs. "And just think about the tax benefits! Don’t you hate Hoseok-hyung for siphoning your money?”

You open your mouth to speak, but damn. Jungkook’s last statement has convinced you already. Nose flaring, you say, "Fine!"

It's like music to Jungkook's ears. "I need your full confirmation."

Jungkook really wants you to say it. You fold your arms across your chest, "Fine, Bastard! I agree with your absurd proposition. Let's get fucking married."

At the age of twenty-two, you and Jungkook tied the knot. Ten years later, most of Jungkook's predictions have come true: you two have settled in PM Village—a warm home with a wine cellar awaits you after a tiring day. You have also become so rich that you often have issues with Jung Hoseok, your country's tax agency commissioner. Thank fuck there are good lawyers out there to clear your tax cases.

You clearly have everything life can offer. If you want, you can divorce Jungkook now, but ten years later, you are still very much committed to your best friend.

*****

Present; 2023

You insist on telling Jungkook who your soulmate is. Admittedly, you can tell that Jungkook finds the whole storytelling unnecessary. You are married, but it's not as if you two are in love with each other or something. Nope. Jungkook only sees you as an annoying woman with whom he cohabitates.

"So, has Technology asked you on a date yet?" Jungkook asks without looking at you. He's busy filing his nails, acting as if shaping his nails into perfect ovals is more important than conversing with you.

"First of all, his name is Taehyung. Not Technology, you asshole. And no, he hasn't asked me out." You exhale. "I mean, not yet. It's not a big deal, honestly. We just met yesterday."

Translation: give my soulmate some time.

"Right." Jungkook mocks and yawns, finally glancing at you. "You know, if I meet my soulmate, I’ll immediately ask them out. I can’t waste time.”

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "We both know you just can't wait to sleep with them."

"He-He. You caught me~." Jungkook half-smiles before returning to the previous topic very smoothly, "So you're saying that if Techno—Taehyung asks you on a date, you'll say yes?"

"Will you mind if I do?" You sound nervous.

The sole purpose of this conversation is for you to test the waters with Jungkook. You both went on dates in the past after ensuring that the other was comfortable with the set-up. You are married, after all. It won't bode well with the both of you if cheating rumors erupt, especially in your respective workplaces.

Admittedly, it has been long since you two last went on dates. You were both busy with your jobs. Besides, isn't it exhausting getting to know strangers? Jungkook doesn't want to waste his breath on nosy people asking why he chose to be a detective, and you would rather ditch your date than deal with them bargaining for discounts once they find out you’re a prominent fashion designer.

Going out with strangers has become a nightmare instead of a fun way to meet your real soulmate. Because of this, you and Jungkook decided to just take each other out whenever you wanted. It's not exactly a romantic date. Sure, there's darling as a pet name, kisses under the moonlight, and wrestling who'll pay. But that's about it. You don't dare to do more.

Your partnership is of greater importance than sex and in-the-moment confessions. You don't want to regret it comes morning.

"Why would I mind?" Jungkook finally answers, feigning happiness. "I'll personally thank your soulmate for taking you out, honestly. I'm tired of you forcing me to take you out on dates. It's about time I meet new people, too."

"Right." You swallow your disappointment and the faint ache in your chest. "Who wants to go out with a shitty bastard like you, anyway? Go meet others! It's not like I care!"

Another fake smile blooms on Jungkook's face.

"Whatever you say."

*****

Kim Taehyung is the name of your soulmate, and the man Jungwon has been investigating for the past three days.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, here's all the information I can find about Kim Taehyung." Jungwon stifles a yawn as he approaches his mentor's table. He almost winces upon seeing Jungkook's monitor.

The older detective has many tabs on his computer, all related to Kim Taehyung.

"You're still investigating him?" Jungwon can't mask his surprise. "Jungkook sunbaenim, just what did Kim Taehyung do!?"

"He's a thief, Jungwon-ah." Jungkook accepts the files from his mentee without sparing him a glance

Jungwon dramatically gasps, his sleepiness fading away because of the scandalous information.

"Really? What did he steal?"

"A precious little thing." Jungkook is viewing Kim Taehyung's baby photos. No one knows how he found them. "Look, he's not that cute, right?"

Jungwon doesn't answer, lost in thought. What could Kim Taehyung have stolen? His Jungkook sunbaenim said a precious little thing. Could it be a diamond ring? Or...

"Tanzanite?" Jungwon shrieks. "Did he steal tanzanite, Jungkook sunbaenim!?"

"Huh?" Jungkook turns to his mentee with a furrowed brow. He suddenly remembers what he said to Jungwon, and being a good actor whose words consist of 10% truth and 90% lies, Jungkook can save himself by saying, "Yeah. He stole tanzanite —authorities said it was very expensive. Come, Jungwon-ah. Let's catch this thief."

****

You aren't lying when you say you won't divorce Jungkook because you 'met' your soulmate. No, your partnership is beyond colors. However, it also doesn't mean you’ll relinquish your connection with your soulmate.

The deal is this: You and Jungkook will stay together until you know your soulmates better. After that, you two can decide what to do next. In short, a simple meeting doesn't guarantee you would want to spend your entire life with your soulmates. You both have heard many stories before that not even real soulmates find romantic love with each other—some remain platonic soulmates, while others go as far as killing each other.

You and Taehyung's case seems to fall to the normal expectation of society: meet as strangers, get to know each other until you become friends, then fall in love and get married.

Unlike Jungkook pulling you in a reverse direction, Taehyung intends to drive you on the right path.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, aren't we breaking the protocol?" Jungwon covers his face with a newspaper, whispering softly in case the suspect hears him. They are currently inside a small coffee shop near Aurora Fashion Lane. Based on Jungwon's investigation, Kim Taehyung works as a designer for the company in the same building as this coffee shop. In fact, Taehyung is slowly becoming a regular customer here.

"Shouldn't we call for backup?"

Jungkook ignores the younger detective. He squints his eyes hard, focusing on the table near the counter. Jungwon discreetly looks in the direction Jungkook has his eyes on. A woman with a similar haircut as yours is sitting there.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, isn't that your wife—"

"Ssshh, Jungwon-ah. Shut up for a moment. I can't hear them." Jungkook regrets not choosing a table near you and your date. Damn it. You probably won't realize he's here—not when your attention is focused on stupid Technology!

"Stay here. I'll be back." The older detective stands up abruptly. Right. If he pretends to look at the menu before ordering something, he can hear whatever you and Taehyung are talking about:

"Exactly. They should've added another layer of lace. It pairs well with jacquard." Jungkook hears you say.

What the heck are they talking about? The detective muses.

"Ah, unfortunately, the customer hates laces. Apparently, her father made her wear laces that itch." Taehyung responds.

"Poor Elise. I understand why she prefers satin dresses."

Are they talking about work? Jungkook thinks to himself again. He only snaps back to reality when the cashier smiles, asking if he's ready to order.

Jungkook orders drinks for him and Jungwon before moving closer to the soulmates' table. You and Taehyung have stopped talking, though. Confused, Jungkook tilts his head to check what's happening, but someone seizes his wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jungkook hears a classic greeting, yet he still freezes. Only one person gets angry seeing him.

"Oh, hi, you~. I didn't see you there." The detective beams while prying his hand away from your iron-like grip. "What a coincidence!"

"Coincidence, my ass!" You grit your teeth, "Tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of a way to translate, 'You were smiling through your phone yesterday while texting your stupid soulmate. I didn't want to invade your privacy, so I hacked his messages instead,' into something that won't ignite your anger.

In the end, Jungkook manages to simply say, "Why? Can't a detective have his coffee?"

"Jungkook." you utter sternly, "This coffee shop is an hour and a half from your workplace. You also don't drink coffee."

As if on cue, the barista says Jungkook's drinks are ready. The detective picks up his drink and sips it. "What was that? I can't hear you over my delicious caramel macchiato with whipped cream and seven pumps of caramel sauce, topped with small marshmallows, chocolate chips, and sprinkles!"

"For fuck's sake!" You let out a torrent of abuse, your face morphing into disgust. Seeing color intensifies your emotions. The colorful toppings in Jungkook's drink make you want to vomit. "Get your ass out of here, you tasteless bastard!"

Jungkook doesn't budge. He shoots you an innocent look, "Why are you shooing me away? Am I disturbing you and your date? Where is he, by the way?"

Taehyung went to the comfort room, but this was not the point. You hiss, "I'm not on a date. Taehyung and I are discussing work over coffee. How the heck did you even know we're here?"

Another question Jungkook doesn't have a ready answer. Fortunately for him, Taehyung is back. Your furious expression melts at once. Your fake personality makes Jungkook gag.

"Hey, should we head back?" Taehyung's voice is deep. This is the first thing Jungkook notices.

"Yeah, let's go." You smile at your soulmate.

Another thing Jungkook notices is how handsy Taehyung is. He touches the small of your back, leading you to the exit. Jungkook's expression darkens, and Jungwon, watching the whole exchange like a hawk, suddenly decides to act.

"Stop, you thief! Leave my mentor's wife alone!" Jungwon has the handcuffs ready. He's rushing in Taehyung's direction. Jungkook's eyes widen, only relying on his fast reflexes to stop his mentee.

He trips Jungwon, causing the younger detective to fall to the ground.

"Jungkook, you bastard--!!"

All hell breaks loose after that scream coming out of you.

****

'Disaster' is the only word to describe Jungkook's attempt to stalk his wife. He didn't plan for things to escalate to the level where he had to trip Jungwon to stop him from arresting an innocent citizen like Taehyung. You got so mad that the older detective had to apologize, making an excuse that they were detectives on a mission gone wrong. Jungkook remembers smiling apologetically at Taehyung, telling him to cut Jungwon some slack because he is a newbie detective.

You knew everything leaving Jungkook's mouth was bullshit, yet you played along with Jungkook's excuse. You clearly don’t want the issue to escalate further. Thankfully, Taehyung is an understanding man, telling Jungwon to be careful next time. You aren't as forgiving as your soulmate, though. You called Jungkook over the phone, yelling you'd kill him if he went home tonight.

Jungkook has no choice but to seek shelter at Namjoon’s house.

"Let me guess," Namjoon sighs upon seeing Jungkook at his doorstep. "You've angered your wife again, didn't you?"

"Namjoon-hyung! That's a mean guess. Can't I visit my friend?"

Namjoon remains expressionless. "You only go here whenever you and your wife fight. Your wife will think I betrayed her if I let you in."

Jungkook hmphed. "My wife already has beef with your soulmate and, by extension, with you too. So just let me in, will you?"

Namjoon releases a breath when Jungkook pushes the door open and rushes in. He is right, anyway. You have beef with his soulmate. Namjoon always receives texts from you complaining about Hoseok and how ruthless he is as a government employee.

"Would you like something to drink—" Namjoon cuts himself off upon seeing Jungkook helping himself with a bottle of soju.

The detective takes large gulps. He finishes half of the bottle in less than two minutes. Jungkook hiccups and clumsily wipes his mouth, "My wife found her soulmate. She can see colors now."

Namjoon stops in his tracks.

Jungkook laughs, mocking himself. "His eyes are purple, hyung."

"Jungkook..." Namjoon sounds apologetic.

"What's with your expression?" Jungkook’s lips twist. "You look sorry. Don't be. I'm—"

Happy for her? Jungkook shakes his head. It seems like that's not the case. Namjoon thinks so, too. He sits in front of the detective.

"You're what, Jungkook-ah?" The older man opens a beer bottle for himself, "What do you feel for your wife? What does she make you feel?"

Silence creeps into the room.

Jungkook's shoulders drop. Memories from the past play in his head as he closes his eyes.

Twenty-one years ago, 2002:

11-year-old Jungkook is freezing cold.

He is out in the snow, trying to take a sneak peek at children his age playing on the school grounds. Unlike him, the students are covered with expensive coats, mittens, and a hat. Jungkook's mother is a janitress at a private elementary school in Busan. Sadly, she can't afford to send her son to this school, so Jungkook can only watch the other kids in envy.

The children here have winter camps and activities to support their growth. Today, Jungkook watches as the students make mittens. Some children give the handmade gloves to their family, friends, or teachers.

Only one girl saves her mittens for a lone stranger.

"Here," Jungkook is taken aback when a girl his age suddenly approaches him. She’s shorter than Jungkook, but her determined eyes make people think she has much to offer.

"I said here!" Jungkook remains unmoving, so the girl pushes the mittens to his chest. "I can't see it yet, but my mum said the gloves are gray like my eyes! I made them myself."

The little girl looks proud; a huge grin is on her lips.

Jungkook blinks dumbly at her, "Why...." He takes in a deep breath, clutching the warm gloves to his chest. "Why are you giving me these gloves?"

The little girl looks confused; she even lets out a small huh. Jungkook thinks the girl didn't hear him, so he repeats his words.

You are that little girl. You shrug your shoulders. "Because I want to. You look cold. I don't want to see you cold."

"But," Jungkook's lips tremble. He is having a hard time accepting the gift. "I have nothing to trade you with."

"Who cares?" You sit beside him. "I don't want anything. I just want to be friends."

Present; 2023:

Until now, Jungkook has no idea why you wish to be friends with someone like him. Clearly, you were a world apart. It was winter then. Maybe it was a Winter miracle—if this is even a thing.

But Jungkook is sure of one thing:

"She makes me feel warm, Namjoon-hyung." The detective finally answers his friend's question earlier. "My wife makes me warm, loved, and hopeful."

****

You receive a text message from Namjoon asking you to pick up a hammered Jungkook.

"Hey, you're leaving already?" Taehyung sees you leaving the office.

You rub the back of your neck and smile softly at Taehyung, "Yes. I have to pick up my husband."

"Ah." Taehyung nods, "Jungkook, isn't it? The detective from earlier?"

"Mn. I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It's nothing," Taehyung assures. It will probably take him a long time to forget his encounter with those two strange detectives, but it's not so bad. They apologized and said it was an honest mistake. He motions toward the door, "You brought your car, right? Let’s go down together.”

“You’re going home too?”

“Not yet.” Taehyung opens the office door for his soulmate. “Just gonna get coffee.”

Taehyung’s obsession with caffeine doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Taehyung joined your team only this week but has probably gone to the coffee shop downstairs more than your team did.

You brush it off. It’s none of your business. What matters to you is what Jungkook drinks. After bidding Taehyung goodbye, you immediately rush to Namjoon’s house. He is absolutely right. Jungkook is wasted.

"Why did you let this asshole drink so much!?" You bare your teeth at Namjoon. "You know how he is, Namjoon! Did he even eat before chugging down soju? Soju! You made him drink soju!? Namjoon, you golden-eyed clumsy bastard! Your eye color looks like horse piss!"

You are getting creative with your insults now that you can see colors. Namjoon shakes his head. He likes you better when you still see in black and white; at least then, you don’t go around terrorizing people and their eye color.

"I'm sorry. He forced himself into my home." Namjoon throws Jungkook under the bus. He'd rather get a playfully upset Jungkook than a screaming girl like you.

You know better than to put all the blame on Namjoon, though. You know Jungkook drank himself stupid because he can't handle it when you are genuinely mad at him.

You swallow your fury, "You know what? Just…have a good night, Namjoon-oppa. I'm sorry for shouting and the trouble. I'll make it up to you some other time."

You drag Jungkook to your car.

The detective is no fun when drunk. He just passes out. You can't even get blackmail material out of this hell.

"Fucking finally." You cover your husband with a blanket after cleaning him up and changing his clothes into new ones.

"Bastard." You sneer but still end up softly kissing Jungkook's forehead.

Ah. The things you do for love.

****

Jungkook wakes up with a stomachache and a sweaty forehead. He dramatically whines, cradling his stomach like he has been shot there.

Thankfully, you show up at once. You are carrying a tray with a full meal.

"My stomach hurts." He complains, earning an eye roll from you.

"Of course it does. You fucking drank alcohol on an empty stomach. You also had that stupid drink at the coffee shop. Just what the hell are you thinking?"

You sit on the bed. You first brush your husband's fringe with your fingers, then cup his cheeks and casually wipe the side of his mouth.

"Here, eat something."

Jungkook doesn't need to tell you to feed him. You bring a spoonful of food to his mouth, gently urging him to eat.

The detective moans. Your food tastes like heaven, even better than those Michelin restaurants. "My wife is such a great cook. Thank you~~"

"Whatever. Just don't moan, bastard." You can feel your cheeks turning hot. You easily get flustered with compliments.

Jungkook suddenly wonders if Taehyung has said something to make you blush, too.

"Oi, Jungkook. Don't tell me you don't have an appetite anymore. You barely ate!"

It's not like the detective doesn't want to eat anymore. His mood only plummets when he thinks about your soulmate.

Jungkook utters your name softly and asks, "Are you happy?"

"What kind of question is that?" You scrunch your nose, but you still answer. "Of course I'm happy." I have you in my life.

"No. I mean, are you happy you can see colors now?"

"I'm happier." You are surprised at how quickly you answered. Maybe because it's never hard for you to tell the truth. But still...you don't want to sound insensitive. You know your husband has yet to see colors.

You try again, "I mean...seeing colors makes my job easier, and I’m not just saying this because I'm getting promoted soon." People in their world have a greater chance of success once they see colors.

"I guess I appreciate my job even more. It makes me feel alive, if you will. Things seem "livelier..."

You look into Jungkook's brown eyes. You can see them sparkling. For the first time in twenty-plus years you have known Jungkook, this is the only time you have seen how pink his lips are.

You can feel your heart thumping.

Looking at Jungkook with colors makes you feel "More." You whisper, "I feel things more with colors, Jungkook."

More love.

More joy.

And more clarity about what you really feel about your best friend.

"That's good, then." Jungkook rests his head on your shoulders. "I'm glad you're happy."

He really is. If he can go back to last night, Jungkook won't hesitate to tell Namjoon that, even though it hurts him, he's glad you met the one fated to you.

*****

Months pass, and things get even better for you. You got promoted twice and now handle one of your company's major customers. Your wallet gets fatter—so shouting at Namjoon to tell Hoseok to calm down doesn’t work anymore. Your free time is almost non-existent, though. It makes Jungkook sigh.

“Hey, Jungkook. You’re free to go.” Jungkook’s mood soars when his partner at work approaches him.

“Seokjin-hyung!” Jungkook’s jaw drops to the floor. “Did I hear you right? Are you seriously allowing me to get off work an hour earlier!?”

Seokjin is a hardworking detective who does not joke around since he knows his job affects the public's general welfare. Still, he also knows that you and Jungkook are celebrating your anniversary as a married couple for ten years.

“Just go, Jungkook-ah.” Seokjin pushes him. “Just leave before I change my mind. And for heaven’s sake, get your wife anything but flowers. No one wants to see you sneezing all day. Keep your snots away--!!”

Jungkook walks faster, not wanting to hear his work partner complain. So what if he sneezes all day? So what if he’s allergic to flowers? You love flowers, so he’ll get you bouquets.

Humming, Jungkook makes his way to the flower shop. The snowflakes fall lightly. It’s winter. Jungkook met you in the winter of 2002. You also got married in winter, the year 2013. Other people don’t like this season, especially Hoseok, who watched Namjoon suffer a fall accident because of slippery ground three years ago. Thank goodness Namjoon is okay now.

