#ill never be able to look at him the same again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

softspiderling · 3 months ago

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est-ce que tu m’aimes? | j.v

summary:

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

OR; Jace’s reaction truly confuses you, you settle in at Dragonstone and a surprising addition to the team makes themselves known.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader, platonic!daeron targaryen x reader

warnings: Jace being a little mean (we all know he’s capable of it)

word count: 5,6k

author’s note: yoooo pt. 2 is finally here!! i hope you love it sm!!! pls don’t forget to reblog/leave comments etc if you liked it!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I cannot believe you would let her waltz into our home like that! She’s putting all of us in danger!”

In less than two days, you were sat outside a study as a heated argument about you took place behind closed doors. It was merely a coincidence that it was within the same family.

After Jace had stormed into the council room, meeting you with open hostility, Rhaenerya had asked you to give them some privacy. You had barely left the room before Jace had started spitting ill words about you.

“She saved me, Jace!”

“What if this is some plot for her to put herself in our midst and feed information back to King’s Landing?”

“Was she not residing in Oldtown with Daeron ever since we left for Dragonstone? It is doubtful she has been let in on the plans to usurp the throne.”

Jace let out a frustrated groan and it was silent for a few moments before Rhaenyra spoke again.

“It seems to me you have a different issue with her… Is it because you have feelings for her?”

Your breath stocked in your throat, your hand stilling against the door. Jace’s behavior towards you confused you deeply. It seemed like he harbored resentment, but you weren’t sure when it had started, when you had suddenly become a traitor in his eyes, instead of a friend.

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother.”

The way Jace scoffed hurt you more than ten daggers in your back, and you pressed your lips together, refusing to let the words of a man affect you.

“I only wish to protect you.”

Swallowing thickly, your hands balled into fists and you jumped back when the door suddenly opened, a knight gesturing for you to step in.

Hesitantly, you entered the room, the tensions still high and you looked at Jace, but he refused to meet your eyes, turning his head away.

Rhaenyra on the other hand stepped up you, taking your hand in hers, cradling it gently.

“I will never be able to repay the debt,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes warm. “You saved my son, even though you weren’t obligated to do it. For that, I will offer you a place here, at Dragonstone, and a place in my council, if you wish to take it.”

“Mother!-“

Rhaenyra ignored Jace’s protest, her voice unwavering. “I believe your insight into our enemies will give us an advantage to win this war.”

“I do not wish to cause a drift between you,” you said honestly. “If Jace does not wish for me to stay-“

“It is not his place,” Rhaenyra said and Jace only scoffed. You fought the urge to glare at him, you didn’t want to antagonize him even further.

“Thank you, your Grace,” you said, lowering your head. “I would very much like to stay.”

Frankly, you wouldn’t know where to go, had Rhaenyra not offered for you to stay, you weren’t sure what expected you, would you return to King’s Landing; it surely wouldn’t go over well.

“And the seat on the council?”

You pressed your lips together. It was an honor, an offer like that, but you could tell Jace wanted you to say no with the way he was looking at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“May I think about it?”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra said, squeezing your hand. “Ser Lorent, escort the Lady to her chambers. I think the ones in the West Wing will be fitting.”

Ser Lorent bowed, before gesturing his arm out to you. “My Lady, if you please follow me.”

You bowed your head to Rhaenyra, turning to leave, but just before you stepped over the threshold of the room, you glanced back. Luke gave you a small smile, but Jace had turned his back to you again. You tried not to let it go to your head, but your mind was racing with questions after Ser Lorent had dropped you off in your chambers.

The sun was shining through the windows when you awoke the next day. You had chosen to take supper in your chambers the night before, trying to give Jace some space. There had been no maid to wake you, so it must still be early. A loud clang of swords floated up from outside and you wrapped a robe around your shoulders as you got out of the bed, glancing out the window.

It turned out that your chambers laid directly above the training grounds, where Jace and Luke were currently in the middle of training. It was nice to see Jace without a scowl on his face for a change, and you took the opportunity to look at him.

He had grown into a very fine Prince, his hair long, curling around his face, his cheekbones high. You had always known he’d grow up to be very handsome. It was hard to imagine he’s the same boy who had told you to write to him every day.

Now, he hadn’t spoken to you a single word after his agitated discussion with his mother.

“Lift your sword up higher when you are in offense, but when someone is advancing on you, make sure to defend the lower part of yourself as well.”

Luke sighed, dropping the point of his sword on the ground, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. “We have been training since the sun has risen, can we go break fast now?”

“No, you need this.”

“What am I to do with a sword when Aemond descends upon me with Vhagar? Slash at her wings?” Luke scoffed. “I’m not lacking in swordsmanship.”

You pressed yourself against the window as Jace laid a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, lending him comfort similar in a way you have done with Daeron.

“It will not happen again, Luke. I will make sure Aemond will not get the chance to get near you again.”

Jace let out a breath, his face pained, you could even see it from a distance.

“It was foolish of me to suggest we go deliver the messages,” Jace sighed. “I should’ve gone with you, you had no protection. I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“Jace…” Luke looked at his brother, his forehead creased. “It wasn’t your fault. Our uncle behaved himself with no honor.”

“I should have expected that.” Jace smiled at him wryly. “You were lucky to escape Vhagar when you did.”

“I wasn’t lucky, I had help.”

Jace let out a loud sigh, giving Luke a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Let us go break fast, then.”

“Oh so now you want to end training,” Luke nagged, resheating his sword. “Because I mentioned Lady-“

“Do not speak her name to me,” Jace snapped, stopping Luke in the middle of his sentence.

Luke only sighed at his older brother.

“Jace… None of this is her doing. You cannot-“

A knock on your door quickly made you push away from the window, your cheeks red, almost having been caught eavesdropping.

The two young women standing in front of your chambers gave you a friendly smile, their hair - already twisted in intricate fashion despite the early hour - immediately told you of their parentage.

“You must be Baela and Rhaena.”

One of them, you assumed Baela, as she was wearing riding gear and last you had heard, Rhaena had yet to claim a dragon, inclined her head in yes. You gave them a smile.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m-“

“Oh we have heard all about you.”

Rhaena gave Baela a jab in the side, glaring at her sister and even though Baela had fallen into your word, it did not seem like she had done it in chargrin, as she had a friendly look on her face.

“We were about to break fast. Her Grace asked us to extend the invitation to you,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“Thank you. Let me get dressed and I will meet you in the dining hall.”

After getting dressed and making yourself presentable, you made your way to the dining hall. Well, you tried, at least. The keep was much bigger than you had anticipated. Finally you rounded the corner, thinking you had reached the dining hall, but instead you were standing in a hallway that split into three more hallways.

“I could have sworn this was the way to the dining hall,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in confusion, when someone called your name.

“… Are you lost?”

Luke stepped out of his chambers, lingering in the doorway. He must have gotten changed after training in the pit, his doublet a little askew as he walked towards you.

“I was exploring the keep.”

Luke gave you a suspicious look, a grin growing on his face.

“How long have you been wandering around?”

“Why do you assume I wasn’t waiting for you to walk me to the dining hall?”

Luke laughed, offering you his arm, which you accepted gratefully as the two of you walked together. You found it was easy to converse with Luke, he was telling you about Arrax and how he has been faring ever since you got back, and that he wished for some more meat instead of fish. His cheeky grin reminded you a lot of Daeron when he was pulling one of his jests on his uncle. It was nice, to have something to remind you of home in a place that felt so unfamiliar.

“And here we are, at the dining hall,” Luke announced as you stepped into a completely different hallway, the large doors to the dining hall open.

“I never would have found my own way here,” you admitted and Luke laughed.

“I know.”

Judging by the sound of easy conversation coming out of the hall, you were the last to arrive. You were hesitant, unwilling to cause any tension but Luke tugged on your arm, sensing your discomfort.

“Come. You shall sit with me.”

You relented, following the young boy inside. The conversation at the table ceased as you entered, everyone bidding you a good morrow. Well, almost everyone.

“Have you slept well?” Rhaenyra asked as you sat down next to Luke. You nodded, giving her a smile.

“Yes, thank you. I am very grateful that you have offered for me to stay. And for the clothes, of course.“

Next to Rhaenyra, her lord husband Daemon only gave you a subdued smirk.

“It appears we are the ones who have to offer our thanks,” he said, his fingers circling the brim of his cup. “You acted when it was easier to do nothing. You showed true courage.”

“Please,” you said, nearly melting into your seat out of embarrassment. “I did what was right.”

You ignored how Jace visibly rolled his eyes, turning his head as he took a sip from his cup. He seemed incredibly displeased by this all.

“You should have seen her,” Luke said, nodding fervently. “She leapt from Vhagar to Arrax just above the clouds like it was a small jump over a beck.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“It was. I truly do not know what came over me in that instant.”

“Sometimes we don’t know how brave we are until the moment asks for it,” Rhaenyra said with an encouraging smile and you nodded, your cheeks red. Thankfully this scene of praising you was interrupted by the servants starting to serve food.

“You have been living most of your recent name days in Oldtown, is that right?” Baela asked curiously, leaning towards you.

“Yes, Alicent sent Daeron to Oldtown and asked me to accompany him to make the distance from home easier.”

You have always thought it cruel of Alicent to send Daeron away from his family, his siblings. But now you wondered if Daeron was better off for it.

“It was really different from King’s Landing. The grandmaesters were incredibly wise and I have learned a lot from the them,” you told her, a smile on your face. “Daeron of course always dragged his feet, but I knew he enjoyed it as well.”

“How old is Daeron now?” Luke asked, swallowing his food.

“Eight and ten,” you answered. “Not quite a man just yet, even if he believes otherwise.”

The family laughed, and even Jacaerys cracked a smile, though it seemed more unkind than the rest.

“That seems to be running on his side of the family, no?” he asked, taking a sip from his cup. His voice was so cutting, and the light mood seemed to dissipate at once. “Aegon, Aemond, none of them display characteristics of a what a real man is… I wonder if Daeron turned out any better than his usurping and kinslaying brothers, though I-“

Before Jace could continue, you slammed both of your hands on the table as you stood, the tableware clattering. The table grew quiet, the tension thick as everyone laid their eyes on you, but you paid them no mind, your focus on Jace as you glared at him, and he seemed surprised at your outburst.

“Please excuse me,” you pressed out, eyes gleaming with anger. You barely waited for Rhaenyra to excuse you as you left the table, your food still untouched on your place.

As you hasten out of the dining room, you could hear Rhaenyra raising her voice.

“-unacceptable behavior!”

“Why are you all rushing to her defense? Or Daeron’s? She’s just being sensitive!”

“I have lived with you about as long as she has with Daeron,” Rhaena argued. “Would you not come to my defense if someone spoke ill about me?”

You didn’t wait to hear Jace’s answer rushing past the Queensguard that was standing by the door. By some miracle, you easily found your way back to your chambers, the heavy door falling shut as you threw yourself on the bed, letting out a scream of frustration.

You were at a loss.

Jace seemed to use every opportunity to antagonize you, treating you like an enemy instead of a friend he had grown up with. You were no damsel in distress who couldn’t handle tough words, but it was to hard to hear them from someone you harbored feelings for.

You wished you could talk to someone about this. You wished you could talk to Daeron about this. A part of you longed for the days when you were in Oldtown, before any of this occurred.

A knock brought you out of your thoughts and you lifted your head from the cushions, frowning.

“I wish to be alone for a little longer,” you called out. It was probably a handmaiden Rhaenyra had sent to check up on you. You hoped she would respect your wishes, but the knocking didn’t cease and with a small sigh, you pulled yourself up, heading to the door.

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

“I have been told that my behavior this morning was unbefitting for a Prince,” he ground out, the words like gravel in his mouth. “I’m here to extend an apology.”

You bit back a scoff, rolling your eyes. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”

He guffawed at your words.

“If you are going to be like this, I am not sure it makes much sense for me to apologize,” Jace said haughtily and you snorted.

“If I were to believe that a single word of your apology were genuine, I would readily accept it.”

Jace only scoffed, shaking his head but not denying your accusation. His nostrils were flared and you searched for his eyes, but he refused to meet your gaze. Exhaling softly, trying to let go of your anger, you uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides.

“Why are you so angry?”

Suddenly, Jace’s eyes snapped up to yours, his lips parted in disbelief.

“My mother’s claim to the throne has been stolen by her usurper brother, my uncle! Whereas my other uncle tried to murder Luke, and you ask why I’m angry?”

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Forgive me, I should have been more clear. Let me rephrase,” you said. “Why are you angry with me?”

Jace took a step back, surprised by your question.

“You treat me like I myself have usurped the throne, Jace.”

You looked at Jace expectantly; his mouth opening, like he wanted to say something, before he closed it again, his words unspoken. Before you could demand an answer, hurried steps came down the hallway, Ser Lorent appearing, stopping next to your chambers. Jace seemed relieved at the distraction as the knight inclined his head at him.

“My Prince, the Queen has requested your presence for the council meeting.”

Jace nodded, giving you one last glance before stepping towards Ser Lorent, expecting him to leave right away, but Ser Lorent turned his eyes on you.

“You as well, my Lady.”

Jace let out a scoff and turned on his heel without waiting.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as he stalked away. You sighed, glancing at Ser Lorent but he only extended his hand in silent invitation, leaving you no choice but to go with him.

The painted table in the council room was already fully seated, save for one empty space, two seats down from Jace. Most of the council consisted of lords of various houses, who eyed you sceptically as you took your seat next to Baela.

“What is a girl like her doing at a council meeting?” The Lord sat across from you asked, clear disdain on his face. You only stared back at him, not knowing how to answer yourself, but disliking his tone towards you only for the fact that you were not a man.

“This girl,” Jace replied, and you already resigned to another slight at you, “Has saved my brother up thousand feet on the air with no training. What have you achieved for my mother, Lord Bartimos?”

Lord Bartimos only let out an aggrieved sigh as he leaned back in his seat, while you turned to Jace with a surprised look on your face. He didn’t meet your eyes. Luke on the other hand, was ducking his head to hide a grin, failing miserably.

“She can offer us insights into the plan of the usurpers,” Rhaenyra said, effectively stopping any more arguments. “I hope we can avoid any bloodshed.”

“Avoid?” Daemon asked, leaning forward with a crease in his forehead. “They blatantly attacked a messenger after you wished for some time to think about their offer.”

“Daemon is right.”

Jace’s voice was strong as he agreed with Daemon, his shoulders tight.

“This is not the time to sit back and watch their plans unfold. We have come too close to unimaginable tragedy.”

Jace’s eyes flickered to his younger brother, before he turned to look to his mother. “We need to fight back.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, seemingly to disagree with her eldest son, but a commotion outside caught everyone’s attention.

“Dragon!”

“It’s a dragon with a rider!”

Everyone at the table looked at each other, unsure of what was happening when a knight from the watch outside came storming into the room.

“Your Grace!” he called, bowing quickly. “There has been a dragon sighted with a rider, he’s headed straight for Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra’s forehead creased in concern.

“Do we know who it is?”

“No, your Grace.”

Rhaenyra stood, her strides quick as she walked outside, the rest of you were not too far behind her. Outside, the folks were rushing in, trying to get to safety from an imminent attack from the dragon.

“I will mount Moondancer,” Baela said, already turning on her heel but Rhaenyra stopped her, shaking her head.

“No. We do not know his intention yet, another dragon might provoke him into attacking.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, sight blinded by the sun for the first few moments. The dragon’s movements seemed familiar to you, and as your vision adjusted, you let out a laughter, relief coursing through you.

“That’s Tessarion!” you exlaimed, turning to Rhaenyra with a smile. “It’s Daeron!”

You broke out in a run, skirt of your dress lifted as you skidded down the stoney hill, ignoring how Jacaerys was yelling after you to wait.

Tessarion landed on the green grass, stretching her orange-blue wings, as Daeron slid off his saddle, feet on solid ground again. He oriented himself looking around, before relief took over his face when he saw you.

“Sister!”

“Daeron!”

You fell around his arms like countless times before and he held you so tightly, you were afraid he’d never let you go.

“You promised,” he whispered into your neck in a choked voice. “You promised you wouldn’t abandon me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you mumbled, squeezing Daeron. You didn’t let go of him until his hold on you lessened, knowing he needed to realize that you were, and not gone. Pushing his hair out of his face, you gave him a watery smile.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Brother.”

Rhaenyra’s voice brought you back to reality, as the both of you stood straight, Rhaenyra’s face null of emotion. Jace was furious, his eyes flitting between you and Daeron continuously, while Daemon stood behind Rhaenyra.

“Are you here to deliver a message from the false King that is your brother?”

“I am not a messenger,” Daeron said, his voiced heated. “And as I recall he’s your brother as well.”

His tone is starting to border on disrespect so you glanced over to him, your eyebrows creased. Daeron let out a small sigh.

“I hold no loyalty to my brother,” he added, his voice softer. “Nor am I here to deliver any messages.”

“Then what is your purpose of being here?”

“I’m here because she is,” Daeron answered simply, squeezing your hand. “She has been more kin to me than either Aegon or Aemond. I want to stay on Dragonstone, if you allow it. Fight alongside you.”

“Are we offering shelter for anyone who comes here now?”

Jace’s voice was directed at Rhaenyra, but Daeron narrowed his eyes at him.

“What happened to him?” he muttered to you under his breath. “I do not recall him being this miserable.”

“Daeron!” you hissed, the corners of your mouth tugging up anyways. Jace scoffed, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra.

“If you are willing to trust me, you have to trust Daeron,” you said, looking at Rhaenyra. You understood that she was wary, she and Daeron barely spent any time together, he was a stranger to her. But you hoped that her trust in you was only half as strong as your trust in Daeron. “If anything, it adds another dragon on your side.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a impressed smile, giving a small nod.

“Very well. You might stay, Daeron,” she said; behind her, Jacaerys and Daemon exchanged a look, neither of them happy about her decision. “However, I wish to speak with you, alone.”

Daeron nodded, and you squeezed his hand as you followed Rhaenyra back inside the keep, trying not to let Jace’s piercing eyes on you bother you.

“I think it odd. Seeing Rhaenyra again after all this time. My sister.”

You were sitting out in the grass, Daeron’s head in your lap as he talked. He had spent the last two hours in the council room speaking to Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure what exactly they had talked about, but when they both came out, they seemed calm, almost peaceful. You didn’t pry, knowing that Daeron would share whatever he felt comfortable with.

“Does she feel like kin to you?” you asked, knowing how distant Rhaenyra was to Alicent’s children, even when they were younger.

Daeron shrugged, ripping up a blade of grass with his hand.

“She was polite enough. She knows what advantage she has having me on her side. I cannot see us become closer,” he said. “Like us.”

Daeron peered up at you with a grin and you rolled your eyes. Something was still nagging at you, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your head until you had answers

“What happened when Aemond got back? How did you know I was here?”

Daeron’s smile dimmed a little and he looked away, his eyes focusing on the blue sky above you.

“I was already searching for you by the time Aemond returned. I could tell by the look on his face that something had happened, so he told me that he had been out in Storm’s End to secure pledges for Aegon, and that you had come with. Luke had arrived just shortly after Aemond had negotiated with Lord Borros and he got angry, starting a fight, bringing up what had happened at Driftmark.”

Your brows furrowed. You had suspected that Aemond wouldn’t tell the truth, but blaming Lucerys for his bad temper? Anything to paint you as the villain.

“Aemond said you took Luke’s side, your feelings for Jace swaying you.”

Your cheeks reddened. You hadn’t realized that your affections for Jace were so apparent that Aemond would take notice. Daeron continued, unperturbed.

“- and that was when Aemond returned to King’s Landing.”

“That’s not-“

Before you could finish, Daeron interrupted you, his eyes finding yours again.

“I know, Rhaenyra told me what truly happened.”

“But did you really believe what Aemond had told you? That I would just go with Luke because of an argument, leave you?”

Daeron shrugged with his shoulders, his eyes downcast.

“I did not want to. But what was I supposed to do? Call Aemond a liar? I don’t think that would have gone well,” he argued. “I did not have choice but to accept his truth as mine.”

“Then why did you come here if you thought me a traitor?”

Stilling, Daeron pressed his lips together.

“Helaena… She was behaving peculiar… I was sitting with her in the day room, watching Jahaerys and Jahaera play, and all she kept saying was “To save her brother, you must trust your sister” while looking between me and Jahaera,” he told you and you frowned.

To save her brother, you must trust your sister?

“What does that mean?”

“I am not quite sure,” Daeron said, shaking his head. “But I knew it must mean that Aemond was not telling the truth, that you had left because of something else.”

You bit back a smile; it amused you how Daeron did not hesitate to think of you when someone mentioned his sister, but hummed in thought, unsatisfied with his words.

“What if she did not mean me? What if she was talking about Rhaenyra?”

The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel leading up to the small cliff made the two of you paused. You both looked up just to see Jace arrive to the top, stopping at the edge of the field stiffly. Daeron propped himself up on his elbows, glancing to you, then back to Jace slowly before he got to his feet, dusting off his clothes.

“I should go to the dragon mount. See how Tessarion is faring.”

You knew exactly what he was trying to do and you shook your head quickly, pulling yourself up.

“Daeron…!” you almost shouted, but the young Prince already departed. As he passed Jace, the older gave him an almost imperceptible nod, before Daeron disappeared down the hill. You let out a small frustrated huff, your eyes flickering to Jace before you turned away again. His steps were careful as he came closer, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, not looking at him as he came to a stop next to you.

You were the first to speak.

“I am surprised you didn’t call Daeron a traitor as he passed you.”

In hindsight, you could have chosen less biting words. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jace clench his jaw.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I am not!” Jace sighed. “I did not come to argue with you.”

“Then what have you come for?”

Jace fell silent again and you shook your head in exasperation. It was hard for you to read him; he seemingly had made it a habit to guard his emotions. When Jace finally spoke again, his words surprised you.

“I always envied him.”

“What?”

“Daeron,” he clarified. “When you wrote to me that you were to be sent to Oldtown with Daeron, I was furious. I begged mother to let you come with us, but she said it would be seen as disrespectful towards Alicent. She wanted to avoid a fight.” Jace scoffed, shaking his head. “The irony does not escape me.”

He paused, his gaze on the horizon. Two dragons had made their way out of the dragon mount, flying in the sky, stretching their wings. One, you were able to recognize as Vermax, with his orange green scales. He had grown exponentially since the last time you saw him. The other dragon was unfamiliar to you, but the dragons seemed to have a bond as they flew around each other playfully. You took your eyes off of the dragons to look at Jace. He was already looking at you, his cheeks pink.

“I looked forward to your letters every day,” Jace admitted, ducking his head. “… It eased my longing, if only slightly.”

Your lips pursed into a pleased smile.

“You longed for me?” you teased.

“Did you not long for me?” he asked quite bluntly, his eyes searching yours. “Or was what you had enough for you?”

Letting out a small huff, you shook your head, knowing what he was insinuating; the same thing that Aemond had hinted at only a few days prior.

“Daeron and I are like brother and sister, I do not long for him in any way than you do for Luke.”

Jace nodded, his smile delighted. But you let out a sigh, wringing your hands.

“If you truly felt like this… Why have you treated me so horribly ever since I’ve been here? Why have you stopped replying to my letters?”

“It’s not…” Jace trailed off, pulling his face into a frown. “After we received the news of my grandsire’s passing, mother has been on edge, preparing for war. We all have. And I felt guilty, I didn’t want to be distracted by anything, and whenever one of your letters arrived, I couldn’t get my mind on anything else than sitting down to write back to you. So I just… Stopped answering. And I thought I could write to you when all of this is over, but then you were suddenly… Here.”

Jace broke off, pressing his lips together. “You were supposed to stay in Oldtown, far away from the war that is brewing. Now you quite literally launched yourself right into the middle of it all. I thought it incredulous that you would just show up and save my brother… Like in a dream.”

Your chest ached. You had not realized how worried Jace was for you.

“But you thought I was spying for information,” you reminded him.

“I didn’t really believe you would be capable of doing so… But I couldn’t let my feelings cloud my judgement. Mother counts on me, and as her heir, I have to fulfill my duties.”

Biting your lip, you nodded, your chin low. While you understood why Jace had been behaving the way he was, it still hurt to be treated that way.

“I dislike causing you anguish,” he said quietly. “Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“The way to forgiveness may not be easy,” you warned him, a small smile on your face. “I am not known for being very forgiving.”

“Then it will be so much more rewarding,” Jace quipped, smiling at you.

The both of you fell into a comfortable silence, staring out in the distance, the dragons dancing in the sky. You almost flinched when you felt Jace hesitantly reach for your hand; it was the first time he let go of the hilt of his sword since you got to Dragonstone. Swallowing nervously, you laced your fingers with his, feeling the tension bleed away from his limbs. For a while, you just stood there, hand in hand, lending each other comfort in the silence. A silence Jace soon broke.

“Do you want to go for a ride on Vermax?”

Your eyes lit up at the sudden invitation, but you held your excitement at bay, not wanting to seem too eager. Seeing Jace’s face however, it told you that you better work on masking your emotions. While the imminent war brewing in the near future scares you, you didn’t want to forego small moments of happiness, you were sure the war held plenty of misery and frustration. You would enjoy every single smile you could shed.