Jungkook buys flowers and your favorite wine. He’s almost home when a ghost from the past blocks his way.

“Oh, if it isn’t the beloved scoundrel of my bitch of a soulmate.”

Jungkook stiffens, eyes turning dark as he takes in the lone figure of his father.

“Jeon Sungmin.” Jungkook’s tone is scathing.

“The one and only.” Sungmin juts his chin. “Did you miss me, son?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jungkook clenches his fist. Unadulterated anger fills his heart. He’s trying hard not to punch this pathetic man. “In case you forgot, I still have a restraining order against you. I can even arrest you myself.”

Sungmin lets out a sardonic laugh. It’s loud—the kind of laughter that makes Jungkook’s skin itch. He can’t see colors but could��ve sworn he sees blood. Maybe he just wants to claim blood.

“Don’t act so tough on me, boy. In case you forgot, you just stood like a dumb bastard when I killed your bitch of a mom.”

“Stop.” Jungkook chokes, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He can’t breathe. Memories have come to haunt him.

“Scared, aren’t we?” Sungmin drags his limping feet to Jungkook. Twenty years in prison broke his body but not his soul. Even with only his tattered clothes and one functioning eye, Sungmin can still bring terror to his son.

“You should be. You’re nothing but a pathetic scourge.” Sungmin pulls Jungkook’s collar, slamming him into a cold wall. “Now be of use and give me money.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes droop, wanting to puke as he feels his father stealing his wallet. He hears screams inside his head, the pleas of his mother. Jungkook-ah, run. Please. You have to save yourself.

Jungkook remains rooted in his spot back then, just hollowly looking at the blood on the floor. He watched as Sungmin smashed the baseball bat into his mother’s head.

More screams. Sungmin didn’t stop the beating until the police officers came.

Twenty years later, Jungkook is still the same. He still can’t stand up for himself. He watches his father take his wine and wallet, leaving like nothing happened.

Jungkook doesn’t know how he manages to walk back home. He stays outside, ruined flowers in his lap. He cannot get in as his keys are inside his stolen wallet.

Jungkook could only wait for a purple-eyed girl whose eyes he thought were gray.

****

Like Jungkook, you get off work early as well. Your secretary runs after you, saying that you can’t leave yet. However, you dismissed the secretary and passed the work on to Yeonjun instead. You hate that you are not home yet. You are actually supposed to take the day off to plan your anniversary date with your husband better.

It’s your 10th anniversary, after all. You are thinking of cooking Jungkook’s favorite food and giving him a…body massage. Many things are running into your mind—you can’t wait to try them all with your husband. Too bad work is holding you back.

“Sunbaenim, what do you think about this color combination? Is the shade of blue too dark for this winter’s theme?” Yeji excitedly shows off her design.

You rub your neck roughly, stopping yourself from throwing profanities. Calm down. Yeji is a hardworking designer who only wants the best for the team.

“I’m thinking of using an aqua frost instead. One shoulder sleeve should do the trick if—”

Oh my God. ‘Someone, please kill me now.’ You scream internally.

“Yeji,” you press your lips into a thin line. “I actually can’t entertain you right now. Would you mind checking in with Taehyung instead?”

Yeji’s shoulders drop. “Ah, Taehyung-sunbaenim isn’t here at the moment.”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” You feel your head pulsating. “Where is he?”

Everyone is so busy. Taehyung can’t possibly skip work, right?

“He’s at the coffee shop downstairs.”

That son of a--!!

You stand up abruptly. Taehyung’s coffee break ended an hour ago! How can he still be at the coffee shop!? You are seething in anger. You know Taehyung is your soulmate, but you can’t just connect to him. The first few months are okay. However, you soon realize how incompatible you and Taehyung are. Your connection starts with colors, and it also ends there. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to call him.” You exit, ignoring Yeji’s call. Honestly, what you said is half lie and half-truth. You just really, really want to leave the office. It’s a pure happenstance to bump into Taehyung in the elevator.

“Hey.” He calls your name. Remnants of joy are still visible on Taehyung’s face. Two coffee holders are in his hands—he got the whole team some drinks. “I got coffee. Where’re you going?”

“Home.” You press the elevator button. “It’s my husband and I’s anniversary.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods in understanding. He never once shows any sign of disappointment over his soulmate spending time with another person. “Didn’t you say Detective Jeon likes eating sweets? Jimin-hyung baked a chocolate cake today. Will you accept it as my anniversary gift for you two?”

You pause. It’s like your brain short-circuits upon noticing Taehyung’s expression when he utters Jimin’s name.

Jimin—the barista and baker at the coffee shop where Taehyung frequents.

“Taehyung,” your heart stutters. “D-Do you remember your first day in the office?”

“Of course.” Taehyung offers a small smile. “It’s hard to forget that day, don’t you think? We both saw colors for the first time.”

You blink at him, not saying anything.

Taehyung avoids eye contact, thinking he’s not smart enough to understand what you implied. He tries to remember every detail of that day.

“I think I came to the office ten minutes earlier. I got everyone coffee. Come to think of it, Jimin-hyung actually saved me that day. He knows everyone’s order—Hey, are you alright?”

“You…” You gasp. “You met with Jimin before seeing me at the office, right?”

“Yes?” Taehyung’s hands are getting clammy for grasping the coffee holders. It doesn’t help that you are acting weird, making him more anxious.

“Taehyung, I think there’s been a glitch.”

Yeji goes after you a few minutes later. Both of you and Jimin are taking too long. Luckily, she instantly spots you at the elevator door. You look agitated, while Taehyung seems dumbfounded.

“Sunbaenim!” Yeji tries to stop you two, but you and Taehyung have already gotten inside the lift.

“Yeji, there you are.” Taehyung passes the coffee holders to Yeji. “Drink this with the others. We’ll be taking another break. See you later.”

“Wait—!!”

The elevator door closes.

Yeji whines, “I still have to show you my designs….”

****

You rush home, excited to see your husband. However, your excitement quickly turns into horror when you spot Jungkook sitting on your porch.

“Jungkook!?” Your eyes dilate. Jungkook is staring into nothingness. You are familiar with this kind of expression, the kind where you are forced to swallow your insults because you know.

You know something terrible happened to your husband.

You quickly open the door and pull Jungkook to his feet. The detective is still unresponsive, letting you drag him into the bathroom. You did all the work; you immediately opened the heater and got warm clothes.

“Kook,” you call softly, cradling Jungkook’s hands to blow on them. “ Can you lift your arms for me? Let’s get you changed, alright?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer but does what he’s told. You are shaking as you help your husband change. You want to give the detective warm water and candies, but Jungkook still looks shaken. You can only gently drag him to bed. You lay down beside Jungkook, hugging him close to your chest.

You didn’t ask any questions, allowing Jungkook to breathe first.

“I--” Jungkook hiccups, sounding broken. He weakly grips the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here, Darling.” You kiss your husband’s forehead. You hug him even tighter, wishing to melt your body and bones and offer all your warmth and love to Jungkook.

Jungkook calls your name, his voice almost sounding like a wounded animal.

You caress your partner’s cheeks. They’re wet. It takes everything in you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. No. You can’t fall apart now. Jungkook needs you.

“Mn. I’m here. You can tell me what you want.”

“N-No.” Jungkook whimpers, “I don’t want anything. I—I don’t deserve anything.”

“Jungkook.” You break the hug and force Jungkook to sit up on the bed. He’s warm enough. He’ll live.

The detective cast his gaze down, though—an indication he doesn’t want to hear whatever you have to say.

It pisses you off.

“Jungkook. Look at me.” You demand sternly. But Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, you’re mad at me.”

“Heck yeah, I’m mad. I’m so mad I can punch your face right now.” You have been patient with him, believing he’s vulnerable and in need of space. But your heart is only soft for a sad Jungkook, not for a Jungkook who blabs stupid things.

Jungkook balls his hands into fists, “You don’t understand. It’s so noisy in here.” He points at his head, “They won’t shut up. I’m—he….”

Jungkook gasps for air. You panic. You rub Jungkook’s back.

“Jungkook,” the saddest thing in this world is not seeing colors; it’s watching your beloved deal with the pain while you sit there pathetically, unable to take even a fraction of his hurt.

What good is a soulmate when all it can bring is color? Why can’t you take away Jungkook’s pain?

“He’s back, my father is out of jail.” Jungkook grips the bedsheet, “He’s come back for me. He hurt her before. He always takes away the people I love.”

Trauma is a part of Jungkook; napping silently and with one wrong shake, it’ll wake up and wreak havoc.

“You should run. Leave me. I don’t have a use to you, anyway—”

“Hush,” you can’t bear to listen anymore. You pull Jungkook to your chest, but the detective struggles.

“Please. You have to listen to me! Just leave! We’re not soulmates. I don’t understand why you’re still here!" Jungkook pushes your chest, but you catch his hands, burying Jungkook’s face into your neck.

“Oh, ma moitié.” The French endearment sounds easy coming out of your mouth. Jungkook melts at once. He sobs against your skin.

Ma moitié translates to my other half.

Jungkook wants to curse this unfair world. That’s right. How can you and him not be each other’s other half? It’s difficult to fight for you when fate is against you two. Sometimes Jungkook feels like no one has the right to tear you apart, mainly because you two paint each other's life—not with colors but with love. You and Jungkook are soulmates by heart. Many people call you twin black. The monochromatic world doesn't rob the two of you of happiness, love, and care. It takes one Jeon Jungkook to know that you like drinking cold water, not just 'cold water.' It has to be a certain degree of coldness:

If the water sits in the refrigerator for two hours, that's not cold enough. If it's water coming from a semi-solid ice cube, then that's too cold.

You are fussy, but you give your effort to Jungkook similarly. Whenever you pick Jungkook up from work, you never fail to put your expensive leather jacket on the passenger seat, so Jungkook wouldn't have to deal with a burning hot seat. You don’t mind being stuck in the traffic and driving for hours to pick him up at work every day.

“Why can’t you be mine?” Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to push you away. His hatred is directed toward fate, himself, and his deranged father. Why are they against you and him being together?

“But I’m already yours, Kook.” You lick Jungkook’s tears and kiss his eyes. “Everything about me belongs to you. This,”

You guide Jungkook’s hands to your eyes, lips, and neck, then lower Jungkook’s hands to your heart. You let the detective feel your beating heart.

“You hear that, Kook?” Your eyes well up with tears. “That’s my heart telling you something.”

Goosebumps prick at Jungkook’s skin.

You do not break eye contact. “I love you, Jungkook.”

You have said those words countless times before, but it doesn’t fail to take Jungkook’s breath away—especially now that the I love you is said so softly…so romantically.

“You’re my soulmate, Jungkook.”

Jungkook flinches, shaking his head rapidly.

“T-That can’t be. You…you see colors. I don’t. We’re—we’re….”

Why are you lying? Why are you giving Jungkook false hope? It’s cruel.

But you are insistent.

“Jungkook,” you kiss him. “Stop thinking for a while, yeah? Focus on me. Focus on my heart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jungkook answers against your lips. He never responded before, simply allowing and relishing the taste of your sweet lips.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook repeats, groaning and biting your lips until it draws blood. Jungkook had never allowed himself to possess before, scared that he would end up ruining what he loved. But today is different. You are addicting. Claiming he loves you gives him so much power--

He pushes you to bed, pressing himself on top of you.

Jungkook kisses you. “I love you. I love you. I really, really love you.”

--so much happiness.

“I love you.”

--so much color.

Jungkook stops kissing you; his head spins.

--so much color.

Color.

The monochromatic world is slowly changing.

Color.

More colors.

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide.

He looks at you under him.

He gasps and calls your name. Your name sounds like a prayer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Your eyes…they’re purple.”

You chuckle under him. You wipe Jungkook’s tears.

“Took you long enough to realize, Kook.”

Jungkook laughs hysterically. He stares into your eyes again, ensuring he’s not dreaming or going crazing.

Your eyes are really purple—not gray.

At this very moment, Jungkook realizes something: out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it still wouldn’t work because seeing the purple in your eyes will bring him back to life.

Really. No amount of oxygen can compare to the image of you lying on your bed, purple eyes glistening as you whisper sweet nothings to your soulmate. With that, Jungkook feels he can finally breathe.

****

Meanwhile, on Aurora Fashion Lane, Taehyung runs toward the coffee shop. The conversation he had with you at the elevator rings inside his mind.

There has been a glitch.

That’s right. Taehyung remembers that day like the back of his hand.

It’s 6:23am. He went to a coffee shop looking so composed, but he’s actually very nervous. However, the presence of the barista calms him down.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Jimin, the barista, asks. A soft smile adores his pretty face.

Taehyung feels his heart skipping a beat. He licks his lips, “You can tell?”

“You smell different.”

“Really.” Taehyung feels blood rushing to his face.

Jimin laughs. “Don’t be conscious. I said you smell different, not bad. I can tell because I’m blind. My other senses are heightened because of it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung is fascinated. Jimin prepares coffee like a pro. He won’t know Jimin can’t see if he didn’t say it.

“This one is for your head designer; she likes her coffee with some liquor. I sneak some little candies onto her tray so she can bring them home to Detective Jeon, her husband.” Jimin pushes a coffee cup to Taehyung.

“This one is for Yeji. She prefers iced coffee even when it’s freezing cold. This one is for Ji-Eun. She likes tea and not coffee. Yeonjun never changes his order. It’s always two shots of espresso. Jake drinks anything, as long as it’s not too bitter. And this,”

Jimin smiles, “Is for you. A bulgogi sandwich and iced latte. The sandwich is not spicy, so you don’t need to worry. Have a good day.”

Taehyung feels like floating in the air when he goes to work. He first sees you at the door, looking so pensive early in the morning.

You are thinking about your husband. His birthday is coming soon. You want to give him something precious.

A wristwatch? Nah. That’s too simple.

A perfume? Nope. You prefer it when he smells like you.

What about a picnic date near the sea? You can arrange for a firework display and…

Confess.

You flinch at your own thought.

Confess.

You want to confess to Jungkook because---

--you love him.

“Good morning.” Taehyung greets.

You are startled. You snap your head up to meet Taehyung’s face.

All of a sudden, a splash of colors welcomes you.

You see colors, and so does Taehyung.

“So yeah, I think there’s been a glitch.” Taehyung tries to explain to an expressionless Jimin. He swallows when the barista doesn’t answer.

Taehyung releases a deep sigh. Right. He probably sounds crazy right now. It’s not cool to suddenly barge at someone’s work and announce that you think the barista is your soulmate.

Taehyung scolds himself. He’s about to apologize and tell Jimin to ignore what he said when—

“I know,” Jimin responds.

Taehyung blinks up at him dumbly.

Jimin’s lips twist, “Didn’t I tell you I’m blind?”

What’s his blindness got to do with anything? Taehyung still likes him.

“Taehyung, I’m blind.” He repeats. “I’ve been blind since I was born. When I dream, I don’t dream visually, but.”

There’s a sudden pause. Jimin looks lost in thought.

He continues after a while, “The night before I met you, I dreamt of you. I saw a man who told me I was his soulmate. You two have the same voice, and here…” Jimin brings out his sketch pad and finally shows it to Taehyung.

“I draw the face of the man in my dream. Does it look like you?”

Taehyung gasps dramatically because, my gosh. Jimin has perfectly drawn his face!

“This is really me…I’m your soulmate, Jimin.” Taehyung stutters a breath. His heart beats fast.

Jimin chuckles softly, and then he touches Taehyung’s eyes. “Yes, you told me in my dream, too. I’m just waiting for you to realize it in real life.”

The thing about soulmates is it’s complex. Researchers even claim there are different universes, all of which have the concept of soulmates. Some hear the thoughts of their soulmates in their heads. Some are immortals and will only die if they do the act with their soulmates. And then comes their world, a monochromatic place where you’ll see colors once you look at your soulmate’s eyes.

But it’s not that simple. Sometimes, you have to free yourself from your own judgment first. Sometimes, you must be honest first; sometimes, you just have to wait.

****

Accept this fic while I take my time writing my ongoing JJK series here.

This is originally a soukoku fic I've written before. If you prefer that version, click here. I've converted it into a JJK x reader because it was requested by an anon here. If there are obvious mistakes in pronouns and such, please tell me because as said, this is originally a fic for a different fandom and it used to be a mxm pairing. I may have missed some thing while editing it.

I've written the same concept of soulmate ft. JJK years ago. It's a series which you can read here.

I appreciate comments the most! If you have suggestions about addtional tw, please don't hesitate to message me. Thank you ~~

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #ficswithluv #jungkook x you #bts fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x yn #jungkook roommate au #jungkook established relationship #soft boy jungkook #detective

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n0tamused · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I request Jiyan, who didn't realise he was in love with his best friend!reader until he almost lost them. The moment he held them unconscious in his arms everything just clicked.

Angst with a happy ending, please.

A/n: sorry this took some time to write! I initially planned to write this as some short drabble/scenario but as you can see, things went out of control lol I do hope you enjoy this :) Also a small note - I initially wrote this with you/yours stuff, but I wanted to experiment this method, so I do apologize if there is some mistakes left here regarding that. Do tell me which one you guys prefer more? You/yours or they/them/she/her.

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, they/them pronouns, blood and injuries, angst but turns to bittersweet at the end, fluff? They both live at the end so we can count it as a happy ending.

Words: 3867

'I can't do this without you'

Holding the weight of a body in his arms never felt heavier before. The gradual added weight on his heart and lungs kept getting heavier and heavier by the moment, he was sure it would make his ribs burst from the pressure. And he wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he looked down he saw his own heart beating outside his very body. (Y/n) was pale, bleeding and giving no response to any action he took. “Please..” His lips muttered, but to what extent his plea stretched out, no one could tell.

His dragon came crashing through the waves of TDs like a storm, breaking apart their limbs and turning them to ash before he himself emerged from its glowing maw, jumping in front of (Y/n) with spear in hand. Jiyan’s face twisted in a fierce scowl, his sharp eyes hooded beneath his knit brows as he plunged into the remaining monsters that lurked around. But not even after he dealt with them did he achieve the quiet that usually followed a concluded battle. The buzzing in his ears did not stop. His heart beat still thundered between his ears, and the sound only multiplied once his golden eyes landed on the falling body of his dearest companion.

There was no time, he told himself, gathering all the courage and patience he found within himself, gathering them in his arms and fleeing from the charred fields as if fire was threatening to lick up his heel. The buzzing sound was deafening, so akin to silence yet it was everything but. He heard nothing else, but he heard it all. As he pushed his way past the soldiers at the front, eyes wide and staring into the void, trusting only his feet to find the path for him. He needs nothing else but to hurry and scold himself for not being able to go faster.

He carried them into the first medical tent his eyes landed on, the flap of the tent slapping out of place and before his form and before he could process the light slap the material did to his cheek, he was placing them down onto one rolled out mat in the corner. He saw the lips of the medical staff move, but no words reached his ears, and for all he knew he could’ve been barking or whispering at them to do something - to help them. He joined in the efforts, plucking out the gauze and the antiseptics from the corners of the tent and gathering them next to the mat as one healer already began to cut away their dirty clothes to gain better access to the wound.