“I’d love to.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: before you ask, i’m not planning on writing another part! maybe a few drabbles in the future! 🫶��

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jace x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fic

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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Hello could I please request civilian!reader staring at the batboys for a long time and goes “why are you so perfect and handsome, I’m so lucky to have you and I will protect you with my tiny body and hands” 🌸

Idk whether or not this is what you wanted anon but I hope you like it at least in some way 😂

Jason can’t help but let out a full belly laugh upon hearing your declaration after having stared at him for a full hour, as he walked over to you to cup your face in his hands and rest his head against yours.

‘How sweet you of chipmunk, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind whenever I’m in trouble.’ He murmurs as his thumbs stroked your cheeks.

He found it extremely endearing and sweet that you would ever go out of your way to protect someone like him but he preferred if you were to stay at home where it was relatively safe. Jason cared way too much about you to loose you, even if the comment was made in a lighthearted way.

Gotham was far too cruel for someone like you and you both knew it, the city was bound to swallow you whole before you even made it down the street.

The other thing that stuck in Jason’s mind how you thought he was perfect and handsome, to which he would always respond with;

‘I’m far from being either of those things chipmunk, but I’ll take the compliment.’

Jason didn’t view himself as an ugly dude but nor did he think of himself as handsome either, he grew up in Crime Alley and was taken in by a billionaire, he never had times to focus on the way he looked or acted in the eyes of others. Until you of course.

To Jason, Dick was someone many would consider a handsome and perfect man while those same many often regarded him as the complete opposite under the same breath. So whenever you held his face in your hands and called him handsome or perfect with a look of utter love and adoration in your eyes, Jason can’t help but find himself slowly starting to believe that he was in fact a handsome man.

If anything Jason views himself as the one who is lucky to have someone as good and as perfect as you and he reminds you of it day and night, whether he was Jason Todd, your perfect man or Red Hood, feared vigilante of Gotham.

Dick: found it really cute that you thought you could protect him, someone who had the insane flexibility and agility of a cat, but he wasn’t one to crush your dreams and aspirations.

‘My hero has finally come to save me?’ He’d gasp dramatically as he practically falls into your arms, causing you to buckle under his weight and collapse on the bed and giggle at his theatrics.

However he wouldn’t dare let you put yourself in danger in any way shape or form for the likes of him, he refused it as this life had nothing but take and take and take from him anything and everything he held dear.

He still remembered how he felt partially responsible for Jason’s death that he tries to make up for it by being in his corner when it seemed as though everyone thought ill of him.

So Dick really doesn’t want you going and pulling the heroic card on him as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, he’d act like he could when in reality he was doing far worse then anyone could imagine. So it be better if you let him do the saving.

Now Dick was aware of his own attractiveness and appeal but when you were the one calling him perfect and handsome, he’s smiling widely and internally kicking his feet and saying silly shit like;

‘You still have a crush on me? How embarrassing for you.’ To which you respond with ‘Dick we’ve been dating for 8 months-‘

When anyone else calls Dick handsome they are pointing out an already pre established fact, but when you’re the one saying he’s handsome it has more meaning as it felt as though he was being shown something that he never knew was there before. He lived for every time you called him handsome and it wasn’t because of an ego thing, he just like you calling him handsome and would never want to live in reality where he never heard you say it ever again.

Damian;

‘I can protect us both without issue so there’s no need for that.’

He sometimes takes your word a little too literally, regardless whether you were joking or not.

He was the crime fighter out of you both, so just let him do all the fighting, he doesn’t want your eyes to be burdened with the violence and criminal activity that he was accustomed to.

Also when you called him perfect and handsome, Poor Damian didn’t know what to think as it wasn’t something he viewed himself as nor expected anyone outside of his family to either.

He could handle insults and such but soft words laced with love and care towards him was an entirely new feeling for him in general that it both scared and excited him simultaneously. Besides Damian wasn’t interested in tibial things such as being conventionally attractive or whatever troubles the average person, he never thought it of any importance when other things took presidency in his life.

However when you compliment him, Damian couldn’t help but feel as though he was a little boy again, he would feel himself stiffen for a moment before the appropriate response came to him as easy as breathing, because caring for you was as easy as breathing to Damian and he’d do anything to make sure you were safe and sound wherever you are; for without you he’d be deeply lost.

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theoldsports · 6 months ago

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SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie

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pin-k-ink · 9 days ago

Text

(STEP)BROTHER KNOWS BEST ★ MIYA OSAMU & MIYA ATSUMU

DAY THREE ➵ with a new boyfriend every week, your stepbrothers are done watching you cycle through losers. now they’re hell-bent on showing you that the only guys you need are right under your nose. but as they pull you closer, you can’t help but feel there’s more to their plan than brotherly concern.

cw ➵ stepcést, obséssive behavior, gróping, making out, nípple play, blówjob, face fućking, fingéring, squírting, hanďjob, unprotected séx, dirty talking, manhándling, double penetration (same hole), cunnilíngus, clít slápping, praise kínk

wc ➵ 11.9k

kinktober masterlist

The last rays of golden sunlight slanted through the large front windows as Atsumu strolled up to Onigiri Miya. He squinted slightly against the glare, lips quirking up at the familiar sight of his twin methodically wiping down the spotless counters. Even after all these years, Osamu's meticulous habits never changed.

Atsumu rapped his knuckles against the glass door, grinning wider when Osamu's head whipped up in surprise. With a small shake of his head, Osamu flipped the sign to 'Closed' before turning to unlock the entrance. Atsumu didn't wait for any further invitation, slipping inside with the jingle of the overhead bell.

"'Tsumu," Osamu greeted, eyes slightly narrowed as he took in his brother's expectant expression. "To what do I owe this unannounced visit?"

Rather than answering directly, Atsumu let his gaze wander around the empty restaurant in an obvious searching sweep. "Y/N's not down here?"

Osamu sighed, hanging the sanitizing rag on its designated hook. Leave it to his twin to show up unannounced clearly angling to see their stepsister whom he'd been harassing Osamu about for weeks now. Trust Atsumu's one-track mind.

"She's upstairs," he admitted, already turning to lead the way towards the back stairwell. "Probably gettin' ready for another one of her dates."

The way Osamu sneered the last word wasn't lost on Atsumu. His own jaw tensed infinitesimally before he forced his expression back to nonchalance as he followed his twin's ascending footsteps. Though he could certainly relate to Osamu's ill-disguised vexation over your active social - and romantic - calendar as of late.

The closer they drew to the apartment door, the more Atsumu could smell the telltale fruity wafts of your favorite body mist - like a tantalizing, intangible siren's call pulling him onward. His throat went a touch too dry just imagining your sweet curves all dolled up and temptingly on display yet again. Despite his best efforts over the years, Atsumu had never been able to view you as just his little sister.

Not when every flutter of your dark lashes or absent twist of your hair could zap him right back to those wet dreams that used to leave him panting and covered in sticky shame.

The apartment door swung open to reveal the hallway dimly aglow in the buttery evening light. Atsumu followed Osamu inside, senses prickling as the ambrosial sweetness of your scent surrounded him from all sides now.

"Y/N? Hey, sis, where you at?" Osamu called out in that gruff yet soothing timbre of his.

A few beats of silence followed before your familiar wind-chime voice sang out in innocent reply, "In my room, 'Samu! You can come in."

The throaty, guileless warmth of your address hung like a caress in the air. Atsumu cut Osamu a loaded look, the dimple in his twin's cheek twitching in silent acknowledgment of the mutinous direction both their thoughts had undoubtedly strayed. Twins through and through, even now...

Clearing his throat, Osamu knocked perfunctorily before cracking open your bedroom door and leading the way inside. "We've got company for ya' tonight, bab—"

His graveled words cut off in a stunned rumble. Atsumu nearly walked right into Osamu's back, frozen beside his equally stupefied twin as they both took in the vision presented.

There you were in all your effortless glory, perched in the center of your bed with those shapely legs folded beneath you in a way that should be illegal. Loose tendrils of hair spilled over one bare shoulder, tumbling halfway down the swell of your breasts where they strained against the gauzy negligee. Its delicate lace neckline plunged in a tantalizing vee between the soft, pillowy mounds in a way that had both brothers' eyes riveted.

The ethereal glow of scattered fairy lights flickered across your features as you blinked up at them with those wide, doe-like eyes framed by devastatingly thick lashes. One fingertip was trapped between guileless teeth, lips parting on what might've been a shy greeting cut off before it began.

For an endless, electrically charged moment, the only sound in the room was the thunderous pounding of three sets of hearts in sync. You glanced between your stepsiblings in bewildered contrition, clearly mistaking their stunned silence for displeasure at your state of careless undress.

"Oh! You two startled me," you breathed out in that melting honey-syrup voice, shattering the trance. One dainty hand instinctively tugged at the sheer negligee, futilely attempting to preserve your modesty - an effort that only served to emphasized your lush curves all the more.

Osamu made a strangled noise low in his throat as his eyes followed the motion helplessly. Atsumu swallowed so hard his prominent adam's apple bobbed, struggling not to burn holes through the flimsy scrap of fabric with his stare.

It was you, ever the blithe, oblivious angel, who finally eased the taut tension with an effortless giggle and widening of those luminous eyes.

"I didn't think you'd be stopping by so soon, 'Tsumu! You should've told me you were coming over..." The words drifted from your lips in a breathless lilt as you glanced up at him through a fuzzy fan of mascara-laden lashes.

Atsumu felt his throat constrict at the picture you made - barely clothed in that sheer, scandalizing negligee, limbs arranged in that boneless, artfully tousled way that always drove him quietly mad with yearning. He drank in every minute detail like a man dying of thirst, from the tantalizing swell of your breasts straining against delicate lace to those plump lips you unconsciously worried between your teeth.

"You should've told me you were coming over..." you continued in that featherlight, velvety tone that conjured images of bedsheets and moonlight and slick flesh sliding against slick flesh—

Atsumu's nails dug harshly into his palms as a strangled noise lodged in his constricted airway. He couldn't tear his gaze away, utterly transfixed as your worried lower lip slipped free in a glistening pout.

"So I could've gotten properly dressed, that is."

The teasing trail of your words dropped into loaded silence, tension thickening with each passing heartbeat. Out of his peripheral vision, Atsumu watched Osamu's prominent adam's apple work furiously as he fought for composure. They both knew damn well you hadn't meant the seemingly innocuous remark as any kind of calculated flirtation - that was just your perpetually artless, wide-eyed way.

Still, something primal and undeniably ravenous roared to life in the pit of Atsumu's abdomen at your oblique suggestion of undressing...or remaining in that diaphanous state of undress just for the two of them. His blood turned to searing lava in his veins as his starved gaze traced the delicious bow of your kiss-swollen lips once more.

Beside him, Osamu cleared his throat in a transparent attempt to wrestle back control of the situation, the gravelly rumble shockingly loud in the electrically charged bedroom.

"Nah, don't mind us, sis," he managed in a strained timbre that couldn't quite conceal the hunger simmering beneath its outwardly nonchalant delivery. "We just swung by for a quick visit before Atsumu goes outta town for a few days."

Your features melted into an adorably crestfallen pout that had Atsumu physically aching to close the distance and soothe it away with his mouth, his hands, every inch of himself.

"Aww, you're leaving?" You swung those devastatingly long, ebony lashes up at Atsumu in such an overtly innocent yet molten look that he almost whimpered aloud. "I was hoping we could all spend some time together since it's been so long!"

Osamu made a choked noise of strained agreement as your form uncoiled from the bed in one sinuous, hypnotic movement. The filmy negligee fluttered and clung like a second, teasing veil with each swish of your hips as you padded towards them.

Atsumu's gaze was immediately, helplessly riveted to the gentle swaying of your breasts with each step, the dusky outline of your pebbled nipples teleporting visible through the sheer lace. He could scarcely swallow past the sandpaper thickness clogging his airway.

"Well, I guess that'll have to wait until next time," you murmured, rolling up onto your bare tiptoes to drape those soft, addictive curves against Atsumu's front.

He instinctively froze even as every fired nerve-ending screamed to wrap himself around your pliant form like the the possessive letch he was rapidly becoming. Your clean, feminine scent - all dewy wildflowers and sweet meadow grasses and rich summer soil - swamped his senses until he felt drunk and delirious with longing.

Somehow, Atsumu managed a shaky nod of acknowledgment, unable to dislodge the gravelly words clogging his throat. Thankfully, you seemed to lapse into blissful obliviousness once more as you pulled back, all bright smiles and ingenuous cheer.

"Well! I better go finish getting ready for my date tonight," you proclaimed with a cheery lilt. "I'll come out so you both can see the full look before I head out, kay?"

Atsumu blinked slowly as your lilting declaration finally filtered through the lusty fog swamping his consciousness. A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw as the full meaning sank in - you were primping up to parade that sweet, tempting body around for some unworthy prick's consumption.