The bare skin glistened with blood, the only shade of theirs that could make Jiyan feel sick to the stomach. Other healers in the tent looked at him in bewilderment as his breathing was yet to calm down, labored and ragged, but his hands held utmost care and precision as he started on the gauze, already keeping steps ahead and waiting until the healer next to him peeled the clothes away. Each layer unfolded like a wet petal, revealing the yawning gash underneath. Jiyan’s golden eyes turned a shade darker under the pressure and the light in the tent, turning a shade of olive instead, sick with worry. Were they gone already? He looks at their face, glimpsing their peaceful expression, dotted with splatters of blood and grime. They’re still bleeding, he notes as his fingers become slick with blood whilst he worked on their wound, there was still a beating heart inside of them, and that meant life. His mind spun prayers on repeat, prayers he thought he had long since forgotten the words of, favoring battle chants over putting his hope into something he couldn’t see or touch. How long till (Y/n) wakes?

Long time has passed until his mind has reeled back around to the present. He was alone now, aside from (Y/n), huddled on a small wooden chair in the opposite corner from which he could see them, patched up and under the light. His hands, once so calm and steady, had begun to shake as realization settled within him. How he could have so easily lost them, with so many words yet to be spoken, hurt more than any wound he sustained. Blood caked on his fingers, falling off into dust as he flexed them into a fist before releasing again. All the worry made him angry, and anger never suited him. It made him think badly, irrationally, and in the silence that followed the medical emergency of their state, all thoughts took root deep within his mind and soul, festering like a neglected cut. (Y/n) shouldn’t have been allowed on the front lines, he should have set them back, or even better - he should have misused his position and sent them home, risking to humiliate them for being sent home for seemingly nothing, other than his selfish need to keep them safe on all accounts.

Sighing, Jiyan shuddered at his own mind’s skilled ways of wearing him down. It played out his image and character in ways he knew he’d never act. He’d never do those things, but in such a state as he was in, he nearly believed it all. Pressing his forehead into the clean heels of his palms he stared at his own boots until the silence became a soft comforting buzz. Sleep had tried to pull himself down his eyelids, but each time he refused it, eventually finding himself sitting at their side again, instead of the faraway corner. Long hours had passed, and Jiyan felt the camp go to bed with the night settling in the corners of the world. But he couldn’t, it would be a disservice to you if he left you alone, but his duty called - and he internally begged for forgiveness as he stepped out of the tent to check up on all the others, cleaning his hands while he was at it.

There was blood on his hands.

And it was theirs.

And he’d never be able to wash it away, no matter how hard he scrubbed, or how many times he washed his hands.

Morning came chill and misty, but Jiyan’s body felt none of it. The cold clung onto him like a second coat, greeting him like an old friend and embracing him as the same. He only hoped the cold did not embrace them too. The night was sleepless for Jiyan, and after he had ensured the safety of others and checked in with his Captains, he had found his way back to the medical tent he left (Y/n) in.

“There’s a lot for me to say, my dear…friend..” Jiyan’s pale lips formed the last word hesitantly, treating it as an impostor instead of the usual warming endearment in which fashion he used it years ago. The word had long since become strange to him, yet he wished not to risk disrespecting them in this state, heavily considering the fact they may not even share in his sentiments. “Yet you seem so eager to cut your life short.. “ he sneered lightly, not at them, but rather at himself, blame always within reach to be pulled towards himself by his very hand.

“What would I do without you..? Who would I be without you?” The world around him seemed to quiet down in silent sympathy. “You mean so much more than you believe, more than you know.. I’ve wished to tell you, but all you force me to do is scold you and weep over you like some child… like when we were kids…”

A twitch, and then the fingers of (Y/n)’s hand grasped into a fist, making his eyes widen at the sight he barely glimpsed with his head hanging low, staring at the ground. His golden eyes snapped to their face, seeing the corners of their lips curl downward into a pain filled scowl.

“(Y/n)!-” he beamed with all the softness his surprise would allow him as he kneeled beside them in one swift swoop. His hand came over their eyes to shield it from the light once he saw how their nose scrunched and brows knit together. Relief filled their eyes as the intrusive light no longer tried to pry them open so cruelly. Dizziness was still huge, feeling as if it split their blood apart, making it as light as clouds, and making them float on top of the mat.

“What’re you.. rambling about…?” (Y/n) muttered, throat dry and voice coarse and wincing, their face once more ended up in a painful twist. Jiyan didn’t need all his medical knowledge to see they were still out of it, his frown deepening, but his heart raced up to climb into his throat.

“I was saying how reckless you can be..” he whispered, blinking away the nervousness from his eyes. His other hand hovered over them, refusing to touch them in fear of hurting them. But his eyes drank in everything, looking for any anomalies that he may have not noticed before, although the chance he missed something was astronomically low with how keenly his eyes kept vigil over you throughout the night. “Are you in pain? Tell me, I’ll help make it better” he told them, shuffling as he loomed over their body.

(Y/n)’s eyes still refused to open after they fluttered shut, their throat bobbing, but swallowing nothing with how parched it felt. “Water..” They croaked, and suddenly light was kissing their eyelids again as Jiyan moved away in haste to fetch a bottle of water.

He returned as quickly as he left, swift as the wind and helping them drink with one hand stabilizing their head and the other holding the bottle to their chapped lips, watching them carefully as they languidly took sips to drink. The gloved iron claw on his finger faintly scratched against their scalp, tangled between their hairs. Letting out a small sigh, thirst finally quenched, they finally opened their eyes to see just how disheveled and worried Jiyan looked.

“Jiyan..” (Y/n) called him, watching as his face both hardened and mellowed at the drop of his name in that worn out tone. Their face looked confused to see him like this, not that they ever doubted he’d worry if they got injured, but the tension within this space felt like a maw of a beast, ready to snap its jaws shut. Something was amiss, something they couldn’t quite place. The aching throb in their side didn’t subside, but they were able to somewhat ignore it for now, worry poisoning them into thinking of the worst - whatever could be worse than their own life nearly being taken away. The question remained unsaid, but it appeared as if Jiyan didn’t need the verbal communication to respond.

“Nothing- don’t worry about it.. Please, lay down and tell me how you feel” He urged as he placed his palm onto their sweaty forehead, pushing it back onto the small pillow below. (Y/n) blinked, confused and scared and exhausted as he pawed gently at their skin, only pulling away after he ensured there was no rising heat.

“I’m.. aching.. that’s all.. and sore all over”

“I believe that to be an understatement, this isn’t some small scratch.. You nearly..” Jiyan looks at the bandages, splotches of red already having bloomed through like little poppies in a faraway field. “I’ll get you something for the pain now… Don’t move.” It was a command, that last part, and left no room for any question or rebuttal as he lifted himself away, painfully severing the moment in favor of searching the place for painkillers and herbs. If there was a way to remain glued to their side and heal them in that way, he wouldn’t have ever left, and that option would have done his heart many favors.

“When will you start listening to orders?” he asked as he walked back to the mat, his hand grasping the gorge shaped pill box his mother gave him, his tone now heralding the lesson he was about to drop on them. His eyes refused to meet theirs as he crouched down again, popping the lid of the gorge open and letting two pills fall into his open palm.

“Whenever you... decide to be less dense..” (Y/n) responded with a small cough that rippled the pain from their wound, and wincing they forced themselves to stay still. He did not take sweetly to the jest, his eyes focusing on them like a target, a beloved one at that.

“You should have called out.. I was there, I could have helped you out. You didn’t need to get hurt, and all because of your faulty sense of independence” Jiyan kept going, urgency for them to understand his side coloring his voice. He helped them sit slowly, apologizing for making them move in a husky and quiet tone, apologizing for making them sit and be here and be in pain, swallowing the big tasteless pills.

Keeping their silence, (Y/n) looks down, guilt seeping through their veins and weary body which seemed to know no rest now.

Sore and worried and dizzy and ever forgetful in this half slumbering state they could only grasp at the thin strings of consciousness as Jiyan loomed over them like a hawk, restless in his pursuit to help, yet he remained in the dark as to how else to do so. What else could he do except think of healing magic he had no possession of. His teeth grinded together, golden eyes flickering over them and then up to their face, meeting their bleary gaze.

“I’m sorry…”

(Y/n) whispered, one hand over their chest as they took breaths in, slow and weak, but good - they were not the shallow breaths you took when he was racing back to the medics and other healers with them in his arms. This was better.

Jiyan’s heart stuttered at the low tone that broke under the pressure he had placed upon them, unwilling yet it was no less necessary if he wished to have them understand. Too many times he had sat down with them, told them to be careful, to follow protocol and all the talked about strategies, to value the teammates at their sides, yet it all seemed for naught. What did those conversations mean, they could not heal you now and make you whole again.

A shaky sigh drops from Jiyan, pulling all the weight from his shoulders and making him sag in his spot, head hanging low and heavy. What was he supposed to say? He had words too many to share.

“It’s… fine.. What’s done is done, and we can’t change what happened.. It’s alright..”

“You’re mad at me..”

Of course he is. Grief has never bitten him so hard as in the moment he saw them stagger in the field, it made his stomach churn and his sides tickle as if wind passed through the hollows between his ribs. And he grieved as if he lost them while patching you up, so much so it poisoned him and made him mad, angry.

“I.. I am not mad at you.. ” ‘I love you, why can’t you see?’ - a part of him wanted to say.

Blinking at him, tears bubbled up to their lash line, listening to him huff, unknowing of the inner turmoil he struggled through, the answer to close yet so far, holding you in suspense. Like a word about to be spoken.

“Why can’t you just listen to orders.. You throw yourself into danger as if you have lives to spare” Jiyan began, finding their eyes in a stern glare which mellowed out quickly. “You are not valued only as a soldier to be thrown across the board but as a human, someone’s companion.. (Y/n)..”

There’s a plea in his tone, and another in his eyes, and his fingers itch with the need to hold onto them, to let the venom of his grief seep into them too, to make them see, understand. It’s like a beast he’s hardly keeping at bay. When was the last time he felt so strongly about someone? Anyone? And to the point he’s shedding his general persona to give way to a man desperate to keep the few people he holds dear alive. Jiyan couldn’t name anyone.

“I understand that, but Jiyan.. how many nights have we spent talking about the day of peace? When there’s going to be no wars to fight? I know-” A cough interrupts them, but Jiyan does not jump at that opportunity to cut them off and scold them - he waits. “..I know it’s a childish dream, a hope, but peace is achievable. And if it means getting battered and bruised and hurt along the way, then so be it - the road to peace is not paved in a bed of flowers..” (Y/n) frowns, nearly pouting, and in some absentminded state, their hand flails in the air in search of his, a purchase he gladly grants without a thought.

Shaky fingers curl around his gloved ones, a tinge smaller, and more fragile than his own with the state now. They lack the grip they usually possess, yet they grasp and hold and he holds back, squeezing a bit tighter. God knows, he shares their view, their childish hope, but he can’t agree with it, not now. “(Y/n).. Peace will mean little if you’re dead to see it..” It’s a whisper, as fragile as the wings of a hatchling, and as soft as the summer breeze.

“That all will mean nothing to me either, it won’t be peace if you’re not with me to see it..” he added, his other hand grasping over their own, thumbing at their soft skin. He swallows thickly, hoping to wish away the tears that threaten to come up to his eyes. “I lo-... I love …you…”

Realization is slow to settle, but he sees it in their face, their eyes that fail to blink as they take him in, deciphering his words one by one, failing, at first, to understand their weight from the usual affections they shared before. Parting their lips, they fail to respond, their eyes flickering to the surroundings before they return to him, and it was as if all air had been knocked out of their lungs. The meaning is written all over him, communicated through all ways but verbal and it was enough. They were children together, growing up and exploring the world, plucking strange berries from nature and sharing them together, they grew up together.

Now they are grown, and (Y/n) focuses on the thought that has appeared in their mind countless times before - growing old together. It was just out of reach, and it was not guaranteed and their actions on the battlefield nearly made it certain that the future would not embrace them together. Trying to blink the tears away, they look at Jiyan, apologetic and ashamed, but where they wished to seek forgiveness was unneeded, as Jiyan had already forgiven it, no matter the hurt.

“I love you too-” The words were accompanied by a stray tear wetting their cheek.

Hushed breaths and shuffling of clothes flutter, and in a blur, Jiyan had pulled himself ever closer, sitting at their side and ever so carefully drawing them to his chest. His movements are slow and calculated even in the face of such strong emotion, too fearful to hurt them.

He lets them rest their face into the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed as they both simply hold onto one another, and it was in that moment he felt them squeeze him back, full of blooming life and energy. His fingertips itched for a stronger embrace but he controlled himself.

“I love you..” he repeated, even more quiet and directly beside their ear. “Please.. listen to me.. I only wish to keep you safe.. alive most of all.. Understand me..” They nod their head against him, their fingers clawing at his back with a little more strength, holding on as if he was a ghost ready to vanish. “You’re my candlelight leading me through the darkness.. I can’t do it without you..”

“Oh, Jiyan..” They crack their voice over his name, eyes seeing a mosaic of colors through tears ready to be shed. “I only wish to help you.. Under all this armor and uniform, I can see you struggling too.. How can I not become a little desperate when I see all my other attempts to help you have failed?” They sigh, their breath tickling the skin underneath this chin and he shudders to think of this mutual tug-of-war. They can’t win, neither can.

“You leave my struggles to me.. I do not withhold them for no reason, but I see that has done me, us, more harm than good..” He says but fails to make another sentence, knowing he’d rather not burden them with his own worries, and he’d much rather hear of their own.

“Just.. promise me this” he begins, pulling away and making them face to face. “You will not jump to take any more blows for me, in no amounts at all. I’m the one that should guard you, and not the other way around” He is firm in his case, and even if (Y/n) had the strength to argue, they wouldn’t. This was final.

Closing your eyes and giving a little bow of their head, they profess their agreement to his words without a word of their own. And sinking back into his embrace felt like sinking into a bed of feathers, soft, warm and welcoming. “Fine..”

“We’ll talk more about this once you’ve healed..” Jiyan muttered, his lips ghosting their brow and feeling them nod against him again. His hand rubs up and down their back, and his lips land on their cheek, lingering there in a gentle expression of his love that knew no bounds.

The flickering light and the sudden silence made his mind wander, and his body began to rock back and forth slowly, hoping to ease you into slumber. He wondered how it would feel to hold them again, when they were healed and not even a scar remained of their injury; how it would feel to kiss their brow and hold their cheek in his palm, to see those lights stare back at him from within their eyes, full of mirth and devoid of pain; he thinks how comforting it would feel to feel you flush against him each morning, holding your warm body close and tucking them under the covers when they shift in their sleep… So many images run through his mind, and he prays he gets to see them materialize in reality.

For now he was fine with holding them, serving their needs until war reeled its ugly head again, and he had to leave once more. For his people and (Y/n) he’d grow great miles to achieve peace, even if it meant losing his own peace.

#-dragon.treasure #-better an arrow than you #Jiyan #Jiyan x reader #Jiyan x you #Jiyan x gn reader #Jiyan imagine #jiyan angst #jiyan x y/n #wuthering waves jiyan #wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #angst to fluff #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves x gn reader #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you

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jeannyjaykaydeh · 18 days ago

Text

Movie Lessons

(Part 2/3)

Part 1 is here (I don’t know how to change the name of a link so you can just click on the word 'Part 1'. Maybe someone wants to explain how I can do it 👉👈):

Fluff

Warning: Mentions of harassment

Alastor x Reader

And so it begins.

The great demon of radio would never have thought of lowering himself to this low, very low level and dealing with films.

He looks at the old CRT screen, which stands provocatively in front of him and looks as if it has that provocative grin of the repulsive face that belongs to Vox in an unobtrusive way.

At first, Alastor had conjured up a screen and an old film projector, but he quickly realised that this was a bit outdated.

After that, it only took a video recorder and a DVD player to find out that these days you can watch films on streaming platforms on the internet.

The advantage is that you can stream everything. From old to not-so-old to new.

The radio demon is on the verge of wondering what he is actually doing. He is going to all this trouble just because he is interested in a woman. Not even the slightest murderous intent is behind it.

No, it's all about damn romance.

And for the sake of that romance, he even crosses his own boundaries and puts a TV box in his room.

Alastor feels stupid and pathetic. Falling in love should be illegal.

Nevertheless, the chemical reaction in his dead brain takes control and makes the man sit down in his armchair, cross his legs, place a pad and pen on his lap and turn on the device.

Let the mission begin.

The first romantic film Alastor watches is, as expected, a boring one: man wants woman, gives her a bouquet of flowers, proposes way too quickly and she agrees because, as a woman from the fifties, she has no other purpose in life than to commit to patriarchy and bear the children of this macho man.

Alastor is ashamed of using this method with you, because he knows you well enough to know that you are not that easy to get and, above all, that you would never sell yourself short.

And yet he dares to.

The next day there is a knock at your bedroom door. When you open it, the radio demon is standing in front of you with his arms behind his back, grinning happily.

‘Hi. What's up?’ you ask, smiling.

And suddenly he holds out a huge bouquet of colourful and magnificent flowers towards you.

At first you are a little taken aback. On the one hand because of the unusually exaggerated size of the bouquet, and on the other hand because you have no idea why Alastor is giving you such a gift.

‘Y/N, my dear,‘ he begins, “I want to ask you-’

‘Al!‘ you interrupt him hastily, whereupon he looks at you in confusion.

‘Yes? What is it?’ he asks in astonishment.

‘Put the bouquet down!’ you demand in a croaking voice.

There is a rustling sound, and disappointment spreads through him. But it was clear that you wouldn't be satisfied with just a little meadow.

Alastor clutches the stems of the flowers tighter, and suddenly they all wither at the same time. Then he makes them disappear with a wave of his hand.

‘Forgive me, my darling. I saw these flowers and thought you might like them,’ he is about to say, but then he notices you staring at him, panting, eyes wide with pleading, one hand on your chest and obviously unable to breathe.

Alastor doesn't have to think long to realise that you are having an allergic asthma attack.

With your last ounce of strength, you point to the nightstand next to your bed before collapsing unconscious at the feet of the radio demon.

He rushes to your room to your nightstand to retrieve your asthma inhaler and save your second life.

Well, since film number one was a flop – Alastor crosses the first item off his list – there are a few more films to follow.

The next one on the list is a weird film. It's a bit more modern and is about ancient vampires infiltrating a high school to attract a few students.

Alastor watches this film with a raised eyebrow and, with the best will in the world, can't even begin to understand what people find so great about it.

He doesn't even have to try to know that you wouldn't be thrilled if he told you that he stood by your bed the night before and watched you sleep. You would think he was a freak. What worked for this Bella will almost certainly not work for you.

More films from earlier decades will follow, which essentially have a single message: stupid woman and macho man who explains the world to her. Fortunately, these stupid women have macho men to show them how it's done, otherwise these poor creatures would be lost. *sarcasm off*

After the third film of this kind – of which there are clearly too many – Alastor can only shake his head in condemnation and cross the other items off his list.

- Historical films with the damsel in distress and the noble knight saving her, which ensures him a big wedding afterwards: Alastor has brought her the asthma inhaler and it didn't work. So that's also crossed off the list.

- He doesn't even want to think about the film with the rich and narcissistic mother complex named something with beige or grey who brings a stranger into his playroom to beat her up. It was one of the worst things he's ever seen. Until now.

- Because the next film is a porn film. Yes, streaming services in hell also offer a porn category, but who is surprised? Of course, Alastor didn't search for this category on purpose, but accidentally came across one of these trash films after the streaming service offered him, based on a number of love films, ‘Based on your history, you seem to like romances and be single. You might also like this.’

He starts the film and the first dialogue begins: ‘Oh, Daddy, I didn't make you a sandwich. What are you going to do to me now?’

‘Shut your fuck-hole, you dirty whore, and blow me!’

A horrified look, the twitching of his left eye and strong static noise follow in response to this meaningless and obscene conversation. Immediately afterwards, the Radio Demon hastily reaches for the remote control and switches off the TV, accompanied by a decisive: ‘Nope!’

He doesn't need to watch this porn to know that this is definitely not an effective tactic for winning over a woman.

The next few films he watches are equally unpromising: ‘Bodyguard’: It's ridiculous to stop an entire plane to kiss someone. Besides, this approach is already out of the question because Alastor can't remember that you're planning to travel anytime soon.

‘Titanic‘: Apart from the fact that the rich girl hardly knows the homeless stranger who likes to draw naked women, but is already convinced after just one day that she loves the guy, Alastor knows from his aunt, who was a survivor of the sinking of the Titanic at the time, that this is not a desirable place to fall in love.

Then there are a whole range of films in which the man just won't take no for an answer. ‘Who in heaven's name ever believed that a woman would take her clothes off at the words ‘come on, darling, you know you want to’?’ asks the Radio Demon his shadow, who is no less appalled that these romances are written in such a way that sleazy, disgusting guys win the girl over with such lines. Alastor strongly doubts that persistent attempts after a rejection will achieve anything.

‘Love Actually’: At this point, Alastor has to admit that he would really like to paint a few big signs. With lots of grinning faces, funny sayings and a creative love confession. But he is opposed to it on principle, because he finds this film so pathetic and wrong on so many levels that he has no desire to be inspired by this disgrace.

If only there was a single film that would reveal the absolute truth to him. A film that would tell him exactly what he wants to know: What does he have to do to make you say ‘yes’?

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snixkers · 9 months ago

Text

Pen on Paper

Pairing: Spencer Reid × GN!Reader

Fluff

Content Warnings: None, literal pure fluff

Summary: You and your boyfriend have a study date in a coffee shop, but your methods differ.

Author's Note: My inbox has tumbleweeds blowing through it atm, so I'm digging this out of my drafts!

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN

I quickly gathered up my laptop and textbooks when I checked the time, checking my appearance in the mirror as I made my way to my car. The Civic was ancient, but it still got me where I needed to be. Unfortunately, my boyfriend did not share the same sentiment, preferring to use public transportation.

I rolled my eyes at the thought of a germaphobe so adverse to driving he’d get on a train with complete strangers, but I decided to let it go. After all, he was the one who had offered to take me out on a study date. As a grad student, I would take any opportunity to get ahead. Who better than a man with an eidetic memory and 3 PhDs?

Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I weaved through the streets of downtown DC to meet him where he had requested, a small local cafe that was able to satiate his sweet tooth. I parked and hopped out of my car, materials in hand for a long night of memorization.

He smiled when he saw me, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly as he opened the door.

Despite his awkward behavior, manners were not lost on him. We entered the shop hand in hand, scanning over the menu (although he got through it much faster) and stepping up to order. He got a black coffee with 6 teaspoons of sugar, and I decided on something a little less nauseating.

We chose a booth in the back corner, somewhere we could have some privacy in our own little academic bubble. I set my bags on the floor beside me, taking a sip of my drink and pulling out my laptop. I noticed the wrinkle of his nose, smirking as I realized he was likely judging me.

“What?”

He shook his head innocently, pulling out some papers for his own work at the BAU.

“Nothing, I just think you’d do better with physical materials.”

You smiled, picking up his pen and clicking it a couple of times.

“We don’t all work at lightning speed.”

He bit his lip, and I could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he plucked a new fact from the depths of his memory.

“Actually, although it’s faster to type, writing allows you to tap into tactile information recall.”

You snorted in acknowledgement. Of course he had something to back his opinions up with.

As any genius would.

“You’d use a typewriter if you could.”

He pulled out some files, looking them over.

“I have one at my apartment, but I ran out of ink a while ago.”

You just sighed, conceding defeat and moving back to your work, typing rapidly as you worked on your essay. He sat across from you, doing the same thing with his notes, although he occasionally switched his papers to shield you from anything too messy.

He thought of everything.

After a while, you felt a tap on your shoulder, and a note dropped onto your keyboard. You unfolded it, reading the messy chicken scratch.

‘You can’t pass notes on a laptop.’

You narrowed your eyes, stealing his pen to come up with a response.

‘it’s called an email’

He shook his head, his hand flying across the paper before he held it out for you.

‘Emails can always be tracked. Notes have to be destroyed.’

You smiled softly at the sentiment, slipping the note into your pocket before turning back to your work.

“You’re distracting me.”

He sighed, returning to his seat and fiddling with his pen.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

You nodded, determined to make this paper your own. But after a few minutes of typing, the rhythmic tapping was dragging your eyelids down. The words were sliding off the page, and the backlight did nothing for your eyestrain. After you failed to stifle a yawn, he looked back up at you with a look that screamed ‘I told you so’.

“Come on, it’s late. You can’t perform as well academically if you stay up all night to finish it.”

You tried to protest, but your own body betrayed you with another yawn. With your acceptance, he gathered up your things and stored them neatly in your bag.

You were half asleep as you left the cafe, but you pretended not to notice as he slipped a notebook and his pen into the tote for future study dates.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fanfic #reqs open #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #study date #coffee shop

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 6 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝟑𝟔𝟎 | 2

part 1 - Tinder

screencaps and gifs: Pinterest

Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON CON, DUB CON, Drinking, food, flirting, DRUGGING, KIDNAPPING, talks of true crime, Degradation, Praise, Humiliation, fear, panic, anxiety, spiting, oral M, cum play, Blowjob, throat fucking, threats, Physical Violence, Bondage (rope), THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Summary: A Tinder date goes very, very wrong, but you always consider yourself prepared for such situations. or so you think

WC: 2.8K

For notifications follow - @sinful-mind-joyful-fics

A/n: I tried to step out of my comfort zone a little with this. It's based on a post I saw while doom-scrolling on this app from @blondwhowrites. She had this amazing post about wanting to see more readers who fight and don't stop. They don't lose hope, they go into survival mode, and I just hope I do this idea somewhat justice. AND IT GETS JUICY in this part....

The pounding in your head was relentless, each beat echoing like a drum inside your skull. As your vision slowly cleared, the dim light seared your eyes, intensifying the headache. You lay on a small, dirty mattress, the only things in sight were two small windows letting in weak slivers of daylight, a door, and a set of stairs leading down. You were still in your dress and heels from the night before, the fabric now wrinkled and uncomfortable against your skin.

Panic surged through you, your mind racing. You forced yourself to breathe, reminding yourself that you knew how to handle this. Jess had your location; if you were missing for more than a day, she would report it.

“Stay calm,” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the small details around you. The room was sparse, but there had to be something you could use. You scanned the area methodically, trying to ignore the fear clawing at your throat.

Your phone. You needed your phone. You patted your dress, but there were no pockets. Joel must have taken it. You closed your eyes, fighting the wave of despair. Jess had your location. She’d check Life360 and see something was wrong.

“Think,” you told yourself, trying to stay rational. Joel had been careful, but he must have made a mistake. You just had to find it.

You stood up slowly, your head spinning slightly as you did. The tightness of your dress and the ache in your feet from the heels added to your discomfort. You staggered to the door, pressing your ear against the wood. Silence. You tried the handle, but it was locked.

The stairs then. You moved cautiously, your heels making faint clicking sounds on the cold floor. You reached the top of the stairs, glancing down. The faint light from below suggested another room, but you had no idea what awaited you.

Taking another deep breath, you started to descend. Each step felt like an eternity, the fear of making noise almost paralyzing you. When you reached the bottom, you paused, listening. Nothing. You tried the handle, but it was locked. Frustration bubbled up, but you pushed it down. You couldn’t afford to lose control.

Returning to the main room, you approached the other door. You turned the handle cautiously and pushed it open, revealing a small bathroom. It was just as dingy as the main room, with cracked tiles and a grimy mirror. There was nothing here that could help you escape.

Desperation creeping in, you began searching the shelves and every nook and cranny. Dusty and neglected, they offered little hope. Finally, on one of the shelves, you found an old can of beans. It wasn’t much, but it was something. You hid it carefully in the folds of the mattress, just in case.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, trying to stay calm. “Think. What next?”

Your mind raced as you reviewed everything you knew about the room. The small windows were too high and narrow to climb through. The locked door at the top of the stairs was your best bet, but you needed a way to get through it.

You took another deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. Jess had your location. She would check in on you. You had to hold on to that hope.

Footsteps echoed from below, growing louder. Joel was coming. You quickly lay back down on the mattress, feigning unconsciousness, your heart pounding.

The door creaked open, and Joel’s shadow fell over you. You kept your breathing steady, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in your hands.

“Just checking on you,” he murmured, his voice soft. “We’ll talk more when you wake up.”

You heard the door close, and his footsteps recede. You opened your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. You had to find a way out. Jess was counting on you. You were counting on you.

“Stay strong,” you whispered to yourself. “Stay smart.”

Hours passed as you combed through every inch of the small room, searching for any flaw, any potential escape route. The old can of beans hidden in the folds of the mattress was your only find. It was growing darker, and your hope felt as dim as the room around you. The sting of despair lingered, but you fought it off, knowing you had to stay strong.

The only light came from the windows, now dark with the encroaching night. You noticed a string hanging from the ceiling, where a light bulb should have been. It dangled uselessly, a stark reminder of your isolation.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of footsteps below. Joel was coming back. You quickly resumed your position on the mattress, trying to appear exhausted and disoriented. The door creaked open, and Joel entered, carrying a tray of food.

“Thought you might be hungry,” he said, setting the tray down on a small table.

You forced a weak smile, sitting up slowly. “Thanks.”

Joel watched you with an unsettling intensity as you picked at the food. You needed to keep him talking, to gather more information. “Joel, why are you doing this?”

He smiled, a chillingly calm expression. “I just want us to get to know each other better. Away from all the distractions.”

“By locking me up?” you challenged, your voice trembling.

“You’ll understand in time,” he said, ignoring your question. “Are you feeling better?”

You nodded, though your mind was racing. “I’m just a bit dizzy still.”

“Good,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

As he turned to leave, you mustered the courage to ask, “What if I need something? There’s no light in here.”

Joel paused, glancing at the dangling string. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

The door closed behind him, and you were alone again. You waited, listening to his footsteps fade away before you sprang into action. You grabbed the can of beans from its hiding spot and approached the string. It was a flimsy hope, but perhaps it could be used in some way.

The night stretched on, each minute feeling like an hour. But you remained vigilant, your true crime instincts sharpening with every passing moment. You would find a way out. You had to.

Eventually, exhaustion overpowered your fear. Clutching the can of beans tightly, you lay down on the mattress, forcing yourself to rest. Your eyes grew heavy, and despite your best efforts, sleep claimed you.

You awoke to the feeling of hands on your wrists. Panic shot through you as you realized Joel was there, his grip firm and unyielding. You tried to pull away, but your limbs felt sluggish, uncooperative.

"Shh," Joel murmured, his voice unsettlingly calm. "Just a precaution."

You glanced around frantically, your heart racing. Joel was binding your wrists together with a length of rope. The realization hit you like a cold wave: you were trapped, and he was making sure you couldn’t escape.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

“Making sure you don’t hurt yourself,” Joel replied, his tone eerily soothing. “You seemed restless in your sleep.”

“I won’t try anything,” you pleaded, struggling against the bonds. “Just let me go.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of something dark in his gaze. “I can’t do that. Not yet.”

You fought harder, but Joel’s grip was strong. He finished tying your wrists and then moved to your ankles, securing them with the same methodical care. Fear bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over.

“Please, Joel,” you begged, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

Joel stepped inside, holding a light bulb in his hand. He dangled it in front of you, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I brought you something,” he said, his voice dripping with mock kindness. “But you’ll have to earn it.”

You glared at him, your anger simmering beneath the surface. “What do you want from me?”

Joel knelt down beside you, his gaze intense. “I want your cooperation,” he said softly. “You need to show me that I can trust you. That you’re willing to play by my rules.”

“What rules?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

He leaned closer, his face inches from yours. “Simple ones. Behave. Don’t try to escape. And, most importantly, tell me everything I want to know.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized what he was asking. He wanted information—about you, your life, your vulnerabilities. He wanted control.

“Why should I trust you?” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady.

Joel’s smile widened. “Because if you don’t, things will get much worse for you. But if you cooperate, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. Like giving you this light bulb, for example.”

You swallowed hard, the enormity of your situation crashing down on you. You had to play along, at least for now. You had to buy yourself time.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want to know?”

“It’s not what I want to know per se, it’s what I want you to do in this moment,” Joel said, his voice chillingly calm.

You stared at him, fear and defiance battling for control. “What do you mean?”

Joel’s smile widened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but it sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. “I want you to relax,” he said, his fingers trailing down to play with the ends of your hair. “I want you to be... cooperative.”

You jerked your head away, trying to pull back from his touch. “Get away from me,” you spat, your voice trembling with anger and fear.

Joel’s grip tightened, and he yanked you closer, his eyes darkening. “You don’t have a choice,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “It’s this or death. Do you understand?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, terror flooding your veins. You struggled against him, but his strength was overwhelming. “I won’t do anything for you,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s expression hardened, and he pushed you back onto the mattress, pinning you down with a frightening ease. “You will,” he said, his face inches from yours. “You will, or I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?”

You fought back, trying to twist away from him, but he held you fast. Panic surged through you, and you bit back a scream. “Please, don’t do this,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes. “Just let me go.”

Joel’s grip tightened, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your face. “You have no idea how much worse things can get,” he whispered, his tone icy. “You will do what I say, or you will suffer.”

Tears streamed down your face as you realized the hopelessness of your situation. You were trapped, and there was no way out. Jess had your location, but would it be enough? Would she find you in time?

Joel released you slightly, still keeping a firm grip on your wrists. “Now,” he said, his voice softer but no less menacing, “are you going to be a good girl and cooperate, or do I need to show you what happens when you disobey?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his threat crushing your spirit. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’ll cooperate.”

Joel’s smile returned, and he released your wrists and undid the binding, sitting back on his heels. “Good,” he said, his tone almost cheerful. “That’s a good start. Now, let’s get you a bit more comfortable.”

He stood up and walked to the door, leaving you trembling on the mattress. You watched him, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, but the reality of your situation kept you paralyzed with fear.

Joel returned a moment later, holding the light bulb. He approached the dangling string and screwed the bulb into the socket. The room was suddenly bathed in harsh light, revealing the true extent of its dinginess.

“There,” Joel said, turning to face you. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He walked over to you, his presence looming ominously. “Now say thank you or I’ll leave you in the dark with the mice.”

You stayed on the mattress, savoring the small distance between you. “Thank-” Joel cut you off.

“No, no. Thank me properly,” he said, a sick grin spreading across his face. You wanted to smack it off, to fight back, but you knew it would only make things worse. “Crawl to me,” he commanded.

The words made your cheeks flush with humiliation. Your mind raced. If you wanted to escape, you needed to gain his trust. But was his trust worth your dignity? You hesitated, the internal conflict paralyzing you.

Joel's grin faded slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Do it,” he growled, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

You took a deep breath, forcing down the surge of anger and humiliation. “I can’t crawl with my legs bound,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Unless you want me to flop around like a fish.”

Joel’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but he knelt down and untied your ankles. “There,” he said, standing back up. “Now, crawl.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you slowly shifted onto your hands and knees. The dirty floor scraped against your skin, and every inch you moved felt like a mile. You could feel Joel’s gaze burning into you, his satisfaction palpable.

You reached him, your head bowed, heart pounding in your chest. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joel chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. “Good girl,” he said, reaching down to stroke your hair. You flinched at his touch, but forced yourself to stay still. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit back the bile rising in your throat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break down. “What do you want from me?” you asked, your voice shaking.

Joel moved his hands to his belt, his eyes darkening with sinister intent. "I think you know what I want you and those pretty little lips to do," he whispered, his hand caressing your face. He finished unbuckling his belt, and as his pants fell to the floor with a thud, you flinched involuntarily. "Pull down my boxers," he ordered, taunting you as if you were a child.

You swallowed your pride, your mind racing with strategies to fight back. As you lowered his boxers, he taunted you further, waving his length near your face. Instinctively, you reached out with your hand, but he grabbed your hair roughly, yanking your head back. "I didn’t ask for your hands," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "I asked you to suck my dick."

Before you could react, he spat on you, his warm saliva trickling down your face. You opened your mouth to protest, but he shoved his length into your mouth forcefully, leaving you no time to prepare. The size of him stretched your mouth painfully, making you feel as if you might rip apart.

"This can’t be over soon enough," you thought, struggling against the overwhelming violation. But to your horror, you felt a strange sensation growing between your legs. His cock was hard, the taste of his precum salty on your tongue.

“Look at me,” he demanded. You resisted, focusing instead on his messy brown hair. You felt a wave of disgust at yourself for even noticing such a detail. This wasn’t the man you met on Tinder; this was a psychopath.

He gripped your head with both hands, forcing himself deeper into your throat. "That's it," he groaned, thrusting shallowly. The sound of your gagging and choking filled the room. "I don’t care if you fucking choke to death. Your throat feels like heaven."

As he continued, your mind raced for a plan. You took breaths through your nose, waiting for the perfect moment to make him pay for his actions. Just as you prepared to bite down, he thrust deeply one last time, and you felt a hot, steamy rope of his cum hit the back of your throat, its salty taste overwhelming.

Joel roughly pushed you away, pulling up his pants as you fell back, coughing and choking, your throat raw and dry. He walked over, fixing his belt. “See, it wasn’t that hard now, was it?” he sneered.

Before you could respond, he left the room, the only comfort in the dark basement now the solitary light bulb. You lay there, trembling with rage and humiliation, vowing silently that you would find a way to escape and make him pay for every moment of torment.

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 1 month ago

Text

I had this fantasy all day and I couldn't help but write it down

Paring: !ProfessorxStudent!reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Explicit Content, Mature Themes,Sexual Content, mature language, Age Gap (15-year difference) Power Imbalance, Adult Themes

Playing with fire

The university had become my second home, and I loved every minute of it. The quiet spaces for studying, the hustle of students on the move, and the occasional moments of clarity when everything just clicked. It was all thrilling—except for one thing: Professor James Hetfield,the Professor, who despite the 15-year difference, I was attracted to.