Beside him, Osamu remained rigidly still save for the vein pulsing treacherously at his temple, a sure sign of the barely leashed tension within. Atsumu darted a sidelong look at his twin, catching the fleeting, almost plaintive tightening around Osamu's eyes before it shuttered behind stony impassivity once more.

You seemed to take their loaded silence as assent, already slipping back towards the closet with an airy, "Ooh this is gonna look so cute, just you wait!"

Without conscious thought, Atsumu's hand shot out faster than a snake's strike to clamp around your delicate wrist, pulse jackrabbiting beneath his calloused fingers. The full-bodied flinch you tried and failed to smother tore through him like a serrated blade even as his hold refused to slacken.

"Wait." The single growled syllable hung in the air, pregnant with unvoiced yearning and that perilous undercurrent that you'd been so expertly ignoring for years now.

You glanced up at him with wide, impossibly lush lashes blinking in that infuriatingly artless way that sucker-punched both twins on a daily basis. "Yes?" The simple query was a breathy exhalation of warm, sweetly floral air ghosting across Atsumu's lips from scant inches away.

He swallowed hard, grip tightening fractionally as if seeking purchase in this delicate moment teetering between platonic innocence and forbidden yearnings. "This...date look," he all but growled, fighting to keep his voice measured yet strained with the effort. "Let's see whatcha got planned to wear first. Before you...get all finished up."

Your lovely features rearranged themselves into a small, winsome smile that gutted Atsumu to his core with its unvarnished charm. "You wanna preview?" you asked with mirthful surprise lacing your tone. "Well...I guess I could give my two favorite guys a sneak peek. If you insist!"

With that blithely teasing assent, you spun lightly on one heel to resume your path towards the closet, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the twin looks of heated hunger tracking your every swaying movement. A few beats of tense silence ensued, broken only by muffled rustlings and the harsh, shallow breaths both brothers fought to control.

The soft clearing of your throat finally pulled Atsumu from his lust-addled trance. "Okay," you sing-songed from somewhere within the closet's dimness, "promise not to laugh, 'k??"

Before either twin could formulate a response, you emerged with a series of coy, playful footstep tapping out a cadence that seized both men by their very roots. There you stood bathed in the candlelight's honeyed glow, coquettishly posed as if awaiting judgment from some superficial fashion panel.

Atsumu barely registered your hopeful expression as his stunned gaze drank in the scrap of flimsy fabric you wore like a taunting second skin. Satin and lace that hugged every lush, tempting curve in a way outlawed in several sovereign nations. The plunging neckline plunged criminally low, simultaneously displaying a salacious expanse of soft décolletage and emphasizing the gravity-defying swell of your breasts to dizzying effect.

A hundred lascivious scenarios blossomed behind Atsumu's glazed stare without permission. He envisioned how easy it would be to trail blazing, open-mouthed kisses down that tantalizing display of flushed cleavage, to let his seeking fingers cup and knead while staking his claim in lurid imprints of teeth and tongue.

The sharp intake of Osamu's breath beside him finally punctured Atsumu's trance, realizing all at once that his twin's blown pupils were similarly riveted to the same obscene vista of your body's hypnotic geography barely contained by scraps of scintillating fabric.

You shifted almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other, that simple adjustment making the silky material shimmer and cling even more lasciviously to trembling strips of bare thigh and the shadowed vee between. A small, bewildered pout graced your kiss-reddened lips as your glanced between the two of them uncertainly.

"You guys...don't like it?" The tiniest hurt lilt in your breathy address punctured straight through Atsumu's thundering heart. He couldn't bear that wounded look, not when you'd slipped on that salaciously sinful outfit precisely to entice and enchant the depraved bastard you were heading out to meet tonight.

The mere thought of some drunken asshole leering over and pawing your sweet curves in those scraps of indecent fabric flooded Atsumu's mouth with the acrid taste of possession and fury.

"We like it," he all but growled without thinking, voice gone low and rough with naked yearning. "We like it a little too fuckin' much if ya ask me..."

The loaded weight of Atsumu's hoarse admission seemed to detonate in the electrically charged space. Osamu sucked in a sharp inhale beside him, but remained tense and coiled like an unsprung trap.

You blinked those devastatingly innocent doe eyes, clearly missing the undercurrent thrumming through your stepbrothers' every fraught syllable and micro-movement. Your lovely features rearranged themselves into a brilliantly relieved smile that sent a visceral pang lancing through Atsumu's gut.

"I'm so glad!" you exclaimed in that melted honey voice, doe eyes sparking as you did an artless little spin.

The gauzy micro-dress swirled up in a tantalizing vortex, granting them both a molten glimpse of thighs and the lacy ribbons of your garter belt before resettling in obscene folds. You radiated the picture of youthful obliviousness - here was a stunning, sweetly curved delicacy utterly ignorant of her own potent allure.

It was enough to drive twin red-blooded males slowly insane with starvation-edged hunger.

Osamu cleared his throat with a gravelly rumble, somehow locating words through sheer force of will. "Uh...babygirl? Ya' really think that's such a good idea? Wearin' somethin' like..." he trailed off with a vague gesture that encompassed your scantily-clad form, "...that out in public tonight?"

You canted your head in that precious way, lower lip jutting out in a tiny pout. "What d'you mean? It's not that bad, right? Ken said he loves when I dress up all pretty like this!"

The unspoken implication that "Ken" was looking forward to peeling you out of those shreds of shimmering sin sent a pulse of molten rage roaring through Atsumu's veins. He instinctively stepped closer, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides to restrain the overwhelming urge to gather you up and spirit you away where no other sets of eyes could devour your sweetly curved sway.

"Yeah, well Ken sounds like a fuckin' asshole who can't be trusted," he bit out through gritted teeth. He refused to watch placidly as another in your string of disappointing bathroom-door-boyfriends used and discarded you after getting his greedy fill.

As if reading his turbulent thoughts, Osamu sidled up with liquid grace to flank your other side, effectively boxing you in with their larger bodies. "Baby, I know ya' like to look nice for the loser flavor of the week," he rumbled in that low timbre Atsumu knew burrowed straight between your thighs. "But dontcha think this is goin' a lil' too far? We're just lookin' out for ya' here..."

You rolled those sinfully lush eyes with the ghost of a smirk, not even seeming to register how the two of them were subtly coiled like restraints. "You guys don't have to worry about me sooo much! I can totally handle myself on a little date night," you chided with playful lightness. "Ken knows I don't put out on the first few dates. That's for sure!"

The petite emphasis on the last phrase shattered Atsumu's carefully maintained control. He surged forward with a savage snarl ripping up from his chest before Osamu could even blink, relentless palms slamming into the doorframe on either side of your head. Your startled gasp filled his senses like ambrosia, lips parting enticingly mere inches away.

"How many other assholes you plannin' on stringin' along for 'a few dates,' huh baby?" he growled, glaring down into those crystalline pools of bewildered innocence. Atsumu lowered his gaze meaningfully to the taut stretch of deep plum lace barely preserving your decency, watching in sadistic satisfaction as the delicate tip of your throat bobbed convulsively.

"I saw the panty drawer you keep tuckin' away all those crappy leftovers from your other shitty boyfriends - thongs, garters, fuckin' CROTCHLESS shit..." Atsumu bit off each crude word with relish, drinking in the delicious spill of carmine flooding those angelic cheeks.

"'Tsumu..." Osamu's warning rasp barely registered over the pounding rush of blood in Atsumu's ears.

He leaned in fractionally closer, letting his lower abdomen just graze yours with featherlight suggestion. Your eyes blew wider than saucers, lips trembling on a residual gasp that could have been either dismay or want. Atsumu couldn't tell which and found he didn't fucking care - his whole world had narrowed to the tantalizing flare of your nostrils and the pulse visibly thundering beneath your swan's throat.

"Get it through your sweet lil' head," he rumbled in that graveled bedroom purr he knew stopped your breath. "Ain't no man on this green earth gonna be tastin' and touchin' you the way 'Samu and I have dreamed of for years now, princess..."

The heavy silence that blanketed the room was near suffocating in its density. Osamu could taste the ripe undercurrents of yearning and forbidden hunger on his tongue like a fleeting phantasm. His gaze remained locked onto you - the living, breathing embodiment of sweet temptation barely contained in that scrap of indecent satin.

He drank in every minute detail with meticulous precision honed over years of coveting you from afar. The delicate bow of your lips, slightly parted around shallow pants that made your chest swell enticingly with each inhale. The feathery wisps of hair escaping your tousled updo to trail across one flushed cheek. Each and every curve clung to by gossamer fabric that somehow only amplified the raw allure and natural sensuality you exuded without even trying.

A muscle ticked in Osamu's rigid jaw as Atsumu shifted infinitesimally closer behind you, radiating smoldering covetousness. His palms drifted up from their perch at your waist, flexing possessively against the soft give of your ribcage in a way that made Osamu's chest constrict.

You shivered bodily at the undisguised intimacy of the caress, plump lower lip getting worried fetchingly between your teeth. Osamu's focus immediately zeroed in on the subconscious invitation of the act, recalling with perfect clarity the myriad times he'd lain awake fantasizing about capturing that lush pout between his own and tasting your quiet need for himself...

Atsumu's smug rumble shattered the ripe moment as he leaned in to nuzzle that sharp jaw against the elegant arch of your throat. The sheer sin of the gesture - of so blatantly scenting and marking his claim upon you - caused a visceral flare of heated possession to spike through Osamu's veins.

"Keep tellin' yourself this latest loser-in-a-long-line is somethin' special if ya' want, babygirl," Atsumu growled in that low rasp that Osamu knew curled straight between your thighs with blistering accuracy. "But I got a thousand yen says that dickhead's already picturin' his bare dick rubbin' between these sweet tits while you're all dolled up for him..."

Twin roses of feverish color blossomed across your cheekbones at the vulgar words, one of Atsumu's broad palms cupping your breast in a leisurely caress - as if its weight and fullness belonged cradled against his calloused fingers. You trembled like a newborn faun from the blatant possession.

But even as Osamu's gaze drank in the ripe exhibition of Atsumu's crude veneration, a new resolve steeled behind his ribs. He couldn't allow his twin to monopolize your focus and reactions, couldn't bear the thought of you slipping any further under Atsumu's spell when his stake was equally branded into your mind...

Silently tracking the agitated rise and fall of Atsumu's throat, Osamu considered his next calculated gambit. You were far too precious to squander any longer on these disastrous dalliances that devastated your tender heart over and over and over again. Far too magnificent to allow some unworthy cretin's hands to sully or possess even a moment of your sweet attentions.

Which left only one inexorable conclusion: he and Atsumu would simply have to thoroughly convince you of that themselves - mind, body, and soul. No further delays, no more playing the part of passively smitten observers. Tonight was the breaking point where they finally claimed you for their own with no more false platitudes.

No matter what it took, you would abandon that foolish date and all the cheap facsimiles that had only feebly approximated Osamu and Atsumu's all-consuming desire all these long, torturous years. Once and for all, you would be thoroughly disabused of any remaining delusions.

The full scope of Osamu's resolve must have filtered through his body language, because a frisson of unease abruptly rippled across your features even as rapture still hooded your gaze. Those mercurial eyes flashed up to meet his own burning stare of sin-edged promise as your fingers crept up to self-consciously toy with the neckline of your lurid dress.

"'Samu...?" The tiny querulous quaver in your voice made Osamu's throat constrict painfully. You looked so unbearably sweet and demure yet wanton all at once - the perfect heady blend that had driven both him and his twin to the brink more times than either could count.

Unable to restrain himself a moment more, Osamu surged forward with liquid grace. He cupped the soft plenitude of your cheek with a calloused palm, thumb caressing the anxious flutter of your pulsepoint as your guileless gaze bored into his. So much naked, vulnerable trust in those luminous depths despite the forbidden territory they now roamed...

"Shh, babygirl," Osamu managed to rasp past the scorching knot in his throat. His silvery eyes roved over your features with ravenous precision before letting his stare trail down to more southerly territory. "I know ya' think you've moved on from needin' either of us in that way. But that's alright..."

Osamu allowed his roaming hand to dip lower, fingertips skimming the sumptuous curve of your breast in a feather-light tease that had your eyes fluttering shut. A tremor shuddered through your slight form, causing the gossamer fabric of your dress to rub against your nipples in excruciating friction. The resulting punched-out whimper made Osamu's cock throb insistently, already aching to hear you keen for them as no other.

"We sure as hell haven't moved on from wantin' ya'," he growled against the velvety galaxy of your cheek as Atsumu groaned his concurrence from behind.

Osamu's confession felt like it detonated in the space between your bodies, the raw timbre of his words detonating against your heated skin in visceral waves. You instinctively shivered at the undisguised yearning scorching across that graveled declaration. It seemed to caress every sensitized nerve-ending, stoking insistent tendrils of answering need low in your belly.