He was a constant presence. Not just in the classroom, but in my thoughts. Every class, every interaction with him felt charged. He never showed favoritism, not even toward the brilliant students like me, but I couldn’t help the way his cold blue eyes always seemed to find me, to watch me. Every lecture, every question he posed, there was something about the way he looked at me—intense, almost as if he could see through the mask I wore.

The lectures were always intense, filled with complex material that many of the students struggled to understand. But for me, it was all too easy. I was always ahead of the curve, always absorbing the material faster than most. Yet, the more I proved myself, the more I felt his gaze upon me, even if he never admitted it. And somehow, it made everything even more exciting.

When the day of the final exam arrived, the weight of it felt suffocating. It wasn’t just the usual pressure of exams—it was the pressure of having to live up to the quiet challenge I had set for myself. There was something about impressing Professor Hetfield that made every question feel like a test of my worth, something that wasn’t just about getting the answers right but about making him acknowledge me in a way he had never acknowledged anyone else.

The room was filled with students, the air thick with the sounds of papers shuffling and anxious whispers. But I felt calm. Focused. As I looked around the room, I saw them all sweating, struggling over the hardest questions. But my mind was clear—methodical. I answered each question with ease, my pen flying across the page as if the answers were written in my blood. It was exhilarating to feel so confident, so ahead of the game.

It didn’t take long for me to finish. I was the first one done, though I didn’t want to leave yet. The tension between Professor Hetfield and I was like a live wire, and I wasn’t ready to break that connection just yet.

I stood, glancing briefly around the room. The other students were still scribbling away, oblivious to the fact that I was already finished. Without hesitation, I walked up to the front of the room and placed my paper gently on his desk.

Professor Hetfield was seated, marking papers with his usual cool, detached demeanor. His blue eyes flickered up to meet mine for a split second before returning to the paper in front of him. I took a seat in the front row, my hands resting on my lap, trying to keep my composure. As I sat, I felt the anticipation building in my chest. Did I make a mistake? I thought to myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I had doubted myself, but in that moment, uncertainty crept in.

What if I had missed something? What if he saw something wrong in my answers, something I had overlooked? His sharp eyes could spot even the smallest mistake, and that thought gnawed at me. I watched as he methodically went through the other papers, his eyes scanning each answer with cold precision. But when he reached my paper, he paused.

My stomach clenched.

His gaze lingered on my exam, studying it with the same cold attention he always gave everything. I couldn’t read him. Did I mess up? Was there something he had spotted in my work that I hadn’t seen? His pen stopped moving for a moment, then continued with a quick, decisive motion. I felt the silence stretching between us, my pulse quickening.

Professor Hetfield finally placed the pen down, his gaze rising to meet mine. I sat up straighter, trying to read him, but his face was unreadable.

“You finished already?” His voice was the usual low, gravelly tone, but there was something different about it today—something softer, almost impressive. “You didn’t take long.”

I swallowed, trying to maintain a cool facade. “No, I didn’t,” I replied, not trusting my voice to sound steady. He must have seen something wrong, I thought. It’s too quiet.

He looked at me for a moment longer, his eyes piercing through the calm surface of my thoughts. Was he really going to say anything?

I started to second-guess myself, wondering if he was silently critiquing every little thing in my paper. The questions were challenging, after all. But no, I told myself. I nailed it.

“Impressive,” he finally said, his voice clipped. But there was something else in it—a faint admiration buried beneath his usual coolness. “You’ve done well.”

I couldn’t help the small breath that escaped my lips. Was that... a compliment?

His blue eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than usual, a quiet intensity simmering beneath the surface. “Perfect,” he added, almost as an afterthought. His gaze softened, but just barely. “Good work, Miss Y/N.”

I felt a strange warmth spread through me. I had expected more formality, more distance, but there was something about the way he said those words that felt different, more personal. I tried to keep my composure, but my heart was beating harder now.

As the class began to file out, I remained seated for a moment, my fingers lightly brushing over the edges of my papers as I adjusted them, feeling a slight tremor in my hands. I wasn’t sure if I was still processing his words or the intensity of the moment. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave, or if I wanted him to say something more—anything, really.

But he didn’t. His attention moved back to the papers on his desk, the cold, professional mask returning. But I knew what had just passed between us. The tension still hung in the air, thick and undeniable. I could almost taste it. I shifted in my seat, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against me.

The room had emptied, leaving just the two of us in this quiet space. My mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. Was he still aware of me? Even as his gaze never fully met mine again, there was something about the way he’d looked at me that made me feel as if we were still connected, even in that silence.

As I stood, I moved to adjust my backpack over my shoulder, trying to regain some normalcy. My fingers fumbled slightly as I pulled it on, my thoughts still tangled. I could feel his eyes on me once more, even though he wasn’t directly looking. It was as if he was aware of my every movement.

Just as I reached the door, I heard his voice—low, commanding, sending a jolt through me.

“You did a good job, Miss Y/N,” he said, his voice a smooth draw. “Always impeccable.”

The words struck me like a spark in the quiet room, and my breath caught. I froze for a moment, feeling the weight of his praise and the underlying intensity behind it. My cheeks flushed a deep crimson, warmth flooding my face as I quickly turned my head, trying to mask the sudden rush of heat.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer than usual, betraying the sudden rush of emotions swirling inside me.

Without another word, I stepped out into the hall, my pulse pounding in my ears. The game had changed. And as much as I tried to tell myself it was just another day, I knew deep down that something had shifted between us.

I had to admit, the thought had been nagging at me for days. Was I just another student to him? Did he really see me only as that? Or was there something more behind the way he kept glancing at me in class, his eyes lingering a fraction longer than they should have? It was maddening to think about, and I couldn’t stop the curiosity from eating away at me.

The game was fun—no doubt about it—but I needed answers.

So I decided to test it again. This time, I was going to make sure the Professor couldn’t ignore me, and if he did, then that would prove everything I needed to know.

The idea had been swirling in my head for days now, gnawing at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between him and me. He was always so composed, always so in control, but when our eyes met, there was something there. Something I couldn’t explain.

As I settled into my seat, I tried to act casual, pulling out my notebook and pretending to be absorbed in my notes, but my heart was pounding. I could feel his presence at the front of the room, but I kept my eyes trained on the page, waiting for the inevitable.

The room began to fill up as other students entered, taking their seats. He stood at the front, greeting a few students, his voice low and steady as always. But my mind was elsewhere—on him. I couldn’t help but glance up occasionally, but I didn’t want to make it too obvious.

Class began, and he fell into his usual rhythm. His voice was calm, steady, and clear, filling the room with his authoritative presence. I let my mind wander, knowing the moment I had been waiting for would come soon enough.

I noticed his eyes sweeping over the room as he began his lecture, but they didn’t land on me right away. Instead, they passed over my usual seat, scanning the rows of students. For a moment, I wondered if he’d even noticed the change, but I stayed still, pretending to pay attention to the lecture.

Minutes passed, and still, his gaze didn’t linger on me. I almost started to second-guess myself. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as I thought.

But then—

I caught a subtle shift in his movements. His eyes flicked back to the room, scanning again. They moved from one student to the next, and then—It was like a switch had been flipped. His gaze landed on me.

It wasn’t immediate. At first, I thought I imagined it, but then his eyes stayed fixed on me, no longer scanning the room in a casual manner. For a moment, I could see the slight hesitation in his expression, like he was piecing something together. His eyes narrowed slightly as if searching for the right words, trying to figure out why I wasn’t where I usually sat. I felt a thrill of excitement surge through me. He had noticed. It took him a while, but he had noticed.

I didn’t move, pretending to be absorbed in my notes, my heart racing in my chest. My breath caught, and I couldn’t help but glance up again. This time, our eyes met—his deep, piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

I saw something in them that hadn’t been there before—a flicker of recognition, of something more than just the usual professor-pupil dynamic. It was brief, but it was enough. He quickly broke the gaze, his expression stiffening as if he were trying to regain his usual composure.

But I knew. I knew he saw me now.

My mind raced, but I kept my expression neutral. I didn’t want to give away that I knew exactly what had just happened. The rest of the lecture passed in a blur, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment—the way his gaze had lingered on me, the way his eyes had found me in the back of the room.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. The students began filing out, and I stood slowly, packing my things. I kept my movements deliberate, as though I had all the time in the world, but my pulse was racing. I glanced around the room to see if anyone else noticed, but most students were too busy gathering their things and heading toward the door.

I walked out with the others, trying to keep my face neutral, but a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. As I made my way down the hall, the satisfaction of what had just happened settled over me. Professor Hetfield had noticed me—really noticed me. The way his gaze had locked onto mine, the brief hesitation in his usual calm demeanor—it was all the confirmation I needed.

I smirked to myself as I walked down the hallway, knowing that the game had changed. He had watched me, and now he knew. I had made my point.

As the students filed out, I made my way over to Professor Hammett, who was talking to a couple of people by the door. He was always easy to talk to, and today, I had the perfect excuse to strike up a conversation.

“Hey, Professor Hammett!” I said, casually walking up.

“Y/N!” he greeted, his usual easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s up? You’re looking way too cheerful for someone who just survived a lecture with Hetfield.”

I laughed, adjusting my bag. “Oh, you know, I’m just doing great in class. But I was thinking about that old horror flick I watched last night—The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I love how gritty and real it feels.”

His eyes lit up at the mention of the movie. “Ah, classic! That whole atmosphere, the suspense… It’s one of those films that gets under your skin. How about The Shining? Now that one’s pure psychological horror.”

I smiled, getting into the conversation. “For sure. It’s all about that tension, right? You don’t need to see the monster to feel the terror. It’s all in the build-up.”

He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know what? We should have a movie marathon. Old-school stuff. What do you think?”

“I’d be down for that,” I replied, enjoying the easy banter. But as we were talking, I caught the glint of familiar cold blue eyes across the hall—Professor Hetfield. He was standing with a few students, but his gaze was locked on me. I quickly turned back to Professor Hammett, but the tension in the air was undeniable.

As I continued the conversation with him, I noticed the professor step closer, his usual reserved demeanor barely concealing the sharp focus in his eyes. He greeted Kirk briefly, then turned his attention to me.

“Afternoon, Miss Y/N,” he said, his voice low and almost a little too casual. But there was something there—something in the way his eyes lingered on me just a little too long.

“Good afternoon, Professor Hetfield,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light, but inside, my heart was racing. I couldn’t help but feel the shift in the air between us. It was like the silent tension from the horror movies we’d just discussed—unspoken, but thick.

Kirk smiled and stepped back slightly. “I’ll leave you two to chat. Catch you later, Y/N.”

“See you, Professor” I said, my smile still in place, but I could feel the subtle power shift now that it was just Professor Hetfield and me. As Kirk walked off, he moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I see you’ve been talking to Kirk,” he said, his tone still polite, but there was an edge to it now. The subtle jealousy was unmistakable. I could practically feel the heat radiating off him as he gave a small nod in Kirk’s direction.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “Just talking about old horror movies, the classics.” I gave him a small, teasing smile. “What’s your take on them, Professor? Or are you too serious for something like that?”

He stared at me for a moment, then gave a tight smile. “I think I’m more interested in your take on them, Miss Y/N. You seem to have a particular passion for these films. Maybe you can give me some recommendations.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, I’ve got plenty. You’re missing out on some of the best stuff. I’ll make you a list,” I said, my voice light but purposeful. The more I pushed him, the more I saw the barely-contained frustration in his eyes. Before I could say anything more, Professor Hetfield quickly glanced away, as if pulling himself back from the moment. He cleared his throat. “Good job in class today. Your answers were... always impeccable.” His voice dropped slightly, as though he was forcing the words out.

I gave him a sly smile, my cheeks burning slightly from the attention. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll be sure to give you more to think about next time.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but feel the smirk forming on my lips. I’d pushed just the right buttons today, and I could see the jealousy simmering beneath his usually cold exterior.

As I walked out of the hallway, I could feel his eyes still on me, even though he didn’t say a word. It was like a scene from one of those horror movies we’d joked about—where the tension builds and you’re not sure when the next jump scare will come, but you know it’s coming.

I had him now. Professor Hetfield was interested, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

It had been days since I’d started playing my little games with Professor Hetfield. Each class had felt like a silent war, a dance of glances, subtle challenges, and unspoken words. I could feel his eyes on me more and more, could see the tension building every time I answered a question or made a move in his class. It was almost like a game of cat and mouse, and I was enjoying every second of it.

Today was no different. I was the last to leave the lecture hall, as usual. I liked to take my time, let everyone else rush out. There was something intoxicating about the way Professor Hetfield always seemed to watch me leave, his eyes following me as I gathered my things. And today, I was determined to make him feel something more.

I slung my bag over my shoulder slowly, savoring the quiet of the empty classroom. I had done it again—made him want more, made him chase me without him even realizing it. I thought I’d done enough to leave the class without another glance back, but today felt different.

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, I heard his voice. Low, controlled, but unmistakably commanding.

“Miss Y/N.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I turned slowly to face him. He was standing by his desk, his gaze fixed on me. There was a new intensity in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper, something darker that hadn’t been there before.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it now, a hint of something more.

I gave him a playful smile, leaning back slightly against the door. “Just thought I’d take my time, Professor. You know, savor the moment.”

His lips twitched at the corner, a small smirk playing on his face as he walked slowly toward me. “Savor the moment? Interesting choice of words.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why? Does that make you uncomfortable, Professor?” I could see the flicker of challenge in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice lowering, “but it makes me curious.”

The air between us thickened. Every step he took felt like it brought him closer to something dangerous—something that neither of us had fully acknowledged until now. I could feel the electricity crackling in the room, like we were standing on the edge of something we couldn’t control.

I took a step back, my heart racing. “I should go,” I said softly, trying to maintain control, even as the desire building between us felt undeniable.

But as I reached for the door, he moved quickly, his hand slamming against it, stopping me from leaving.

I froze, caught off guard by the force of his movement. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him, his blue eyes locking with mine. He was so close now, the heat of his body radiating against mine.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

My heart pounded in my chest. The space between us was electric, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His hand stayed on the door, his other hand slowly lifting to brush a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I could barely breathe under the weight of his gaze.

“You like playing with me, don’t you?” His voice was almost a growl now, the words wrapped in dark intent. “You like making me chase you, testing me, seeing how far I’ll go.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but I couldn’t deny the heat that rushed through me. This was the moment—the moment. “Maybe,” I whispered, my lips almost brushing against his as I spoke. “Maybe I do.”

His smirk deepened, and in that instant, he closed the distance between us. His lips crashed against mine, fierce and hungry, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore. The kiss was everything I had imagined—passionate, urgent, full of unspoken desire. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer, the heat of his body making me melt against him.

I responded in kind, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepened, and I could feel his desire growing, matching my own. The world outside the room ceased to exist. All that mattered was the tension between us—the need that had been building for days, now finally unleashed.

His hands moved to the small of my back, pushing me against the door as he kissed me deeper. I could feel his breath against my neck, his lips trailing down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. I gasped as his hand slid down, dangerously close to where I wanted him, but just as quickly, he pulled away, his eyes dark with lust.

“You’ve been playing with fire, Miss Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “And now… it’s my turn.” I think,” he said, his voice soft but filled with purpose, “that I should remind you who’s in charge here.”

I looked up at him, my chest rising and falling with every breath. My heart was racing, but I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. “I’ve been waiting for this,” I whispered.

His gaze darkened, and without another word, he pulled me toward him again, this time more forcefully, as his lips descended on mine once more. The kiss was all heat and urgency, the taste of him intoxicating as his hands roamed over my body, taking control in a way that made me feel both exhilarated and completely powerless.

I responded, parting my lips slightly, inviting him in. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against mine with a tenderness that belied the intensity of the connection between us. My body seemed to melt against him, every inch of me craving the touch I had been teasing him with for so long.

His hands found their way to my waist, pulling me closer, and for a brief moment, I thought he might push me further. But he didn’t. Instead, he gently guided me toward his desk, the action so smooth, so deliberate, I couldn’t help but follow.

He stopped just before the edge of the desk, his eyes locking onto mine. “Sit,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.

I obeyed without hesitation, sitting on the edge of the desk, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for what would come next. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

He stepped back, taking in the sight of me sitting there, the tension thick in the air. “You’ve been teasing me,” he said again, his voice softer this time, but no less intense. “But you want more, don’t ya?”

I nodded, unable to find the words. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive with need.

“You’re so needy for me, Miss Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire. “And I think you know exactly how far you’re willing to go.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but before I could respond, he was back in front of me, his lips capturing mine once again. The kiss was hungry now, desperate, like we were both starved for this connection. There was no turning back. He first unbuttoned my shirt a bit, playing with them a bit, but surprisingly he ripped my shirt leaving me with only my bra. I smirked at his action, and with confidence, I started removing my bra, slowly looking at him, with a smirk. My fingers hesitated for just a second as I reached for the straps of my bra, but I knew he was watching, and somehow, that made me move slower, more deliberately.

As I pulled the fabric down my shoulders, I felt his eyes trace the curve of my skin. I could see the shift in his posture—how his breath seemed to catch, how his chest rose and fell a little faster. His eyes never left me, and I could feel the weight of his stare like a touch, lingering on my exposed skin. When the bra finally slipped down, I couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed every inch, lingering on my breasts with such intensity that it made me feel completely exposed.

His jaw tightened, and I saw his hand flex at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to move. He didn’t look away. In fact, it was almost like he was drinking me in, like he couldn’t get enough of what he was seeing. There was hunger in his eyes—raw, powerful—and yet, there was something else too, something almost reverent, like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had.

His breath was shallow, quick, and I noticed how his body shifted, how he leaned in just slightly, drawn to me without even realizing it. I could tell he wanted to reach out, to close the distance between us, but he stayed still, rooted in place, just watching. His eyes flicked back to mine for a moment, and the heat between us seemed to grow, thick and heavy, leaving no room for anything but this moment.

I let the bra drop fully, and still, his gaze never wavered. I felt a flush spread across my skin, not from shyness, but from the raw intensity of how he was looking at me. He was hungry for me, but it wasn’t just physical. It felt deeper, like he was searching for something in me, something more than just the surface.

At that moment, I realized I wasn’t just undressing for him. I was giving him all of me, and he was taking it in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid if he blinked, it would all disappear.

“You really love teasing, don’t you, darling?” His voice was low, almost a growl, like he was savoring the words, letting them linger between us. His gaze never left mine, intense and predatory, but there was something playful in the way he spoke, as if he enjoyed watching me revel in the power of the moment.

met his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. His words hung in the air, heavy with that unmistakable edge of desire. “Yes,” I said softly, my voice breathless but confident. “I love it.” I let the words linger between us, daring him to respond, daring him to make the next move.

His eyes darkened, and the moment stretched taut between us, the space narrowing. Before I could even register the shift in his posture, his hand was on me—his touch firm, almost possessive as he reached for my breast, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin. I gasped, my body instinctively tilting toward him, but he guided me with ease, his touch a mixture of control and dominance.

“You’ve had your little games,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with intent. “Now it’s my turn to have fun.” His thumb stroked the curve of my breast, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’ve teased me enough, darling. But now…” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, his grip tightening slightly. “Now, it’s my turn to see just how much you can handle.”