Before you could even think to muster a stuttered reply, Atsumu rumbled his own heady agreement in that sandpaper baritone that never failed to splinter your composure. The reverberations shuddered against the ultra-sensitive strip of skin along the nape of your neck where his lips damn near grazed in a searing tease. You could feel the whisper-soft rasp of his exhalation feathering across your flushed epidermis with each panted breath, raising chill after delicious chill.

A violent tremor wracked your form at the dual overload of their overwhelming presences entirely bracketing you in from both sides. The indisputable proof of their smoldering desire felt like a physical force, utterly inescapable even if you'd possessed the will to flee this rapidly thickening miasma of temptation.

Dimly, you registered Osamu's rough palms cupping your jaw in an achingly tender yet inexorably possessive hold. His pewter gaze remained locked onto your features with an inscrutable, raptor-like intensity - as if meticulously cataloging every minute shift of emotion flickering across them. As if committing the exquisite artistry of your discomposure to permanent memory.

You felt incredibly small yet...cherished in that breathless moment between your stepbrothers. Despite the tangible undercurrent of primal want you could all but taste pulsing and crackling in the heated air, their combined physicality and nearness still enveloped you in a discordant sense of utter safety too. As if you remained untouchable - a revered treasure to be exalted or surrendered to reverent hands alone, with no other outcome even remotely permissible.

Osamu's piercing stare lasered downward, meticulously tracking every miniscule part and quiver of your lips. You couldn't be sure through the lusty haze fuzzying your senses, but you were fairly certain his pupils expanded fractionally as your pink tongue instinctively flicked out to wet them. His prominent adam's apple bobbed convulsively, the clenched ridges of his jaw shifting beneath his tawny skin as you watched him visibly struggle to restrain himself.

The tip of his calloused thumb stroked one maddening circle against your tingling skin before unexpectedly drifting lower to trace the plump curve of your lower lip in a molten caress. Your breath strangled in your constricted throat at the unmistakable claiming possession of the action. Osamu's quicksilver stare remained riveted to your parted mouth, utterly transfixed as he unhurriedly mapped its trembling shape and glistening give.

For several agonizing heartbeats, the only sounds permeating the heavy quiet were your shared, harshly indrawn breaths intermingling in the charged space between. You longed and dreaded in equal measure for Osamu to finally break the suspense, certain whichever filthy confessions he finally unleashed would undoubtedly scorch like a brand.

At last, his deep timbre sliced through the ripe tension in a ragged, gravel-rough rasp. "Y'know, baby...there were so many nights after leavin' your bed where I had to slip away and take matters into my own hands. Just to stay sane after bein' surrounded by you—sweet, soft, and so fuckin' unconsciously tempting..."

Osamu's eyelids practically drifted shut, pewter irises disappearing behind a smoky veil as he indulged in whatever vivid reminiscences your nearness summoned. You felt the trembling beginnings of a delicious shudder start outward from your solar plexus at his blatant implication. The blunt rasp of his voice caressed every tingling nerve like a brand, making your lungs constrict with effort.

"Had to lock myself away..." he continued in that sandpaper timbre that burrowed straight to your molten core. "'Til I could come with your name on my lips and pretend for just a second that it was you and not my own fist wrapped around my cock, milkin' me dry."

A desperate whimper very nearly shredded free of your parted, panting lips as a fresh blaze of slick heat roared between your clenching thighs. You shamelessly canted your pelvis against the merciless wall of Atsumu's front in a useless bid for friction, for release, for...something.

Osamu's rugged features etched themselves into a semblance of a pained smirk at your helpless reaction, sensing your imminent unraveling with predatory precision. It only made his stare rake across your features with that much more unhurried, heated savoring.

"Or sometimes..." he ground out after a beat, voice rough yet unraveling into something lower and thicker with carnal recollection. "Sometimes I'd picture you still curled up against me in that sweet little nighty of yours, so warm an' soft..."

That shudder broke free in full force then, rendering your entire form trembling like a leave in a gale. Osamu allowed the calloused pad of his thumb to resume tracing the shape of your parted lips almost absently as he descended into this shadowed reverie.

"Could damn near feel how it'd be..." he rasped, pewter gaze molten and unblinking as it continued devouring every twitching nuance of your rapt features. "...to have you close enough to breathe in deep while I got myself off to the thought of sinkin' into that perfect, tight little—"

"Osamu." Atsumu's single bitten utterance from behind you landed like a thunderclap in the scorching quiet. His deep baritone carried unmistakable notes of reproval...and yet undeniable want too. As if he were berating Osamu for succumbing to such feral depravity yet still savoring every lurid syllable regardless.

The brusque sound of your stepbrother's voice jolted through you like an electric shock after the thick,molasses-paced obscenities dripping from Osamu's lips. You blinked hazily, only then realizing you had devolved to shamelessly writhing against the scorching planes of Atsumu's unforgiving front in wordless, wanton entreaty.

Osamu seemed to relish both your and his twin's reactions in equal measure. His lips curved into a practiced smirk - part self-deprecation, part primal male arrogance at reducing you to such a dissolute state. That piercing pewter stare stayed locked onto your dazed features as he ran the very tip of one callused digit around the gasping, swollen shape of your mouth.

"Better be careful there, baby sis," he gritted out in a gravelly tone that somehow sounded unhurried yet rougher around the edges,as if spiraling towards that precarious edge of control. "Y'keep temptin' us with those pretty lips of yours much longer and one of us is like to finally snap and fu—"

"Enough." Atsumu's low command cut through the thick, desire-hazed miasma shrouding the room like a knife. The razor-edged utterance had an immediate sobering effect, seeming to splinter the fevered tension into something darker yet no less molten.

You turned your bemused stare up towards him, following the simmering weight of his glowering regard as he leveled it towards Osamu. Atsumu's expressive features had taken on an almost feral set - upper lip curled into the slightest of snarls, russet eyes blazing from beneath lowered brows, the sharp ridges of his jaw clenched until they strained against the tawny skin.

Osamu met his twin's look of mute challenge head-on, lips twisting into a semblance of a sneer. "Got a problem, 'Tsumu?" he drawled in a deceptively nonchalant rasp laced with undisguised provocation.

You couldn't help the instinctive tremor that skated down your spine at the sheer predatory undercurrent suddenly charging the air between them. It was almost as if some unspoken gauntlet had been thrown - two apex predators silently squaring off to determine pack hierarchy in your presence.

The thought should have been unsettling instead of sending fresh tendrils of yearning licking through your veins. But you found yourself utterly transfixed, pinned between their uncompromising physicality and slowly circling intensity.

Atsumu's palm settled over your lower abdomen once more in a scorching, proprietary caress, his solid heat all but searing against your back through the thin layers between you. "Think I got a pretty big problem with you talking to our girl like that, runnin' that filthy mouth of yours," he practically purred in that honeyed rasp yet underscored by sharpened steel.

His grip tightened imperceptibly, forcing you to crane your neck and meet the blazing molten regard he turned on you next. For a suspended moment, the whole world seemed to narrow to the three of you coiled in shared tension and intoxicating promise.

"Don't listen to him, pretty thing," Atsumu breathed against the fragile shell of your ear, words whiskey-rough yet somehow dripping with honeyed persuasion too. "Ain't nobody gonna touch you but me and 'Samu from now on, you hear? Say it and I'll prove just how good we aim to treat our sweet girl..."

A shuddery exhalation stuttered from your parted lips before you could stop it - an exquisite combination of delirious anticipation and dawning unease. Despite the electric promise and undisguised possession dripping from his every word, you still couldn't shake the feeling of teetering on a precipice overlooking unknown depths.

Which was likely why Osamu chose that highly-charged moment to snake one broad palm around the elegant curve of your hip, anchoring you to him with blatant ownership and disrupting his twin's attempt at dominance.

"Don't go pullin' that syrupy sweet-talkin' bullshit on our girl," Osamu cut in with a rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate straight through your intertwined forms. "She knows damn well I've had first claim on that pretty mouth for years, don't you babydoll?"

His quicksilver stare pinned you with laser-focused intensity despite directing his sneering challenge towards Atsumu. You instinctively shivered at the knowledge of what searing, heart-stoppingly explicit confessions were poised to tumble from those chiseled lips once more.

"In fact," Osamu drawled in that hoarse, midnight timbre that snagged like barbs in your soul, "I seem to recall tellin' you every lil' fantasy I used to have about slippin' this fat di—"

Atsumu's snarling interruption shattered the baiting quiet before Osamu could unleash the full depraved scope of where his thoughts strayed. "Like I told ya' to shut that lying mouth before, asshole!"

His prominent adam's apple bobbed convulsively as he visibly fought for control, taut forearms tensing where they encircled you from behind. You felt utterly caught between them, riding the cresting tempest of their volatile struggle for dominance.

The only sounds were the harsh, intermingled rasp of three sets of harsh breaths for numerous charged moments. Then Atsumu shifted behind you, radiating menace and possession as he pressed a series of searing, bruising kisses along the fragile arch of your throat in stark counterpoint to his next vicious whisper.

"Bet that pretty brain of yours never even imagined the kinda racy fuckin' dreams you started hauntin' my sleep with, huh babygirl? Me picturin' every lush inch of you spread out an' beggin' while I finally got to bury this cock so deep inside—"

The filthy, blunt confession dangled unfinished in the simmering ether between you like a taunting lure. Atsumu pulled back far enough to pin you under the crucible of his searing, animalistic stare - all mottled color high on his chiseled cheekbones and wild, blazing hunger crackling behind rusted amber irises.

You remained utterly suspended between them, trembling full-bodied from the force of his carnal words yet rooted in place by Osamu's defiant, unbreakable tether at your hip. Their dynamic gravitated between bitter rivalry and seamless tandem in a way that rendered you thoroughly disoriented.

Then Atsumu seized your nape in a shockingly authoritative grip, wrenching your mouth up to fiercely clash with his in a punishing, rapacious kiss filled with teeth and tangling desperation. You moaned into the blistering possession unbidden, overcome with dizzying sensation and relief at finally sating this long-simmered craving for his claiming mastery.

Just as quickly, the rough ecstasy was torn away as Osamu snarled and wrenched you bodily in the opposite direction to crush his lips against yours in an equally all-consuming brand of furious passion.

You gasped into the blazing tangle of their frenzied kiss and groping hands as if drowning, only to be dragged up for desperate air once more by the demanding slant of Atsumu's mouth. His broad palms branded searing trails down the shivery planes of your back and lower, clenching handfuls of yielding flesh in a way that made you whimper against his lips.

"A-Atsumu..." you managed to stutter dazedly when he finally allowed a scant exhale. "Osamu, I...I can't—"

The rest of your plaintive entreaty shattered into silence as Osamu seized you by the hips, spinning you in one sinuous motion to crash against his solid wall of heat. You barely registered the low, guttural rumble that shuddered through his sculpted chest before he was devouring the gasping shape of your lips with reinvigorated fervor.

Your hands scrabbled across the flexing hardscape of his back, desperately trying to anchor yourself in the midst of their warring, rapacious possession. This only seemed to inflame Osamu's intensity as his calloused palms roamed lower in blatant defiance, cupping and squeezing with fiery possession until you keened into his demanding kiss.

"You hear that, 'Tsumu?" he panted against your swollen mouth in a gore-edged rasp. "She wants us both so goddamn bad, don't even try to pretend otherwise..."

His next words devolved into a filthy growl as Atsumu's brutally possessive grip abruptly wrenched you backwards once more, leaving you floundering in their lust-drunken vortex. Before you could even gasp his name in feverish entreaty, Atsumu's mouth slanted over yours in another thorough plundering.

You could only keen his name in wanton surrender, hands fisting in the soft strands at his nape as you gave yourself over to his merciless onslaught. Atsumu growled in primal victory, his clever tongue delving to taste every salacious inch as if branding you, ensuring you never again forgot whose mastery you belonged to.

Osamu rumbled a provocative scoff at this display, clearly relishing in igniting his twin's carnal possessiveness. The maddening temptation of his warm, sinewy form crowded against your back, reminders of his own dominion in the form of slow, smoldering caresses along your waist and lower.

When Atsumu at last tore his mouth from yours, you could barely draw coherent breath. Gazing up at his leonine features awash in a haze of lusty triumph, you finally found the threads of your voice.

"Please..." you breathed in trembling entreaty. "I don't want to choose between you. I need...I need you both so bad, can't you see that?"

The naked nakedness of your confession seemed to strike them both like physical blows. For a suspended moment, the only sounds were your shared, harsh respirations intermingling in the charged air. Then...the subtlest nod of mutual, silent understanding passed between the twins over your shoulders.

You registered the taut lines of Atsumu's body relaxing fractionally as Osamu pressed a series of lingering, ardent kisses along the fragile arch of your throat and jaw in a searing trail. When you craned your neck instinctively to allow him greater access, you caught a glimpse of their shared look of simmering revelation.

"Think we're finally seein' it too, babygirl," Atsumu rumbled in a tone gone lower and thicker with dawning wonder. You shivered at the gravelly timbre that never failed to lick molten trails straight between your thighs. "You were always meant to be ours...for both of us to treasure and ruin in the way only we can."

Osamu's deep, gravelly hum of agreement seemed to reverberate through your very core where you were pressed flush against the solid wall of his chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back, the scorching brand of his large, calloused hands as they mapped every sumptuous curve in a series of leisurely caresses.

From behind, Atsumu crowded in closer still - the searing wall of his equally muscular frame enveloping you in a way that should have felt confining yet only amplified your yearning. The crisp, masculine scent of him surrounded you in an intoxicating wave, making your head swim dizzily.

"Fuck, you feel so goddamn good against me like this, babygirl," Osamu rasped in a whiskey-rough timbre against the fragile shell of your ear. "Like you were made to fit perfectly in our arms...in our bed."

A violent shudder rippled through you at the naked possession and unabashed promise lacing his deep voice. Before you could formulate a breathless reply, Atsumu's low rumble from behind undercut the intimate moment with a flash of his typical aggravating bravado.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get too fuckin' cocky," he growled, the verbal jab neutered by the undulation of his hips subtly grinding against the swell of your backside. "Seems like you're forgettin' we agreed to share what's ours now."

You whimpered at the unmistakable hardness insistently nudging against you - a bluntly carnal reminder of the delirious temptation they collectively represented. Your head lolled back in helpless abandon to rest against the sturdy juncture of Atsumu's shoulder and throat. Osamu's pewter stare remained riveted to your features, silver irises blazing like polished agate as you blinked back at him in a haze of lust and wonder.

"Don't go gettin' distracted already," he chided in a murmured tone thick with promise, adjusting his secure grip to pull your lower bodies into even more insistent alignment. "We got one very important question to settle first with our sweet girl here..."

Osamu angled his chiseled jaw until his hooded gaze pinned you beneath the potent smolder of its focus, holding you utterly transfixed. His tongue slicked out to wet his lower lip in an unconscious, innocently provocative gesture that had your mouth going cotton-dry.

"Ya want this, pretty thing?" he rasped in that gravel-rough timbre that never failed to lick straight between your thighs with unerring accuracy. "Ya really want 'Tsumu and me to go ahead and take what's ours...make you completely ours at long last?"

You could only mutely nod at first, hypnotized by the searing glint of sin-edged yearning blazing behind his steady regard. But then Atsumu's low, filthy chuckle gusted across the back of your neck, raising delicious gooseflesh in its wake. His clever fingers traced idle, illicit patterns from your hip up towards the vee between your breasts in a teasing cadence that had your thundering pulse kick into a staccato gallop.

"That ain't gonna cut it, babygirl," he tutted in mock reproval. "Need to hear ya' say it... Tell us how goddamn bad you wantin' those pretty lips stretched wide around both our cocks."

The crude, shockingly vulgar words should have appalled you. Should have registered as too far, too depraved to be uttered in civilized company. But they only seemed to detonate a white-hot geyser of molten arousal low in your belly. A helpless, needy noise slipped free before you could stifle it.

"Yes!" you rasped in a desperate, thready exhalation. "Gods, yes...I need you both so badly my entire b-body aches for it."

Osamu swallowed the rest of your fevered confession in a branding, soulsearing kiss that curled your very toes. His questing tongue swept between your lips in a sinuous glide of satin against satin to taste and savor every keen and mewl you willingly offered up.

From behind, you could feel Atsumu's own self-satisfied growl of rapture reverberating against the tender knobs of your spine as his deft fingers trailed an invisible path down your sides to span your hips in a scorching grip. Then he was bodily grinding the rigid length of his cock against the swell of your ass in undisguised possession and dark promise.

You nearly unraveled from the exquisite sensation, arousal detonating in an aching conflagration that very nearly whited out your vision. Atsumu swallowed your garbled sob of sheer need with another merciless slant of his sinful lips against the frantically thundering pulse at the juncture of your throat. The leisurely study of his wicked tongue and teeth left you reeling.

"Soon, babygirl," he purred against your sensitized skin between open-mouthed, branding caresses. "Gonna make you sing so fuckin' pretty for us soon..."

Then Atsumu suddenly spun you to face him, gripping you with inexorable command. You whimpered at the abrupt loss of Osamu's heated imprint, seeking him instinctively even as your stepbrother hauled you against his hulking frame once more. Atsumu's blazing stare pinned you with dark promise for a suspended beat, thumb drifting up to trace the swollen-slick curve of your lower lip.

That searing look of untempered possession flickered briefly to Osamu before returning to scorch you. "'Samu an' I both aim to take our time and treat you right, sweet thing. Make sure you're nice and ready for the main event..."

Your mind swirled in a lust-drunken haze, trying desperately to reconcile his sudden shift into something almost...protective. His russet irises burned into yours with fierce possessiveness as he slowly, deliberately dipped his calloused fingers beneath the elastic band of your lacy panties.

"Wh-What’s the main event?" you managed to stutter, though your breath had turned choppy and erratic.

Osamu's warm, rough palm encircled your nape, drawing your attention back to his own uncompromising expression. Something akin to dark male appreciation simmered behind his hooded eyes, though a hint of concern threaded his next husky utterance.

"What my idiot twin is tryin' to say is, we're both damn well-endowed. Don't want it hurtin' when we fuck this pretty little pussy of yours so good. Gonna stretch and get ya' ready, alright babydoll?"

Your brain short-circuited, unable to process the sheer, carnal scope of the picture his words conjured. Before you could formulate a reply, Osamu's chiseled lips captured yours in another toe-curling, soul-baring kiss. Atsumu's own hands occupied themselves with slowly, meticulously peeling your panties down the curve of your thighs until they pooled around your ankles.

"That's it, sweet girl, just give yourself over to us," he growled against the shell of your ear, deft fingers dancing lightly across the exposed skin of your hips. "'Samu and I got ya'..."

Then he was dragging you backwards into the solid wall of his furnace-hot chest, calloused hands skimming reverently along the silken skin of your thighs. You could only moan into Osamu's plundering kiss as those clever fingers danced higher, trailing a searing path through the soaked folds of your aching sex.

Atsumu's rasping, approving chuckle seemed to vibrate right through you, his broad palms sliding down the flare of your hips and inner thighs in an excruciating tease. You bucked instinctively against his torturous touch, only for him to wrench your hips back against the unyielding steel of his own.

"So fucking wet for us already, aren't ya'?" he crooned darkly in that honey-thick rasp against the back of your neck. "Can't wait to see just how much you can take..."

The blunt edge of his thumb slid past the soaked folds of your outer labia, dragging the wetness towards your clit in a slow, maddening circle. You moaned into the devouring sweep of Osamu's mouth at the sensation, trembling full-bodied as the ache intensified low in your belly.

"Such a pretty little mess we got," Osamu crooned in a throaty murmur.

His fingers threaded through the strands of your hair, gently but firmly anchoring your head in place. He broke the kiss just enough to speak, the words hot against your parted lips. "Open that pretty mouth and suck on these for me, babydoll."

Your lashes fluttered in a haze of delirium, but you complied automatically. His fingers slipped past your lips and teeth, the tang of his salty skin exploding on your taste buds. Atsumu's deep, filthy chuckle rumbled against the delicate knobs of your spine as his hand continued its lazy, tormenting ministrations.

"You heard our girl," he practically purred in a voice gone impossibly deeper with want. "She's hungry for it. Bet she can't wait to take her fill..."

Your head fell back in helpless abandon, lolling against his sculpted chest. Osamu's eyes darkened with undisguised desire as his fingers began to gently pump in and out of your mouth, the rough pads stroking the silken contours in a mimicry of a far more intimate act.

You whimpered around the thick digits, sucking eagerly until they were coated in saliva. When he pulled them away, glistening trails of liquid linked them to your parted lips like gossamer threads.

"Good girl," he breathed with unmistakable approval, a roguish grin splitting his lips as he caught his lower lip between his teeth. "Now why don't ya' go ahead and show 'Tsumu how sweet you can be."

Your stomach clenched in a wave of dizzying anticipation, gaze flicking uncertainly to the twin at your back. He must have caught the subtle motion, because the next instant, his palm was tilting your chin to the side and his mouth was devouring yours in a claiming kiss that left you utterly senseless.

"C'mon, babygirl, let 'Samu watch just how much you want me," he murmured against your swollen mouth, the words barely registering in your lust-drunk haze.

You could feel the hard press of his erection nudging against the swell of your ass even through the denim barrier separating you. Then the heat of his hands was lifting you, spreading the yielding globes of your thighs to bracket his own. You instinctively clung to his biceps for balance, the muscles flexing deliciously under your grip.

"Oh, gods," you whimpered, the raw, hoarse plea barely recognizable.

He'd dragged the hem of your dress higher until the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you completely exposed. You felt his hands cup and squeeze the supple flesh, the sensation amplified tenfold without the shielding barrier.

Atsumu's lips curved into a leonine smile of pure masculine satisfaction against the curve of your throat. "There's a good girl," he rasped, his breath gusting warmly against the rapidly beating pulse point there.

Osamu's pewter gaze remained riveted to where your bodies were molded together, his own arousal evident in the rigid jut of his jeans and the way he'd unconsciously wet his lower lip. He was still close enough that the intoxicating scent of his cologne seemed to saturate the air around you, mingling with Atsumu's clean, woodsy musk.

"Think we can do better than good, 'Tsumu," he drawled, voice gone hoarse and guttural with want. "I'm thinkin' our girl here wants us to show her exactly what kinda pleasure she's in for."

You watched as Osamu sank down on his knees before you, the position leaving him eye-level with the most vulnerable part of you. You could only shudder at the sensation as his warm, rough palms settled on the backs of your thighs, the coarse brush of his stubble a heady contrast as he leaned forward.

"Hold her still for me," Osamu growled in a voice gone impossibly deeper, and you were certain that you'd combust.

"With fuckin' pleasure," Atsumu muttered, the words a sultry rumble against your neck.

Then the hard ridge of his cock was insistently grinding against the exposed flesh of your backside, his grip anchoring you in place for his twin's ministrations. The air punched from your lungs in a harsh gasp as Osamu's hot, slick tongue finally swiped a sinuous line between the folds of your core.

You could feel the vibration of his answering groan all the way through the tender walls, the sensation heightened by the calloused pads of his thumbs dragging along the seam where your thighs met. His dark head angled slightly, the tip of his nose nudging at the swollen bundle of nerves above.

"Fuck, you're sweet," Osamu groaned, his eyes flicking up to pierce yours with molten intensity.

You could only whimper, head spinning in an erotic haze as he continued his thorough exploration. He seemed to revel in every gasp and shudder that wracked your frame, every involuntary jerk and twitch against his questing tongue.

"How's she taste?" Atsumu asked in a dark rumble, his grip tightening fractionally on your thighs.

"Like fuckin' heaven," Osamu replied without hesitation, his tongue continuing its languid sweep along the length of your slit.

He punctuated the words with a deliberate swipe of his tongue around the entrance, probing slightly before repeating the motion. The slow, decadent pace was driving you mad with want, but Atsumu's implacable hold prevented any desperate bucking.

"Don't get too fuckin' smug now, brother. Remember, I get to go first," Atsumu murmured against the back of your neck, the words almost teasing.

He shifted his stance ever so slightly, dragging his clothed erection along the seam of your ass in a deliberate thrust. Your stomach clenched in an aching spiral at the sensation, even through the layers of fabric.

"G-god," you stuttered, the word breaking on a sharp inhale as Osamu's tongue delved deeper, the tip swirling along the sensitive edges.

"Don't go forgettin' to be a good girl and thank him properly, now," Atsumu taunted, his fingers digging deliciously into the tender flesh of your thighs. He released his hold just long enough to trail one hand lower, pulling his hand back with a sharp slap that was aimed directly at your sex.

"Thank you," you cried out, the words broken by a sob.

Osamu's answering chuckle vibrated against your core, sending another bolt of heat straight to the liquid, throbbing ache building low in your belly. When his tongue plunged even deeper, the slick muscle stroking along your walls in a devastating rhythm, you arched mindlessly against Atsumu's immovable grip.

"You can do better than that, babygirl," he admonished, his voice gone thick and guttural. His hand hovered threateningly, poised for another teasing spank. "He's doing such a good job, ain't he? Go ahead and show 'Samu just how much ya' appreciate his tongue fuckin' that greedy pussy of yours."