His hand didn’t stop, didn’t falter. The intensity of his gaze pinned me in place, even as my breath hitched and my knees felt weak. Without a word, he guided me back until I felt the cool edge of the desk against me. His touch was deliberate, firm but not rushed, as though he wanted to savor every reaction he could draw from me.

“Lie back,” he murmured, his voice deep and commanding, the kind of tone that sent a shiver through me and left no room for hesitation. I obeyed, lowering myself onto the desk, the smooth surface pressing against my back as he loomed over me.

His hands moved down, exploring every inch of me, his fingertips brushing over my exposed skin with an unhurried precision that made me feel like I was unraveling under his touch. When he reached the hem of my skirt, his eyes flicked up to meet mine, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his tone teasing but heavy with desire. He slid the fabric higher, baring my thighs inch by inch, watching as goosebumps rose on my skin. His fingers lingered just at the edge of my panties, tracing the line where the fabric met my skin, a maddeningly light touch that made my pulse race.

“You like to tease, but look at you now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His thumb brushed over me through the thin fabric, his movements slow, deliberate. I couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped my lips, and his smirk deepened.

“Already so wet,” he said softly, almost to himself, his fingers pressing just enough to make me squirm. “Tell me, darling, was this all part of your little game? Or is this just how much you want me?”

The way he looked at me, the way his hands moved, made my mind spin. I couldn’t find the words to respond, couldn’t do anything but feel as he kept teasing me, his touch igniting every nerve in my body. He was in complete control now, and I could only hold onto the edge of the desk, letting myself get lost in the way he looked at me like I was his to claim.

His fingers toyed with the edge of my panties, his touch maddeningly light as though he was savoring how much I squirmed under him. I managed a smirk, though my breath was already unsteady.

“You’re good at this,” I murmured, the tease in my voice thin but still there. “But what about you, Professor?” My words dripped with mock innocence, daring him. “You should’ve seen the way you were looking at me earlier.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for just a moment as if I’d struck a nerve. The smirk that spread across his lips after was slow, deliberate, dangerous.

“You have no idea,” he said, the words making me shiver. “How many times I’ve dreamed of this—of having you like this, spread out, completely mine to touch, to taste…” His hand slid lower, his fingers grazing the soft fabric that clung to me. “To fuck you senseless,” he finished, his tone rough with restraint, his breath hot against my skin.

“Don’t you have rules about this?” I asked, my voice low and teasing, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Making out with your student?”

He paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze made my stomach flip, and then he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, his voice rough and full of heat.

“I’d break every rule for you, darling,” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “Every single one.”

His hands moved with purpose then, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, hooking the fabric, and pulling it down slowly. The deliberate way he did it—like he wanted me to feel every second of it—made my pulse race.

“Lift,” he said, his tone low and commanding, and I obeyed without a second thought, letting him slide them down and away. The cool air against my bare skin made me shiver, but his warm hands were already there, settling on my thighs, pushing them apart with a quiet authority that sent heat rushing through me.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, his eyes dark with intent. The way he looked at me, like I was something he’d waited too long to touch, made me tremble.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his breath warm, every touch deliberate and unhurried. I gripped the edge of the desk, barely able to breathe as he moved closer, the tension in the air thick enough to drown in.

“You teased me long enough,” he murmured against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “Now, let me take care of you the way I’ve dreamed of.”

His hands tightened on my thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The weight of his gaze alone made me feel exposed, vulnerable—but in a way that only made me crave more. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every moment, every reaction I gave him.

I tried to steady my breath, but it was impossible when every second of his tongue left me more breathless. His lips brushed over my skin, soft and teasing, but I couldn’t stop the way my body responded—how I arched toward him instinctively, needing more.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, with a hint of command. “Let me make you feel good.”

The tension in my body built with every deliberate stroke of his tongue on my clit, every soft press of his lips. I could feel my pulse racing, the heat spreading through me, getting more intense with every move he made. The way he took his time, exploring, licking, making sure I felt every inch of his attention, was driving me crazy. I couldn’t help the quiet moans that escaped my lips, each one only fueling his need to tease me further.

I could feel the pressure building, growing tighter and tighter inside me, until it was almost unbearable. His movements were steady, perfect, and it was clear he was enjoying the way I was coming undone beneath his touch. My body trembled with anticipation, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Professor… professor… I’m c-coming,” I gasped, my voice shaky as the words tumbled out before I could even stop them.

The moment I spoke, he pulled back slightly, his lips still brushing against me as he glanced up at me, his expression filled with a wicked, knowing smile.

“Call me James, babe,” he murmured, his voice rough and possessive. There was a playful edge in his tone, but underneath it was an unmistakable authority that sent another wave of heat rushing through me.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down—he kept moving with that same steady rhythm, drawing me closer to the edge again. The way he moved, the way he touched me, left me no choice but to surrender to the pleasure.

“James...” I gasped, the sound of his name falling from my lips like a plea, a release. It pushed me over the edge, and I couldn’t help but let go, the pleasure crashing through me in waves as I fell apart beneath his touch.

I could hardly catch my breath as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed away, my chest heaving with each shallow inhale. Slowly, I sat up, trying to regain some sense of control, my body still trembling slightly from the release he’d given me.

But he wasn’t done. I felt his hand gently, yet firmly, guide me back, pushing me to lay across the desk.

“Did you think I was done, Y/n?” His voice was low, confident, full of quiet authority as he loomed above me, his eyes dark with intent. “I told you... now it’s my turn to play.”

His hands moved with purpose, his fingers undoing his shirt. I watched as he pulled it off, revealing his toned chest, each muscle defined and impossibly perfect in the soft light. The sight of him, so composed yet hungry for me, stirred something deep inside.

He unzipped his trousers, the sound of the zipper sharp in the otherwise quiet room. As he stepped closer, his gaze never left mine, steady and filled with something that made my heart race even faster.

“I know you want it, babe,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this... to make you scream my name while I fuck your little pussy. I can feel it... the way you’ve been craving me, just like I’ve been craving you.”

I could feel the tension building again between us, the heat in the room growing almost unbearable. His hands moved firmly to my shoulders, guiding me back until I was lying flat across the desk, my heart racing with both anticipation and uncertainty. The shift in position made everything feel more intimate, more real, and I could feel my body instinctively surrendering to him.

His touch was possessive now, his hands gentle but unyielding, pressing me firmly against the desk. My breath hitched as he loomed over me, his presence a weight I couldn’t escape. Every movement he made was deliberate, as though he was savoring each second, each shift of power.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unmistakable edge of command. His tone was both soothing and thrilling, the way he said my name sending a rush of heat through my body. The way he used it—like he was taking control—made my pulse quicken.

It felt as though every inch of my body was attuned to him, and I couldn’t help but let go of the resistance, letting myself sink into the moment, into the connection we shared.

His hands slid gently under my ass, lifting me as he positioned himself between my legs, his presence commanding. I could feel the weight of his touch as he leaned down, his lips brushing lightly over the inside of my thighs. The kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement sending a pulse of warmth through my body.

“You’re mine now, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin, sending shivers through me. “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

He leaned in, starting moving slowly but sending shivers down my spine. Each thrust was deliberate, slow—almost too slow for the need I felt building within me. My body wanted more, needed more, but he was taking his time, letting every moment stretch out, making me ache with wanting.

I could feel him shift slightly, his hands gently gripping my hips, pulling me closer, but still, he didn’t move any faster. The anticipation was maddening, and I couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped my lips.

“Please,” I breathed, barely able to control myself. “Faster, please.”

His eyes locked onto mine as he paused, the intensity in his gaze making my heart race. There was a moment where I could feel his control slipping, but he only smiled slightly, the hint of a challenge in his eyes.

“You’re such a desperate girl, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost like a growl. There was a teasing edge to his words, but they only added to the heat building inside me. His tone, though commanding, held something more—a knowing that made me shiver in response.

The pace had quickened, and every movement he made sent waves of heat through me. His hands were gripping my hips, holding me in place as he thrust harder, faster. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, my chest rising and falling with each moment. I could feel every inch of him, the way his body moved with control and purpose, making every nerve in my body come alive.

I could feel his gaze on me, intense and dark with desire, as he continued to move with a rhythm that was both steady and relentless. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” he whispered, his hands sliding up to my ribs, his fingers curling slightly as he held me tighter, his thumb brushing over my skin.

“Yes,” I gasped, the word slipping out before I could stop it. I was already lost in the sensation, my mind spinning with the intensity of everything—his touch, his voice, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Without missing a beat, he increased the pace again, and I couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation overwhelming. His movements were smooth, confident, his body pressing me down into the desk as I gripped the edges, my fingers digging into the cool surface. Every thrust sent shockwaves through me, the intensity building until I could feel my body starting to tremble with the pressure.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear, the sound of his voice sending a shiver through me. His words were a promise, something deeper, something real. “You feel so good, Y/N.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a coherent thought. I was lost in the feeling of him, the way his body moved with mine, the way everything seemed to align as if we were both caught in the same moment, the same rhythm. The connection was undeniable, each touch, each thrust, drawing me closer to the edge.

My breaths were shallow now, the pressure building more and more. I could feel myself starting to tremble, my legs tightening around him, desperate for release. “James,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, but he heard it, responding without hesitation.

“What did you say, darling? I didn’t hear you” He said, looking at me with a smirk on his face. “Jame-” I tried to say but only a moan came. “I don't hear you babe” and he thrusted harder now and I felt dizzy for a second. “I told you I want you to scream my name, but I don’t listen nothing” “James, fuck me harder!” I cried, I don’t even know how my voice came. He looked at me with a smirk.

His hands moved down to my thighs, gripping them firmly, and he shifted, adjusting his position just enough to make the sensation even more intense. My body arched, a soft gasp escaping me as the new angle took over, the pressure building in all the right ways.

It was almost too much, but I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t pull away. I wanted this, needed this, and as the rhythm of his movements quickened again, I could feel my own body responding, chasing that overwhelming release.

" James... I'm close," I breathed, my voice shaky, barely a whisper. Every part of me was on fire, the heat inside me almost unbearable, but I couldn't stop it. I was caught between control and the overwhelming need to give in to what he was offering.

"Cum for me, Y/N, come all over my cock such a good girl you are" he whispered, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. The sound of his words sent a shiver down my spine, like a signal that it was okay to give in, to let the pressure that had been building inside me finally break free.

I finally let go. The sensation hit me all at once, a wave of heat and release that took over, making my entire body tremble. I couldn’t stop the soft, breathless moans that slipped from me, each one an echo of the intensity coursing through me.

"I need just a bit more," he whispered, his voice strained. His hands gripped my hips tighter as he pulled me closer, urging me to meet his rhythm.

The pace quickened, the sounds of his breathing growing louder. His movements became more erratic, his grip on me tightening, his face a mix of focus and something deeper.

"Y/N..." he muttered, his breath catching. His body shuddered against mine, the tension finally snapping as he released a soft exhale, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching the frantic rhythm of the moment.

For a few moments, we both stayed still, breathing heavily, connected in the quiet aftermath.

He gently guided me to sit, but I remained on the edge of the desk, my legs draped around his waist, as he stood just in front of me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, his chest pressing against mine as we both caught our breath. I could feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. We both smiled, a moment of quiet intimacy between us.

"Wow," I murmured, my voice still breathless. "That was intense."

He chuckled softly, his grip tightening slightly as if reassuring me. "I’m glad you liked it," he whispered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. A playful glint danced in his eyes, but there was also something deeper, an intensity that lingered.

I looked up at him, my fingers tracing lightly over his shirt, my lips teasing the words I could feel bubbling up inside. "What if I wanted to play again?" I said, my voice soft but daring, the words laced with challenge.

He smirked, holding me a little tighter as if pulling me further into him. "If you play with me again, there will be consequences," he said, his tone playful yet firm.

I met his gaze, leaning in just slightly, my lips brushing near his ear. "Then I’ll gladly play again," I whispered, my voice a breath against his skin.

He chuckled softly, but then his expression shifted. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, a serious edge creeping into his voice. "I forgot to mention something," he said. His hand moved to the back of my neck, his touch gentle but firm. "If I hear you talking the way you did earlier, with Professor Hammett, I’ll make you pay for it."

My heart skipped a beat at his words. I looked up at him, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Are you jealous, Professor?" I asked, my voice light, but there was a part of me that wanted to know just how he’d react.

His grip on me tightened, just enough to send a shiver through me, but his smile didn’t waver. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice rough but with a hint of warmth. "And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make you regret making me feel that way."

A playful laugh escaped me, but there was a softness in my chest, a warmth I couldn’t quite explain. Without another word, he leaned down, pressing his lips gently to mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was slow at first, a tender kiss that deepened as we both surrendered to the quiet pull between us. When we finally broke away, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths coming in unison.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispered, his voice thick with something more than just desire.

I smiled softly, running my fingers along the edge of his shirt, a quiet thrill coursing through me. "I think we both have a lot more to explore, don’t we?"

He chuckled, pulling me closer once more, his arms holding me as if to keep me from ever slipping away. "Definitely."

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica x you #metallica smut #metallica x reader #jameshetfield #jameshetfieldxreader #james hetfield one shot #james hetifeld x you #james hetfield smut

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dilfhos · 1 year ago

Text

HE’S NO DIME

TOJI FUSHIGURO X FEM!READER

inspired by [ the worst • j.aiko & basically whole ye album ]

cw;deadoves! abusive relationship, dvbc0n, alcohol, hyperfem!reader (hair done/laid, acrylics, makeup), violent threats, ass play, fingering, derogatory use of bitch, car sex, fear, baby trap, toxic toji, rough handling, toji’s really mean like borderline sadistic, toxic relationship. toji’s slightly delusional. he pulls a tool on ya (ending’s a bit rushed—wanna expand on this and dont wanna reveal tm)

+n; this turned out a wee’ whumpier than intended, trying diff things. i do not promote nor officially romanticize the acts in this fiction. if you find yourself in this situation, please try n’ exhaust every method of telling someone and leaving.

You almost didn’t register the click before the head of the barrel was pointed in your direction, trained directly in between your brows…

wc: 4.9 | MDNI.

“Don’t take it personal, but I just don’t see us…” He flicked his finger back and forth across the table. “You know.”

Under the low glow of the lights in the expansive restaurant, your face cracked but only briefly as you picked up your wine glass and looked away.

The low hum of the crowded dining room was only heard between the two of you, serving no comfort to the looming silence hung aimlessly. Fushiguro tugged awkwardly at his collar, sighing when you didn’t initially speak.

You cleared your throat after setting down your glass as you took your time to formulate a response.

“Right. So, you somehow managed to boss up because inherently you’re broke. Let's start with that. The fact that I’m actually sitting here is a miracle,” You giggled to yourself ignoring the way his lip twitched up at the corner.

If he weren’t surrounded by such a distinguished audience at the moment, you wouldn’t have gotten so far but he let you have it. You continued with a wicked upturn of your glossed lips.

“So somehow, you’ve gotten a hold of a shit ton of money. And the first thing you do is demand I ‘doll up’ for you, bring me here just to tell me I don’t mean anything to you.” He shrugged as your gaze narrowed.

“You pay your bills, Toji? Pay your debt collectors? Pay for your past exploits. You know my card is still being billed to this day! Heh, and the very first thing you want to avoid talking about is where we stand.” You jabbed a finger against the table.

“I’m tired of it. Tired of the push and pull. You’re a grown ass man! Can’t take care of yourself but want to drag me down to hell with you.”

You could go on but the more you looked at him, the more you wanted to slap the shit out of him. Your words were sharp, everything inside having been edged each time you saw him. They felt good to say but it didn’t seem like it was enough especially considering how unbothered he seemed to be across you.

“You need to stop talking now.” He deadpanned.

By now your other hand was pressed against the table, freshly manicured hands gripping into the tablecloth. It seemed your own composure was slipping to reveal more of the betrayal and resentment inside. Still, you fought through the budding sluggishness, plump lips set in a tight line as you glared back.

“Didn’t have to agree on coming if yer just gonna shit-talk me. Coulda spent my hard-earned money on a nicer bitch.” He countered.

You scoffed. “Hard-earned money my ass. You stole that shit. And like anyone would be sane enough to put up with you for as long as I have. Regardless, that’s not the point here,” You thrusted a single digit between him and yourself.

“I’m leaving and you’ll never see me again until you get your shit together.” He was silent, watching the subtle tightening of your jaw and slitted eyes.

“So you’ve clearly missed my point altogether.”

He said it so casually, igniting the fire in your gut to spread along your body. Your face burned, heat nipping at your nape and the pit of your arms as he just sat there.

Fushiguro stared back at you, not missing the twitch in your cheek with his deadpan expression. But deep down he was roused. He knew exactly what buttons to push to get a reaction out of you, make you fall apart in any sort of way because he knew exactly how it would end. You were close too, just needed a bit more of his nonchalance as you spiraled through your anger.

Your hands moved to drag down your face, only last minute remembering your makeup and opting on clipping your fingertips together in irritation.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that right.” You started moving, throwing a napkin over your barely touched meal.

Fushiguro was silent as he watched you gather your belongings. You didn’t look at him; you knew he wore that goofy expression, lips twisted up in a condescending smirk with amused eyes as you did what you’ve always done.

He only picked up his glass, eyes trailing down your body and landing on your ass as you turned off without a word, heels clacking as you maneuver around the approaching waiter toward the door. The vision of glass and the flood of richer sunlight blurred through brimming tears as you pushed through, immediately met with the subtle frost of the autumn chill.

Fushiguro watched you go and heard the distant chime of the front entrance closing behind you too. He felt alone in the middle of the restaurant surrounded by only a reminder of what he couldn’t have. He simply huffed, nudging aside his half-empty glass to go straight for the wine bottle. His other hand came up to pop open the blazer buttons, bringing forth little comfort to the heat flushing his skin.

Brazenly he choked the neck, downing the sweet taste in two, three, five gulps before slamming it down, meeting the eyes of the rich bitches to the table next to him. With a toothy grin he stood, fisting out wadded, striped bills from his pocket to throw down before eventually heading out, a wobble in his steps.

Met with the cool air, his head cocked to the side to see you at the far end of the sidewalk in front of the building, pacing with slow steps as you talked into your phone. You didn't look his way, didn’t seem to notice even as he headed in the direction of his vehicle.

Both of you knew you didn’t have a ride, being that he was the one who wanted to bring you. He chose this far-out location specifically, knowing something like this would happen. That you’d try to run from him, call up one of your childhood boys to come and try to intimidate him.

More of the sleek black SUV came into view as he unlocked the door, immediately awakening the car with a low hum from the fob. He got in and sat in silence, eyes trained on you through the mirror. You were looking towards the entrance now, probably still waiting for him to walk out. To grab you up. To apologize and offer to take you home, make it up to you just like the prince concocted preciously in your deluded mind would.

He enjoyed the anger on your features as you brought your phone back in front of your face, tapping the screen angrily before shaking your head.

Fushiguro shrugged out of his coat, flinging it behind him. He then put his car in reverse and began backing out of the parking space. You didn’t notice the hulking vehicle stalking up beside you until he rolled his window down.