You could only nod, the movement frantic. The next instant, three of his fingers came down in a punishing strike directly on your clit. The sensation sent a lightning bolt of sensation careening straight up your spine, the pressure coiling tighter, more intense.

"Thank you! Tha-ahh...thank you so much, Osamu," you managed to stutter.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he rumbled, his lips brushing along the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. The stubble of his jaw abraded the tender flesh in a maddening glide that only further inflamed the liquid, molten need.

His silver eyes gleamed wickedly in the dim light of the room, the pupils blown wide with undisguised carnal desire. "You gonna cum for us like this, sweet thing? Or d'you need somethin' a little thicker inside to take the edge off?"

You could only moan at his brazen inquiry, the sound bordering on a whimper. Then he was sucking your clit between his lips and flicking the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue, his fingers curling upwards to stroke the sensitive front wall of your sex.

"F-Fuck, 'Samu, I'm gonna-"

Your sentence was broken off by a keening cry as the pressure coiling low in your belly abruptly detonated, shattering through you with the force of a tidal wave. You were dimly aware of the hot liquid that gushed out in a flood, coating Osamu's waiting mouth and chin. He merely lapped at you like a starving man, a guttural groan rumbling through him.

"Shit," Atsumu swore, his own hips jerking forward as his cock ground against the exposed swell of your ass. His free hand was palming his own length in a desperate rhythm, the other maintaining its bruising grip on your hip. "Didn't think ya'd squirt like that, babygirl. That's a damn sight to behold..."

You were too far gone, caught in the throes of orgasm to even attempt a reply. Instead, you slumped back against Atsumu, grateful for his steady support as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your trembling frame. Osamu was still lapping gently at the swollen, soaked folds, the sensation almost too much.

"Please," you whimpered, the word bordering on a sob. "Too much..."

"Just cleanin' ya' up, pretty thing," he crooned in a hoarse voice, his hooded stare lifting to pin you. His tongue swiped the glistening sheen from his lips and chin, savoring the taste. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this...all soft and pliant, fucked out."

Then Osamu was rising in one fluid motion, the movement bringing his broad body into closer alignment with yours. The muscled expanse of his torso was a solid wall before you, the defined ridges and dips tempting you to lean forward and explore. He caught your wrists in his grip, drawing you close and guiding them down to the waistband of his jeans.

"Wanna touch me, babydoll?" he rasped, the gravel-rough timbre edged with sinful promise.

Your fingers trembled as they worked at the buckle, then slid the zipper down until the straining ridge of his arousal was visible, a damp spot visible where the tip was tenting the fabric of his boxers. You sucked in a shaky breath, gaze darting up to meet his. Osamu's pewter eyes had gone dark with need, the normally silver irises now the color of storm clouds.

"Go on," he urged, the words a gruff growl. "Wrap those pretty fingers around my cock and give him a nice, hard squeeze."

Your pulse hammered erratically, the tempo ratcheting higher as you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. They wrapped around his shaft, the skin scorchingly hot and satin-soft. Your fingertips skimmed along the vein that ran from root to tip, exploring the unfamiliar terrain with tentative strokes.

The muscles beneath his abdomen contracted sharply, a groan punching free from his lips. Then Atsumu was hauling you backwards against his own unyielding frame, his calloused palm sliding along the flare of your hips and the curve of your stomach.

"Don't forget about me, sweet girl," he growled, his voice thick and husky. "'Samu's got you warmed up and nice an' ready to take our cocks. Time for you to put that pretty mouth of yours to good use, don't ya' think?"

You could feel the heavy length of him nestled against the seam of your backside, the sensation almost dizzying. Your own fingers were still wrapped around Osamu's thick shaft, and it gave a slight jump as your thumb stroked along the silken crown.

Atsumu rose to his full height, forcing you to your knees between them. His hands tangled in your hair, fisting the strands in a loose grip as he tilted your face upwards. "Don't know if you're ready for 'Samu to fuck that throat just yet, so I'll be a gentleman and go first."

Your lashes fluttered closed at the image, arousal sparking low in your belly once more. Then Atsumu was pressing his thumb against your bottom lip, parting them to slip inside. You automatically opened for him, swirling your tongue around the salty digit as you stared up at him with hooded eyes.

"Yeah, there's a good girl," he crooned, the praise sending another wave of heat through your veins.

His grip tightened fractionally, guiding you to the open fly of his jeans. You yelped in surprise as his cock sprang free andslapped against your cheek, the tip glistening and flushed. Atsumu chuckled darkly at the startled noise, the sound reverberating against the hollows of your ribcage.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. It's not gonna bite," he teased.

His grip remained firm on the back of your head, angling you in place. You could see the way his muscles contracted, his free hand wrapping around the thick length and giving it a lazy stroke. Then the tip was grazing your lips, smearing the salty precum.

"Open," he ordered, the word a throaty command.

You complied immediately, the soft, wet heat of your mouth enveloping the velvety steel of his shaft. His head fell back in a groan, the sound a mix of relief and agonized pleasure. The hands on the back of your head kept you pinned as he began to rock his hips slowly, fucking into your mouth with careful thrusts.

Meanwhile Osamu had dropped to his knees once more, his deft fingers hooking the delicate strap of your dress and yanking the fabric down your shoulder. He peppered a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the newly exposed flesh, teeth nipping lightly at the tender skin.

"You have such pretty tits, babydoll," he murmured, his words fanning the exposed skin.

Then his hands were cupping them, the roughened pads of his thumbs circling the nipples into aching points. Your breath hissed through your teeth, a sharp sting of pleasure-pain. He seemed to take that as encouragement, repeating the motion before dragging the pad across the erect peaks in a gentle tug.

Atsumu's grip was anchored in the back of your hair, keeping you from jerking away at the sensation. Instead, he took advantage of the moment to thrust deeper, the tip nudging the back of your throat. You couldn't help but choke a little, your gag reflex triggering as the muscles contracted around him.

"There ya' go," he groaned, the words guttural and raw. "Just relax and let me use that throat..."

You did your best to comply, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as he continued to drive deeper, faster. His fingers were gripping the sides of your skull, his gaze burning into you as he fucked into the wet, soft cavern.

Osamu's mouth latched onto one nipple, suckling it with firm, demanding pulls. His other hand kneaded the opposite breast, rolling the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. The sensations were all building, tightening the coil of desire deep within your belly until you were trembling beneath the onslaught.

"Fuck, she's good at this," Atsumu bit out, the words a ragged gasp. "'Samu, she's got the sweetest mouth. You have to try-"

The sentence broke off as he shuddered almost violently, his cock throbbing on the precipice. He yanked you off his length in a rough jerk, a thin thread of saliva still connecting your swollen, parted lips to the flushed tip. You could only watch as his fist wrapped around the base, stroking once, twice, and then he was spurting in white ropes across your face.

You moaned at the sensation, the warm liquid splashing against your lips and cheeks. It dripped down in pearlescent rivulets, streaking across the slope of your breasts. Osamu's own cock pulsed beneath his touch, his eyes burning dark and molten as they stared down at the debauched sight.

"Goddamn, that's a fuckin' sight," he rasped, the words strained.

Atsumu gave himself a few final strokes, the motions milking the last vestiges of pleasure. When he released his hold on his cock, it was to drag a fingertip along the trail of cum, then press it past your lips. You sucked eagerly, swirling your tongue around the salty digit and humming at the flavor.

"Such a dirty girl," Atsumu growled, his free hand fisting in your hair. "'Samu, how's about we take this to the bed?"

You watched as the twin in question nodded, the action almost frantic. The next instant, you were being hauled to your feet and guided towards the massive king-size bed dominating the room. Your limbs felt boneless, and you were grateful for the guiding touch of their hands.

"How're we gonna do this?" Atsumu asked, directing the question towards his brother.

"Why don’t we ask her?" Osamu responded, his fingers trailing along the delicate curve of your shoulder. "What do ya' want, babydoll?"

The question threw you for a loop. It had never even occurred to you that you'd be able to choose, or that the twins would even care enough to offer you the opportunity. Your gaze flicked uncertainly between the two, a flush warming your cheeks as the words left you.

"I want...both. At the same time," you murmured, the words almost too soft to be heard.

You could see the way Atsumu's cock twitched at the statement, already hardening again. It was an impressive feat, given that he'd only just orgasmed a few moments prior. He glanced at his twin, the smirk playing about his lips clearly conveying the sentiment 'so we can share, after all.'

"Both, huh? Ya' wanna take our cocks at the same time?" Osamu clarified, his tone thoughtful. "We agreed that 'Tsumu would get your pussy first, since I got to eat it. What about that sweet ass of yours? Think you're ready for that?"

"N-No, I meant…I want you both in the same hole." You could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks as you stuttered over the words.

The silence stretched between the three of you, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing. You could feel the way your heart hammered against the cage of your ribs, the blood roaring in your ears as the reality of what you'd said began to sink in.

Atsumu was the first to speak, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Did ya' just say what I think you did?"

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Osamu asked at the same time, his brows knitting in concern. "That's a lotta cock to take. Don't wanna hurt you."

Your gaze darted between the two of them, and the words slipped out before you could even register them.

"I trust you," you said, and realized it was the truth. "I can take it."

The next instant, the world was tilting on its axis as Osamu tossed you effortlessly onto the bed. You landed with a bounce, the impact jarring you slightly. Then his weight was blanketing you, his hips bracketing your own and his cock a scorching brand between your legs.

"That's right, ya' can," he growled, the words a dark promise. "Just lie back and let us take care of ya'."

Atsumu had already positioned himself on the bed, his hand pumping along the shaft of his length in a lazy rhythm. His golden eyes gleamed with undisguised lust as he watched his twin grinding against you. The head of his cock nudged teasingly at the entrance, and a thrill shot straight up your spine.

"I want to make this good for you," Osamu murmured, his voice a low rumble against the shell of your ear. "So tell me if anythin' starts to hurt. Got it?"

He pressed forward, and the swollen, slick folds parted around the thick length. It wasn't nearly as painful as you'd anticipated, the wetness easing the slide. A shudder wracked his frame, a harsh groan punching from his lips as he sank deeper.

"Gods, you're so fuckin' tight," he bit out.

He didn't stop until the root was flush against the curve of your sex, his hips slotted neatly against your own. You could only arch mindlessly beneath him, the sensation of being so full unlike anything you'd ever experienced. Your inner walls clenched around the intrusion, and Osamu's answering hiss told you that the sensation was pleasurable.

One iron-corded arm wrapped around your waist, and you felt him lift you slightly. You were practically straddling his thighs, the angle causing him to slip even deeper. Atsumu shifted into place behind you, his hands cupping the generous swell of your ass and spreading the cheeks.

"Fuck, that's a pretty sight," he groaned, his fingers digging into the supple flesh.

Osamu began to rock against you, the shallow thrusts setting your nerve endings aflame. You could only whimper helplessly, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders for purchase. Your hips jerked as a particularly strong bolt of sensation rocketed through your core.

"Gonna need ya' to relax, babydoll," Osamu rasped, his hands anchoring you firmly in place. "Just a little more, and then 'Tsumu will be joinin' the fun. Be a good girl for us, now."

You forced the tension from your limbs, allowing him to move freely. The next instant, the blunt tip of Atsumu's cock was probing at the same entrance, his length sliding alongside his brother's. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the pain-pleasure mingled, the sensation overwhelming.

"You're so goddamn tight," he ground out, the words grating and raw.

Atsumu didn't give you a chance to respond, merely pushed his hips forward with a firm thrust. He was met with slight resistance, the muscles clenching tightly around the combined girth. Then his cock was bottoming out, the sensation nearly sending you spiraling over the edge.

"Shit," Osamu swore, his head falling back. His throat bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, a fine tremor running through his muscular frame. "This is...holy fuck."

Atsumu made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a moan, the low, guttural noise reverberating through you. He rocked his hips experimentally, the motion sending sparks of heat licking along your veins. You were stretched taut, the dual sensation of having them both inside bordering on too much.

"How is she?" Atsumu bit out, his gaze meeting his twin's over the top of your head.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Feel so damn good around my cock," Osamu groaned.

Your only response was a moan, the wordless noise a benediction. He took it as a cue to start moving, the shallow thrusts driving a little deeper, harder. Atsumu's own cock was pulsing with the need for release, and he mirrored his brother's movements, timing his pace to match.

They were like two cogs in a well-oiled machine, their motions a seamless tandem. Each thrust sent a wave of sensation crashing through your core, the coil of tension ratcheting tighter and tighter. Your vision had gone hazy, the world blurring at the edges.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Atsumu groaned, his fingers digging into the generous curve of your ass.

"Hold on," Osamu gritted out. His grip shifted, his hands lifting you easily by the backs of your thighs. You were practically bent in half, and the new angle allowed them to reach even deeper. "Gonna give it to her just like this, 'Tsumu. Give her every last inch and fuck her nice and hard."