“Get in.”

“Fuck off Toji,” He laughed and leaned over, engine revving in succession. “I'm so serious. Leave me alone.”

You spun in the opposite direction, waking up your phone again to call another car. Anything to get away from him.

Starting back toward the warmth of the restaurant, a sudden snarl of the car ripped through the lot, startling you. He skidded backwards and had you stumbling as he jerked the vehicle to a stop. You knew well enough that he couldn’t hit you on the sidewalk, but something deep inside told you if given the opportunity, he’d run you down with no hesitation.

Witnesses be damned, he’d skip town, leaving you behind altogether like nothing.

The car door slammed shut and Fushiguro emerged from the side growing bigger in sight until he loomed over your body. You realized he’d taken his tuxedo coat off in the car, the white button down snug over a bulging frame. His hands flexed, clenching and unclenching as he blinked narrowed eyes toward the other passerbys.

“Get in the car. Why’re you making a scene?” He muttered getting closer to you.

“I don’t want to be around you right now. I’m tired of you playing me,”

“Don’t be stupid. Just get in the car. We can talk about it,” he gripped your wrist and you attempted to jerk him off.

“Let go of me.”

“Don’t push me.” He warned.

“Or what? I’ll be replaced?” You shrugged him off again and he let you. “Woe to me. Go home Toji. I'm calling a cab.” Before you could bring your phone to your ear, he snatched it away. You couldn’t get a word out as he spun on a heel and stalked toward his car wordlessly, the sound of the door slamming following. You gaped after him, eyes flickering about the audience your interaction drew.

They whispered among each other and your cheeks burned as you followed him, cutting around to the passenger side. You flung open the door.

“Toji please give me my phone so I can call someone to get me. We don’t have to keep doing this and I’ll be gone.” Your voice remained calm as you bit back the tremble.

You almost didn’t register the click before the head of the barrel was pointed in your direction, trained directly in between your brows. Black swallowed the olive specks in his eyes, pupils seeming to pulsate under his leveled gaze.

“Get in the car baby.”

…

The ride started quiet as he turned out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Your body was pressed toward your side of the vehicle, away from him as you stared out the window.

Until your sight turned rural, the familiar scene of the apartment complexes that surrounded yours parting into spaced treelines. You snapped your head to face him, his expression unreadable as he continued driving.

“Take me home.” You glared a hole through his temple but he didn’t register your demand. Only strummed his finger against the steering wheel as he stared at the road, humming to the low faded music playing.

“I'm serious. I never want to see you again. I want you to take me home.” You shoved his arm hard, earning a faux surprised expression as he gaped at you. “Take me home now, Toji.”

“Okay, okay relax. Just sit there and be pretty, yeah?”

“Screw you.”

He laughed again, foot quickly pounding the pedal as you jerked forward, yelping as the revving grew louder in your ears. The scenery whipped through the window blowing cold air along your body.

“What are you doing!”

“We’re going home right? ‘M taking you home, we’re juss getting there faster.” He chuckled darkly, tongue laving over his scar as he glanced over at you. The way your wide, glassy eyes stared back, a hand clutching your door and the other in your lap. His eyes flickered up and down your body, eyeing the heave of your chest behind the strappy bodice of your dress as he only inched his foot lower.

“You’re gonna kill us!”

“Till death do we part.” Toji only grinned as his hand clutched the wheel, ignoring the way you gawked at him. Tears sprung fresh in your eyes as you clutched yourself, hair wild as it whipped around you through the wind. You clawed at the strands sticking to your gloss as your other moved to the handle instinctively.

“What, you gonna jump out at ninety-eight miles per hour? I’d love to see you try it sweetheart!” He roared in boisterous laughter, the taunting noise loud over the buzz of the engine, swirling aimlessly around your fuzzy mind.

“Please,” He turned again at your whimper, noticing the trembling in your chin as you bit your lip. In the passenger seat, you looked pathetic. Not at all the big bad attitude you personified publicly just an hour before as you stared at him disgusted.

Instead you’re cowering against the door, fear etched all over your face. “Stop it. I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry.”

He eased his foot up until the car came to a crawl. When he stopped, it was quiet again, save for the anklet jingling against your shaking legs and subtle breaths.

You only met his eye for a second before you flicked the lock, jumping out as you ignored the way your leg buckled onto the soft ground.

You whipped your head around, the treelines gone completely to the highway surrounded by mountains and country space. Straight ahead was a bar before the plunging drop of the hill you were standing on. Stumbling back against the door you start to circle around the car toward the road.

“What are you doing? You wanted to talk so let's talk!” You waved him off as bleary eyes scanned both directions. Toji sighed, leaving the driver side to go to the backseat. He situated himself comfortably against the new leather, relishing in the subtle fan of fresh heat coming from the vents as you frantically searched for another car. He popped the buttons of his sleeves and collar before groaning to roll the window down.

“Get in or I’ll leave you out here. I’ll throw you off the fuckin’ ledge and no one will find you. You want that?” He leaned further when you looked back, lips agape. “Then get in the damn car.”

You shivered again against the bite of the evening, now painfully aware of the darkening sky and desolate surroundings. Your arms crossed, internally regretting the bodycon you wore, feeling exposed and idiotic as you looked back and forth between the highway. A single car hadn’t passed in the moments you’d been standing there and when you peered back toward Fushiguro, you knew it was exactly what he’d been betting on.

“I just wanna go home,” you whined, lifting a sinking heel from the earth. You nearly stumbled and Fushiguro huffed at your composure.

“I'm gonna take you home. Will you get in the car? Please, woman?” His speech was slow, emphatic as he dragged it out. As if he didn’t go through the trouble putting the two of you in the very predicament.

You turned, a pout on your face as you defeatedly made your way to the other side of the car, giving another forlorn look to the road, hoping that maybe headlights would flood the asphalt. Instead you made sure to slam his backdoor behind you, hard.

He didn’t flinch. He just watched closely as you scooted the furthest you could away from him.

It was eerily quiet, your sniffles heard over the hum of the vents.

“Why do you hate me,” you eventually whimpered, head lolling against the back of the passenger headrest. Even though he turned the heat on you shivered erratically, exhaustion beating its way through your static body.

“Because it pisses me off when you spout about shit you know nothing about. You don’t know what I do. What I can do.”

Not that he didn’t hate you. Not that the very accusation was absurd given everything the two have been through; what he’d put you through. What you’d done for him and who you became to appease the insatiable hunger that was Fushiguro.

You slumped back against the door at his response as your eyes flickered to the metal on his thigh. He followed your gaze before lifting it to make a show of turning it over. You jerked your knees back as he leaned toward the front seat to shove it in the glovebox with a snicker. He sat back, closer and he slung his arm against the back of the seats.

“So,” he waved a hand toward you. “Y’gonna talk?”

“You gonna hurt me if I try?” You mumbled half-heartedly.

“I will if you push me.” His face was dark before he grinned. “Kidding, baby. I would never do anything to hurt you. I lo-” He stopped himself, clearing his throat.

“Just need to stop acting out. I do shit my way. And tha’s that. Nothin’ to it.” He ignored the downturn of your lips, obviously disatisfied.

“Then I’ll go,”

“You won’t.” He countered definitively. He inched closer watching your shrink into the door.

“I’ll run away. And you’ll never find me.”

“I’ll hunt you down b’fore you could even think of tryin’.” He leaned in.

“To-mmf!” He had your head shoved against the window, a hand against the headrest to hold his weight. The other was furled in the roots at the crown of your head as his tongue shoved past your lips, licking at your thrashing tongue. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails sinking into his nape as you subtly bucked back. But there was nowhere to go. He pulled away, eyeing your state.

The makeup he’d assume you worked so hard on was fucked up, mascara smeared beneath wet eyes, lashes clumped with fat tear drops. Your nose was puffy and if he looked closer, he could make out the bit of moisture beneath, evidence of your crying. Your lipgloss was smudged, smearing opaque brown across swollen lips above a trembling chin.

And he couldn’t find anything worth more staring at.

“Wanna be a good girl now?” He huffed, eyes training down your body when you stopped moving. The dark dress was taut against your body, snatching subtle curves and accentuating your figure. It was hiked unintentionally up your leg and he slid a wide palm over your thigh to reveal more skin. Thighs snapping closed, you whimpered as his eyes jerked to yours.

“What? Don’t wanna make it all better? ‘S all your fault y’ know.” He sneered, shrinking to his side of the backseat.

You sat up and straightened your dress, palming back the hair you knew he messed up in his handling. “I didn’t do anything Toji. You’re just insane,”

He scoffed. “You been fucking with me all night. Didn’t have to take you out at all,”

“All I asked was what we were.” Silence. He imstead snarled out his window, eyes darting around the dark scene outside before starting.

“Not gonna be the man you want me to be. Take it or leave it. I don’t care if you cry, you stay, you leave— If that’s what you really want.”

“It is.”

“Yeah?” He grinned as he finally looked at you. And really looked at you.

Beneath his scrutinized gaze you straightened the best you could, eyes narrowed. But deep down Fushiguro knew you weren’t going anywhere. He’s had nights worse than this and seemed to always know exactly what to do to bring it back.

You could spout your absence and threaten him all you wanted. Take a few days, take a month even to recuperate, he’d implore you! The more time he’d give you, the easier it was to come crawling back with some half-assed explanation as to why he needed comfort, why he needed you in his life. Your hopeless devotion was something he’d been picking at from the beginning. Since he met you, little by little he revealed more layers of how much you’d tolerate and how far he could push.

Even now, as he licked his lips, bloodshot eyes glinting beneath the light post, he saw your eyes dart away as you began to shift around uncomfortably.

“Thought so. Now c’mere. On my lap…that’s it baby,” He cooed as you begrudgingly crossed the space to situate yourself awkwardly on his legs. You kept your eyes down to his chest.

“Look at me.” When you didn’t, Fushiguro slid his hand around your head to palm your nape. You whimpered as your face was brought closer to his. “Yer gonna be good f’me now?” He cooed.

“Answer me when I speak to you. Or yer still thinkin’ of leaving, hm?” His other hand crept up your shin, traveling to slide beneath your dress and rest on your hip. When you still didn’t respond he grinned.

“Open your legs, lemme see how wet she is f’me,” You still weren’t acting fast enough for his liking, earning the handling on your knees as he roughly spread you himself. Calloused thumbs dug into the plush of your thighs as he got a sight of pussy deeply outlined by your panties, lacy material sticking to fatty wet lips.

“Drooling. Look at ’er.” You whimpered as mashed his thumb against your slit, bearing no tenderness as his eyes flickered to your expression.

“Toji-”

“Shut up.” He snapped. “I let you speak enough in the restaurant. And you didn’t wanna answer me now. So stop fuckin’ talkin or I’ll hurt you, seriously.”

“Make yerself useful and pull that fucking dress up. Matter fact—Take it off, yeah. Here,” He shoved away your sluggish hands, yanking the fabric over your head as it tussled your hair. His hands trailed up your back as he drank in your dazed expression. Your lips parted to speak.

“What. Wanna complain s’more?” Nails dug into your scalp as your head was jerked to the side, meaty fingers curled in your locks. Fushiguro’s hips bucked, knocking your legs apart again as he skillfully shoved the crotch of the lace to the side. His fingers flicked up against your clit, as he dove forward with teeth bared, attacking your neck feverishly. His canines scraped over the prominent bone of your collar before digging in.

“That…that hurts,” His grip was gradually tightening on your hair as he started stroking your weeping cunny. Even so, your hips dragged, sensitivity ever growing as you smeared your arousal along his pants. He plunged two of his fat fingers into your cunt, make your body arch into him.

You didn’t know where to put your hands, mind still hazy and you were unsure of what to do. Adrenaline and alcohol coursed through, the building of the evening's events spilling out through the eventual shy tugging of his belt.

“Please,”

“What? Daddy didn’t quite catch that.” His hand stilled, palms slickened with the juices he was drawing from you.

“Won’t say nothin’ anymore. Don’want you to be mad—Don’t want you to be rough,” you rushed, trembling hands stroking the sides of his neck.

“Shoulda thought of that before shooting your mouth off.” He took over, hands flying to tug at the leather from the loops. You lifted slightly for him to shove his pants around trunked thighs, practically drooling to see he wasn’t wearing anything beneath. His heavy cock sat against his thigh, chucky in width and long enough to split you a gape.

Under your gaze, it jumped excitingly and ignited the assault of fluttering in your tummy. His hand jerked to regain your attention, the other hand fisting his dick with a couple languid strokes.

“Should fuck your brains out and leave you here,” He leaned forward capturing your nipple in his mouth, the edge of his teeth grinding against the swollen bud. “Uhnn, th-that, Toji!”

His tongue lashed over the indents before releasing your tit with a wet smack.

“Want my dick baby?” You nodded as best you could in his grip, soreness budding in your neck from the angle as hands sooth down his chest to pop open the rest of his buttons.

“Eager now? Thought ya wanted to leave,” he chucked. You ignored him, hands sliding beneath the flaps of his open shirt. You palmed his chest, his heart beating beneath prominent pecs as your fingered grazed his nipples, making him grunt.

His hand stuck against your ass like a crisp snap as you shimmied. “Yeah, keep that ass moving.”

Your acrylics clawed at his neck as you grounded your hips, whining as you frantically tried to move and appease him. It still didn’t stop another blow before he smashed the globes of your ass together, using them to roughly thrust you along his cock, his arousing leaking from his slit.

“Fuck, look at you slut. Can’t enough of me huh,” He huffed, rutting up his hips and groaning at the friction.

He tore your panties to the side again, using the skinny strap to prop against the side of your ass.

He had arm wrapped to lift you and shove you down on his monstrous length as a sob racked through your body.

His elongated groan echoed in the steamy car with your cry as you lifted slightly, cunt spasming around his puffy tip. He shoved you back down completely before his hand struck your ass again.

Your hand slammed against the hood, the other against the window, feeling the wetness of the steam through your palm. You threw your head back, the tug in your tummy satiated through his hands, through the way his dick massaged your ridged walls, thick head bumping against the fatty hole of your cervix. His hands trailed around your sticky skin, palming your tits and allowing you to take over, thighs flexing as you rode him.

“Look so good, princess. Taking my dick, I might forgive ya,”

“I hate you,” You cried, as though to somehow ease the way his fingers pinched cruelly at your nipples. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring the image of him grinning in your face. He brushed away the spilling tears, thumb trailing sloppily over your swollen lips.

“I know,” he pressed it past them, dragging the corner of your mouth to reveal your teeth. You resisted the alarming urge to bite him until he thrusted it deeper against your tongue, choking you.

His cock snapped up, balls slapping your ass as his thick veins scrubbed your gummy walls. You couldn’t help but drool and squeal, face slack and shiny with sweat and dirty tears ran down your face, makeup utterly ruined. He pulled his thumb out before muttering, “I know, tell me again sweetheart.”

His hands slid down to pull apart the fats of your ass as his dick drilled deeper, middle finger pressed against the opening of your hole between them.

“I-” A wolfish grin split his face as you visibly shivered when he pressed deep, the pad nearly disappearing inside. He knew exactly where you liked it, what switch to turn on, where to poke and prod. It’s what had you coming back for more. Begging more more. And he’d give it to you, always, even if you had to drag it out of him.

“God, I hate you Toji…Fushiguro. Wish I never met you!” At your blubbering, his hands snaked around your waist, gathering both wrists behind you at the small of your back under a large palm. Your head fell behind you against the driver seat, back arched as he had you trapped in the new and limiting position.

Fushiguro’s hips continued to flex, cock tearing through your little cunt as you bounced on his lap. His other hand gripped at your ass cheek, pulling it away before delivering another smack.

He growled at your fucked-out composure, relishing in the arch of of body as your tits bounced in his vision. His balls tightened as more and more of your whining grew broken and more incoherent.

“Can’t—Can’t hold it! ‘m gonna cum! Gonna,” He leaned forward, restricting your movements to keep you from squirming.

“Look a’me. We’re gonna cum together, yeah?”

Your eyes glossed briefly before you tugged your arm half-heartedly. He scooted forward, thick thighs unrelenting as they thrusted upward. He didn’t miss a beat even when you began writhing on his lap, the sound of sicky pap pap paps! quickening as it filled the car.

“Wait-Wait…can’t nut in me. Toji ‘member I stopped—”

“-Shh it’s okay, I wanna start a family,” Your lips snapped shit as you froze and he grinned, continuing. “‘Mma make you a mommy how’s that sound? You want me so fucking bad, I’mma keep you forever. Surprise, baby.”

He let you wrench free from his hands this time, knowing you weren’t fit for the strength needed to crawl away from him. His heels dug into the floor and he bucked off the seat, car creaking as hands falling to your hips.

“‘M gonna fill you up. Yer gonna take my fuckin’ load bitch. Yer gonna be my little trophy wife and ‘mma stuff my seed into this pussy. ‘Nd yer gonna give me a little bastard, honey,” Spit flew around gritted teeth as nails clawed your skin, words tumbling out unfiltered.

He didn’t care to hide it at his point, you’d been provoking him all night. He wanted to let it go, wanted this night to be the closest thing to a peaceful dinner the two of you had. Through the fiery arguments budded a deeper emotion he couldn’t describe but all he knew is you had him wrapped around your finger and he had you gripped with all of his. Fushiguro didn’t want to admit it to you but his feelings were intense, an ever growing storm swirling within him as much as he tried to stuff it down, to push you away entirely.

But you had to go and run your fucking mouth.

“Stoppit, I shit…You can’t! You scratched at his hands, twisting your body away from him.

“Shut up! Fuck just…shhh baby. Ya can’t stop me.” He growled, holding you flush against his heated body as his hips stuttered. They twitched against your thighs as his cock throbbed inside your walls, hot thick cum spilling into your cunny.

You cried out, fingers yanking at his sweaty locks, cunt involuntarily twitching around his girth.

“Toji!”

Your name spilled out at the same time, muffled into the curve of your neck. Your palms pressed against his chest to push him away but he countered with precision, thick limbs wrapping around your arms as he sat back against the seat to pull you into his chest.

“Yer mine now, ‘s what ya wanted.” He grinded his hips slowly, thrusting his spilling, warm nut back into you.

It was a second layer when you stilled, defeated as your chest heaved against his in a silent sob, sticky cum leaking around your thighs. His dick jumped around inside you as he nuzzled your neck with his lips.

“Now you can’t go nowhere baby, I’ve made sure of it. We’re gonna go home now and yer gonna be good for’me right?”

DILFOS. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE MY CONTENT—CURRENT OR ARCHIVAL.

#toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x black reader #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #[ output—☆ ]#angelshubnetwork #planeto🪐#bitchcraftinc

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fabled-fiction · 2 years ago

Text

Mirror Image (Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader) ANGST

Summary: When Miguel and Jess find a new Spider to recruit, neither of them expected to find you. Someone from Miguel’s past that was long gone…just like you never expected to see his face again.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS, angst, talk of death, use od (Y/N), heavy angst

A/N: I didnt respond to the request cause it had two so I chose the one I liked most! Hope this meets expectations and breaks a few hearts 😈 (it also wouldnt lemme tag you 😭)

Request by @written-subs: “a kinda angst(?) fic where Miguel has lost his s/o right? And then he recruits a new spider and finds out its his s/o but in a universe where HE dies and they just stare at eachother in disbelief and lowkey wanna be with each other again but its not canon :(( and reader feels as if its betraying their miguel”

He would like to say that each Spider person chosen to join the spider society was a methodical, long thought out process.

That out of every thousand Spidermen, one was chosen.

But he would honestly be lying.

While there was a review process, where they evaluated a Spider’s abilities on a scale, it was honestly up to who piqued their interest first.

Like right now.

Jess and Miguel looked at the screen with interest.

The current Spider they were reviewing, was a tough one for sure. Probably one of the toughest that had been considered.

They had been a Spider for about seven years. Practically forced into the position due to the war that was going on on their Earth. You were drafted, and then chosen randomly to be genetically altered with Spider Venom in an attempt to make a super soldier.

It was very Earth-199999 esque. At first it almost made Miguel turn the page. He did not want to deal with a Spider that was from an Earth similar to that one. He could not deal with that headache.

But as the war continued, they became more cruel. Being the only successful Spider-Soldier, they wanted to run tests. Take blood, push your endurance and try to make you even more super. In their search to find out why you works, they pushed you away with their cruelty.

And that's when you truly became a Spiderperson.

“They’re tough. I think they’d be a useful asset.”

“You think they could follow orders?”

Jess stood there for a moment, looking over the files Layla was able to grab off your Earth. Everything was either classified, blacked out, or destroyed by you when you went rogue. She wasn’t sure if you would follow orders. You were soldier turned superhuman, turned vigilante. That was a story that told itself. You were a free agent - literally.

But she could feel your determination, even from dimensions away.

“I think they could.”

“We’ll go when their Earth hits o’three hundred.”

You had hit a dent in your plan.

While you had taken out three outposts, it seemed like they knew the next one you were planning on hitting. In retaliation they upped their security, and strengthened their towers to jam your signals. They had you between a rock and a hard place.

So right now, you were stuck.

Grabbing one of your monitors, you let out a guttural scream as you threw it into the wall.

It practically disintegrated into a million little pieces. The wall that it had hit had a sizable dent, with small cracks forming.

Closing out all your tabs, you sighed as you started at your screensaver. You felt your shoulders drop a little as you saw your reflection in the monitor.

Would he be proud? Or disappointed?

Before you could even reminisce, you felt the hairs on your arm stand.

Clicking a tab on the computer that turned it off completely, you quickly jumped up onto the ceiling. Pulling your mask down, you took in a deep breath as you watched the door get practically ripped off its hinges.

Two people walked in, and immediately you felt fear.

They were both Spider-Soldiers…or at least they looked like it. They didn’t have the uniform or the head gear…but instead were both in brightly colored spider themed outfits. It reminded you of when you broke off, you immediately designed your own to combat against your forced conformity.

You were mostly worried about the fact that they were successful in recreating the serum that made you.

“ The tracker says they’re here…are you sure this is their base?”

“ Look around Jess, this is obviously their base.”

Your heart stopped when you heard that voice.

And while it went against everything you’ve learned, everything that was drilled into your system, you acted on emotion. Screw the stealth tactic.

Shooting a web at the female Spider’s ankle, you yanked her up fast and hard so that she was dangling from her ankles.

“SPI-”

A quick web to the mouth shut her up.

Shooting a web at her wrists, you shot back up to tie her wrists to the ceiling as well. Hog tying her to the ceiling, you stared at her for a moment unknowingly making eye contact with her. She shook as she hung there, unsure now what to make of you.

Especially now, as your face lined up with her. You reached forward slowly, gripping onto her glasses and taking them off. She shook her head, breathing heavily as she watched you.

You moved with deadly accuracy. At first she was curious as to why her spidey-senses hadn’t alerted her to you. But as she watched you she noticed how you used your stature to your advantage. You moved like you were one with your surroundings - more so than any Spider they had recruited so far.

Were you…you weren’t even breathing!

As you descended behind the other Spider, your heart was going a mile a minute. Your own spider senses were flying off the handle, it was almost hard to concentrate.

You needed to see if it was actually him.

You were literal inches away from him when your lungs started to scream for air. You had been holding your breath for a solid few minutes. Your expanded lung capacity could only help you for so long.

The minute you had let out just the smallest bit of pressure from your chest, the Spider in front of you had whipped around.

His hand immediately went to your throat, lifting you up with ease.

With your emotions still at an all time high, you started to kick and scratch. His grip was tight, but not deadly. He was holding you to keep you in place, not to hurt you.

While still keeping you in the air, he brought you closer to his face. His head tilted as he watched you struggle, hanging onto the hand that held you tight. His senses were fighting yours. Both your frequencies screaming at eachother. He could see you flinching as well, and not at his grip.

Despite the ringing in your ears, every sense telling you to trust him you needed to see. The growing pit in your stomach felt like it was devouring every bit of energy you had and throwing out every emotion you had managed to bury in these last few years.

Reaching forward, you hand gripped the top of his mask and quickly pulled up.

As if he knew what you were doing, the minute you had a hold on his mask whatever was making him freeze pushed him into motion. He immediately threw you as far away from him as possible.

Both of you were holding the other’s mask.

And both of your hearts felt like they had stopped.

At first he couldn’t believe it. That you were standing right infront of him.

A warmth he hadn’t felt in his chest had slowly started to grow, spreading to his neck and his heart. His hands gripped themselves tightly, to keep him in place. Oh how he knew that he had to stand his ground, and cement himself in place despite the only thing he wanted to do was to run and hold you in his arms…again.

That's exactly what you wanted too. To have him hold you so so close that you were both almost one. Your heart couldn’t keep up with everything that was pumping through your veins right now.

You thought you would never see him again. It was fact to you for the longest time. You had watched him get taken from you, slowly and painfully. He was the reason for everything. For you going rogue, becoming the vigilante that you were now and painstakingly taking down the organization that forced you to be the way that you were. They took everything from you, and you had promised to take everything from them.

You had promised him…

Just like he had promised you…

He remembers holding you, feeling your body quiver in his arms after a particularly rough encounter. You weren’t built for his world but you were in it anyway.

He remembers wiping your tears away, the last thing he saw in your eyes was a yearning sadness.

And here he was again, like it was that terrible terrible day. Tears threatening to spill, a look of want filling them.

That made it worse. That you knew him in this world.

“Miguel..?” You called out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Oh how he missed that sound. The way you said his name.

It was the only thing he wanted to hear.

This had to be some cruel joke that the universe was playing on him. That the multiverse had decided would be his fate yet again.

He was stronger than this.

When you took a step towards him, he took a step back.

Suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Spider-Soldier…We’ve..Maybe we should explain on the way?”

The woman you had webbed up earlier was now standing beside you. Her hand being the anchor you needed to bring you back to reality. Reaching a hand up, you wiped away one of your tears that had fallen.

“You’re not him are you? You’re someone else entirely.”

“Yes…”

Nodding, you swallowed as you turned to the woman. Giving her glasses back to her, you stood up straighter as the waves of emotion you were feeling began to bottle up.

“Explain what exactly? I have very important matters to attend to here.”

Walking back over to the computer, you turned it back on to try and distract yourself.

You were stupid to think that even for a moment he was back. Nothing in your life had ever been given to you. So to think that he was back without some catch? That was a thought the old you would have believed.

Oh to be that naive again.

Miguel and Jess watched from behind, as you continued to clack away. The way you had just sucked it all in, and became strict in two seconds really reminded Jess of Miguel…it was almost uncanny.

Looking over at him, she frowned when he saw the look on his face. Now that you weren’t looking at him, he let out a little emotion.

The sadness in his eyes alone could weigh down multiverses.

Jess came to stand next to you, and saw the same look in his eyes that Miguel had. With a heavy heart, she put her hand over yours. It was shaking with every tape of the key, and you were sure if she hadn’t take your attention again another monitor would soon meet its fate

“I know this may be…alot right now but what we’re offering you could do some real good. You could help so many other Earths if you just hear us out.”

Stopping for a moment, you looked over at her and swallowed. You had so much to do here, for him and for yourself.

“My…Earth needs me though.”

Jess took a look over your screen. She could see that you were scrambling for an answer to an almost unsolvable problem. You were backed in a corner with now way out right now. She was sure it was the reason why there was a destroyed monitor on the other side of the room.

“It looks like you could use some time away…come back at it with fresh eyes? Plus what we’re offering could be a little release of some of that building tension?”

Looking at her, you took in a small breath before pinching the bridge of your nose. Jess would be laughing right now at how uncanny you and Miguel acted oh so similar.

You two must’ve been inseparable on this Earth.

Miguel stood there, watching with a softened gaze. He wanted to go back. Because the longer he stood there the more his resolve was crumbling.

Especially now, as you looked back at him. He felt his heart break all over again.

“What even are you…inviting me too? You’re talking about Earths and you guys are…spider people?”

Miguel sighed, as he crossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe he was dragging you back into this.

…what if this took you away from him again?

“It's complicated to explain here…why don’t we take you back to headquarters, where we can show you the whole presentation.”

Crossing your arms, you looked back at the woman and then Miguel.

You desperately wanted to just run back with him. Your heart was betraying you, because all it took was one look and it felt like you were a stupid teenager again. Hiding behind the bleachers and sharing secret looks.

It was beating in your chest at the same speed it did when he had kissed you for the first time.

He must have known you on his…Earth. Your head was just barely piecing together the fact that multiverses were real. You remember one of your fellow soldiers talking about it…as a way to distract themselves from what was happening around them.

But now you had to catch up to the idea that he knew you too…or at least a version of you.

From the look in his eye that you barely managed to catch every time he would glance at you, you could tell thing had not ended well for you.

That little voice in the back of your head, the voice you usually listened to to get you through tough times started to speak up again.

That since he had known you on his Earth…maybe just maybe you could get to know him.

Like you knew your Miguel.

Miguel found himself having the same thoughts. The same shameful thoughts that your touch would be the same. Your pillow talk could possibly be the same, The way you said his name was, so why not anything else?

Flashes of your Miguel grounded you though. That he was not yours, at least not here. You had already had your time with Miguel. And for some reason it was only that short amount of time.

You had already gotten your allotted amount of touches,

Kisses,

Caresses,

And time to just…hold one another.

“ (Y/N)...”

Looking at him, he was carefully watching you. Him saying your name in that beautifully pained voice confirmed it for you. That he had already had his time with you too.

The woman, gods you should have remembered her name he said it earlier, came to stand next to Miguel. Pressing a few buttons on her watch, suddenly a medley of light and color opened behind her.

“It really would be easier to explain if you just came with us. I promise I will bring you back if you say no, but just hear us out.”

Tossing you a wristband, you swallowed before looking back at your computer.

It was probably best that you not be here for a few hours…at least thats what you were telling yourself just to let yourself off the hook for jumping at the chance to be with him again.

Sliding it on, you watched as the woman stepped through and it was just you and Miguel standing there with the portal painting him in a beautiful array.

Holding out his hand to you, you could see how his hand shook.

You also noticed how it stopped when you took it.

“Fine…”

After you took his hand you knew your fate was sealed.

That whatever this “Spider Society” was…you would accept.

Just to be near him again.

Even though it would hurt. That it would feel like your heart was getting ripped out over and over again.

A part of you hoped that it would stop…or numb after a while. But in the back of your mind you knew it wouldn’t

But at least you would get to see his face again.

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #marvel x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader

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binah-beloved · 5 months ago

Text

Arbiters Do Not Believe in Tears

Binah x Reader Android AU Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Descriptions of small injuries and death

~ * ~

Androids do not feel. It is not an opinion, it is a fact, told constantly to everyone and anyone. Androids do not have capacity for emotions. They are here to use, to be used, to serve those who bought and own them because they can never be anything but owned. You know this. The world knows this. Everybody knows this, and those who believe otherwise are called foolish, tearing an inevitable cackling laugh from people’s throats as they slap the table, how stupid and silly, how naive! They’re words you ponder as you continue your life’s work of creating and welding and repairing, your dingy house filled with bits of metal, bobs you found tossed aside. One person’s junk is another’s treasure, although some would call you an idiot for thinking you could make something out of nothing. But nothing is never nothing. And perhaps you are an idiot, or stupid, or silly, or foolish or naive, or perhaps some combination of everything, when you pull a discarded android out under the scrapheap.

Black, gold, and porcelain, once pristine and now tarnished. The interlocked hexagons immediately mark the android as an Arbiter class, models only available to the wealthiest and most influential people. Yet this one has been thrown away and left to rot, rust decorating her elegant features, and a frown flits across your face. Someone must have been very frivolous, or perhaps very cruel, to toss aside an Arbiter android without a thought. It’s not surprising. Those types are all fat old fools, after all. Nothing to it but resources, you try to tell yourself. But your hands lay flat on the android’s shoulders and refuse to curl, taking not one bit of metal from her. The gears in your head turn, fingers tracing and examining every patch of rust and severed wire and those closed eyes, neutral and silent. “Fixable.” Your voice comes out in a whisper, carefully hefting her onto your back and hurrying away, just as the sun begins to set.

It becomes a personal project of yours, an attempt to repair a disabled Arbiter as you scrounge around for different parts to use. You’re not even sure what metal she’s made of, something high quality and cold and much, much too expensive for you to even have a chance of glimpsing, but slowly your list fills with checkmarks and new cuts join old scars on your hands from your work. Gloves cost too much, and your fingers are essentially dead in feeling anyways. The android sits on your workbench, the corpse of an effigy, and doesn’t move. In truth, you’re not expecting her to be alive. The rational part of your brain keeps repeating the facts, over and over. Clearly, she was shut down. She can’t be repaired. She will never wake up. You’re excellent at not listening to those thoughts, letting your body methodically move while you keep your mind blank apart from the spark of hope twinkling in the center. Maybe, just maybe, your skills will suffice. Maybe. There’s a twitch from her fingers, and you pause, breath dying in your chest. They move again, more this time, slowly curling and uncurling into a fist before the android’s body jolts and clicking whirs fill the room as symphonic noise. Slowly, she sits upright, and slowly, you take a few steps back, unable to keep yourself from staring as her golden earring sways. Her eyes open like a splash of midnight, and she’s staring directly back at you, voice coming out flat and cold.

“I am Arbiter model 008, designation Garion. What are your orders?” You open your mouth, then close it again, not her original owner nor another member of the elite. You could say nothing. You could simply keep your mouth shut, and she would leave as an Arbiter to find a new directive. You could turn your back and pretend like you saw nothing. But you know and she knows that there’s nowhere for her now. “…Stay a while.” And she does. She becomes a constant shadow, watching you silently from a corner in your little, decrepit house. For several days the android simply stands there, doing and saying nothing but observing your every movement. Occasionally you look up from your work, meeting her bored black gaze, and you wave. At first there’s nothing, but gradually her head tilts at your small actions and the kind smile you give her. One day, she waves back, stiff and a little awkward, but it makes you perk up nonetheless. She moves closer, more freely, beginning to explore the house when you’re bent over pieces of metal and solder, before standing directly behind you and watching you work with a flicker of interest, although she rarely answers to her designated title. Something is disconnected, unfitting, and you take to simply calling her “Dear” from the pool of sweet sincerity in your heart. You answer when she asks questions, not berating or sneering but giving her a nod and swift demonstrations and free reign to examine anything she wants. So she sits, the nameless android, and reads every book you have to offer, cold fingers tracing over one word again and again. It’s that word she holds close to her when she approaches you one day, a hint of apprehension in her eyes.

“…I would like for you to call me Binah, from now on.” She’s amazed at her audacity to request something as an android, a tool, a weapon to be used. What’s more incredible is your response, a nod and a gentle agreement that it suits her. For the first time, Binah smiles a little. Binah is never apart from you after that. Wherever you go, she goes, even if it’s simply to find more supplies or to watch the stars come out. She’s always there, a quiet, constant presence by your side. There are flashes and glints of feeling, slowly, as she begins to separate things she likes and dislikes and learn, always learning more and more with keen interest. She likes the night sky, books, the scent of tea. She despises too much noise, too many people, those who never listen. You, she finds, she likes immensely.

She never tells you this verbally, but you know when her fingers curl around yours and your hand presses against her cool cheek, eliciting a shudder as she practically melts against your touch. Some people ask if she’s yours when they see her behind you, carefully watching for any threats. You always deny it, every time. The thought of being Binah’s owner makes your stomach turn, seeing and accompanying her during her growing sentience and awareness as an individual. But she interrupts you one day when that familiar question rises again, answering with a monotonous yes and an icy glare until the person who asked runs off in a panic. You blink, turning to look at her only for cool, heavy arms to wrap around your waist, her hand over your beating, human heart. “I am yours, and you are mine. If you will have me.” Her words are firm and laced with certainty, the gentle touch of her fingers betraying her hidden, developing emotions. You stare at Binah and merely nod, and she softens briefly to bump her forehead against yours.

You were told that androids couldn’t do a lot of things. They don’t feel, don’t form attachments, don’t understand bonds or gentleness. Everything is proven wrong, to your delight. It has never felt so good to be wrong, wrong about each “fact” that tried to force its way into your head. Wrong, except for one. Androids cannot die. Not in the way that humans do. Everyone knows this. Binah knows this. You knew this. They could be shut down, or lose their directive, but Arbiters were made to survive. You had told her about death, your fingers laced with hers during your evening walk. “Humans rot underground, but I like to think that eventually we grow into flowers again. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Yes. It would be nice. Her words go unspoken.

Binah stands in the rain, wrapped in the coat you made for her after she discarded the golden hexagons to remain with you. Of course, there’s no cold to her, but you loved and she loved the fabric, the way you would tuck yourself into the front while she was still wearing it. She idly twists her rings; one, two, three; resting on her favorite on the left hand. “I am Arbiter model 008, designation Garion. What are your orders?” Her voice is as apathetic and even as the day you first met, drizzle clouding her vision and wetting her synthetic hair. You always told her it was soft and smooth, and she couldn’t help but lean against your hands whenever you pet it. “…I am Arbiter model 008, designation Garion. What are your orders?” Her fingers lace together and grip hard, the same crushing force that has killed countless people, yet treated you so gently. She always was fond of caressing your face, feeling the way your skin dipped under her careful touch. Fascinating. Wonderful. Human.

“…I am Binah, your android. Please…” Instinctively, she reaches out for your presence, trembling minutely and unable to keep the repressed waver out of her tone. “…What are your orders…?” Androids also cannot cry. Almost none of them are made with it in mind, even less so Arbiters who are made to kill and maim. But Binah feels, and wishes that she could so. “…I miss you.” The rain weeps in exchange, and a lone android sinks to her knees in the flower field where you’re buried.

#project moon #lobotomy corporation #lobotomy corp #library of ruina #binah #binah lobcorp #binah library of ruina #lor #lobcorp #lc binah #lor binah #binah x reader #library of ruina x reader #lobotomy corp x reader #the reason for this is because i wanted to #i like binah and i like androids #she misses you #and will miss you forever #wifi writes

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