Then the twins were pounding into you with merciless, punishing thrusts, their cocks dragging against the sensitive inner walls. Your fingers dug into the taut muscles of Osamu's shoulders, and the sharp bite of your nails had him groaning low in his throat.

"Gods, she's tightening up on me," Atsumu hissed, his words ragged and broken. "Cumming...gonna cum!"

His hips snapped forward one last time, and the pressure detonated in a blinding supernova. His cock gave a violent twitch as he came, a low groan tearing from his lips. You could feel the hot gush of his seed, and the sensation was enough to send you plummeting into your own release.

Osamu managed to thrust a few more times before his own body was succumbing, his hips grinding flush against the curve of your ass as he spilled deep inside. The world around you faded to black, the pleasure-pain of it all leaving you dizzy and weak.

It took several minutes for the three of you to come down, your chests heaving with exertion. You could still feel the warmth of the twins' bodies surrounding you, and Osamu's lips were trailing along the curve of your neck. Atsumu's face was nestled into the side of your throat, and he nuzzled the skin there lazily.

"Fuck, that was intense," he mumbled, the words muffled.

Osamu nodded, and the motion caused his hair to brush against your cheek. "I wasn't expectin' her to take both of us like that."

"Think she can go again?" Atsumu asked, lifting his face to look at his brother. "I don’t think we convinced her to not go out with any more of those losers."

"Maybe she just needs a little more convincin'," Osamu drawled, his mouth curling into a feral smirk.

You could only whimper softly at the prospect, the sound a mixture of desire and exhaustion. Then Atsumu was sliding his hands along the supple swell of your hips, his thumb dipping between the crease of your ass. You jumped at the unexpected contact, the reaction earning a chuckle from him.

"Easy there, sweet girl," he crooned, the husky edge returning to his voice. "We're gonna have so much fun together."

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niningtori · 1 month ago

Text

an iron man | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: beomgyu has only ever known how to live function as a rental sexbot. he fucks whoever and whatever comes his way with a forced smile plastered on his face. that is, until you, a self-proclaimed trainwreck, come along.

genre: android!au, sexbot!au, angst, romance, fluff (more than i ever thought i could ever write i fear...), skippable smut at the very end (will be marked)

warnings: very brief and vague mentions of beomgyu being forced to engage in sexual acts he does not want with previous clients, skippable smut at the very end (will be marked)

smut warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, praise, dacryphilia, sub!gyu

word count: 14.7k (trust i will not be writing this much again if this flops BWNWJSJEJDK)

notes: terrified to post this one because this is probably my favorite thing i've ever written and if it gets a bad reaction i might die :,) also very unsure if this is the best time to post it since it's during kinktober so i'm not sure if the demand is there but i love this work so so much i pray you all like it. if you don't read anything else from me, i hope that you read this bc i rlly care ab it :,) please don't be mean i beg

beomgyu doesn’t know how long he’s been living like this. living is an odd term, too, and it’s not just because “life” is ill-defined for an android, but because to call what he experiences a life feels like a bastardization of the term. his power is turned on at some point, usually late at night, he fucks or gets fucked by somebody he probably doesn’t know, then he does the same shit all over again. so yes, he may be “alive”, but he wouldn't dare to call what he experiences living. living is too precious of a term to be used so cheaply on a sex android who’s made available for rent for the highest bidder of the night.

he’s seen how people live through his scattered vignettes of human life. he only gets them when he’s powered on, but he soaks them up with pleasure because they’re the only thing he’s ever known. some people do it wildly, living unattached to everyone and everything. their lives are not completely dissimilar to his, in a way, except they have a choice in the matter. they have time to find themselves, what their likes and dislikes are, and they get to connect with people in a way he will never have the power to. others, though, live the kind of life he really wants. they live by loving and being loved, knowing and being known. he wonders what it’d be like to know somebody outside of whatever secret deviant sexual pleasures they have. he wonders what it’s like to be known, too, but he guesses you would need to have something for someone to care enough to know about in the first place. he has no such thing.

it’s a night like any other when he’s powered on by a total stranger. he briefly takes in his surroundings and notices that it’s a really nice place, but you wouldn’t be the first rich person to rent him — not by a longshot. next, he takes you in. now, there’s no reason for you to dress up, really. you have no need to tempt him, as he will be able to feign attraction no matter what you look like, but he still finds it odd that you seem to have forgone any effort to appeal to him, if only because most people’s fantasies require them to look and feel sexy; but you don’t look sexy at all. you look like you’ve just gotten home from a long day at work, and honestly? you kind of smell like it, too.

“do you think you could do the dishes for me? i’m exhausted,” you ask with a perfectly-timed yawn. what… ?

he short-circuits for a moment as he tries to think of an appropriate response. he’s never had anyone try to get him to do chores for them, but maybe this is some sort of weird roleplay? maybe you want him to act as a house husband for you before doing the deed, which isn’t necessarily a problem since he’s well-versed in acting, but there’s just one issue.

“i don’t know how,” he tells you honestly.

“you don’t know how to do dishes?” you ask curiously,

“it’s not in my programming,” he replies. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s embarrassed because of the way he hesitates and looks away from you when he says it. he can’t possibly feel that, though, so it must just be your imagination.

“oh… that’s alright. okay, do you know how to clean a room? mine’s kind of dirty,” you try.

“n-no,” he says, and he wishes the earth would just swallow him whole. he’s never failed at living up to expectations, and never so badly, at that. just what kind of fetish is this?

“that’s okay,” you sigh, and he may not fully understand it, but he can sense your disappointment. “well, what can you do?” and the question is not asked maliciously, but with what seems to be genuine wonder. ah. he knows how to answer this one. slowly, he walks up to you and loosens your hair. you look up at him in shock, but he just cups your face, swiping his thumb across your lower lip.

“i can do whatever you want me to, baby,” he whispers alluringly. “just tell me how you like it.” you’re so stunned at his switch in demeanor that you forget how to speak for a moment, but you quickly recollect yourself and pry his hands off of you.

“i don’t want you to do anything,” you insist. “i’m just tired. if you can’t help me clean, that’s alright. you can watch something if you’re bored. i think that’s it. well, goodnight.” beomgyu is malfunctioning at the moment. he thinks the gears in his head might be sparking while he tries to understand this new development. you don’t give him time to process it, though. you just slam your bedroom door shut behind you. he thinks he hears you lock it, too.

genuinely at a loss at the thought that he has nothing and no one to do, he sits himself on your couch. he tries not to make himself too at home at first, just barely making a dent on it and scooting to the very edge of the cushion as to not appear to be too relaxed. what if this is some sort of test? what if you’re actually going to come out soon so you two can fuck? until then, what should he do next? thoughts like this plague him until he accepts the fact that you are actually sleeping. your obnoxiously loud snoring is a dead giveaway, and he finally, finally feels brave enough to fiddle with your remote control.

he scrolls for something to watch. movies and shows have been on as background noise during sex before, so he’s somewhat familiar with them, but he’s never gotten the opportunity to pick for himself or actually pay attention to what's happening on screen. he settles on a romantic movie about a robot who joins human society. the robot falls in love with a human girl, but in the end, the robot has to leave the girl because the town won’t accept him, even after using him. she marries a human man and has children, and eventually grandchildren, too. she still loves the robot even though he’s gone, which he thinks is supposed to make him feel sorry for her, but all he can feel is pity for the robot, who spends the rest of his life alone.

it’s enough to make him cry, which he shouldn’t be able to do in a non-sexual setting, but he does it, anyway. it’s just so unfair to him. the girl is able to live a normal life while the robot is doomed to be alone forever. why? because he was born different? it’s not his fault that he was invented, but he spends the rest of his time on earth paying for the crime of existing in a world not built for him. the more beomgyu thinks about it, the more wronged he feels. he’s outright sobbing by the time you plop down on the couch beside him. he jumps up and straightens his posture while trying in vain to regain his composure.

“yeah, this movie makes me cry, too,” you quietly remark. he’s silent, not because he didn’t hear what you said, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to act after being caught red handed.

“can i ask you something?” you ask in lieu of his lack of a response.

“yes,” he feebly answers.

“why are you crying?” you question with a tilt of your head, but something in him tells him that you already know.

“because the movie made me sad,” he admits after a pause.

“are androids supposed to feel things like that?”

“... no,” he replies after a pause.

“then why can you?”

“i… i don't know. just please don’t say anything to my owners,” he pleads. he knows that if the company that owns him were to find out about this, he’d be scrapped in a heartbeat. or worse, they’d analyze him like a labrat to try to find the anomaly within him. his “life” as a sexbot will be over, and he’d really rather be a box of scraps than live as a case study in a lab somewhere.

“it’s okay,” you tell him with a reassuring smile as you watch him trying not to spiral. “i won’t tell them. it’ll be our secret.” beomgyu has never had a secret to share with anyone before, so he feels an overwhelming amount of excitement at the idea that he will finally have one. his chest feels warm at the thought.

“thank you,” he says with a grateful smile.

“no problem,” you reply with a yawn. “i’m tired, so i’m heading back to bed. i just wanted to get some water. goodnight, for real this time.”

“goodnight,” he murmurs softly. you return his words with a sleepy smile and go back into your room. he finds that he’s smiling even when you leave.

he spends the night consuming as much media as he conceivably can before he has to leave. usually, he'd be powered off after he’s done being used, so he greedily savors every moment he can. who knows if he'll ever get this chance again. when you wake up, you're surprised to see that he's exactly where you left him, still watching the screen intently.

“good morning,” you say while stretching your arms.

“good morning,” he replies.

“are you ready to be returned?” you ask.

“... yes,” he lies.

“okay. i think somebody will be here to pick you up in an hour or so. you hungry?”

“i don't really eat,” he bashfully answers. for some reason, he's embarrassed at the fact that you're treating him like a human while he's unable to fully act like one.

“oh. i guess that makes sense,” you nod.

things are quiet until he’s picked up, but it’s not an awkward silence. you sit next to him on the couch as you wolf down some breakfast and let him watch whatever he pleases. when he eventually hears knocking at your door, he feels an incomprehensible sense of dread.

“i think that's them,” you remark, breaking the silence.

“y-yeah,” he replies.

“well, it was nice to meet you,” you say, reaching out your hand for him. he’s unsure what to do with it. not missing a beat, you gently grab his hand and shake it. he's stunned at the physical contact, and he's still reeling when you let the man from the rental company in. you have a brief conversation with him before he walks towards beomgyu.

“goodbye,” you tell the android with a smile and a little wave.

“... good—” and the man switches him off.

the next time beomgyu is powered on, he’s in your house again. relief floods him when he realizes it. you don’t seem as exhausted as the last time he saw you. when that was, he has no idea, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was just last night because of the fact that he’s so popular he’s rented almost every day.

“hey,” you greet him with a smile. he’s still feeling relieved before he realizes that tonight might be the night where you ask him to have sex with you. maybe you were just tired last night and had no desire to fuck, but he can tell that you’re feeling more energetic tonight.

“i didn’t catch your name,” you add.

“... beomgyu. i’m part of the choi line, but i’m a custom model, so they gave me a name,” he tentatively replies.

“nice,” you nod, and you briefly introduce yourself before asking if he wants to watch a movie.

“watch… a movie?” is this some sort of euphemism for fucking? it wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard of something like this. as mentioned before, some people like movies as background noise.

“yeah, you can pick,” you say, casually plopping down on the couch and patting the cushion next to you. he hesitantly takes your cue, and he’s mentally preparing himself for what comes next before you take a blanket and cocoon yourself in it so tightly, it’d be impossible for him to touch you.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, and he jolts a bit when he realizes that he’s been staring in disbelief. “oh, are you cold? do you want a blanket, too?”

“‘m fine,” he replies.

“are you sure? the clothes they make you wear look a little thin,” you observe with your nose wrinkled, and he feels impossibly small under your surveying eye. “here, i’ll get you some sweats. i think soobin left some the last time he was here.”

“who’s soobin?” he asks a little too quickly. so quickly, in fact, he doesn’t even have time to process why he even asked.

“my friend. stay here, i’ll grab them for you.”

when you return, you have a long pair of sweatpants in hand and a big t-shirt.

“you can change in the bathroom. it’s down the hallway and to the left, okay?” he nods in response.

he strips his clothes off as best as he can, and it feels like he’s shedding a second skin. when he’s finished undressing, he pulls on the clothes you gave him and stares in the mirror. it’s in his programming to always be mindful of how he looks, but he feels especially self-conscious now that he’s wearing a normal outfit. he fixes up his hair and clears his throat before exiting your (messy) bathroom and making his way back into your living room. he finds you fiddling with your phone before you look up at him.

“took you long enough,” you tease, and he blushes, which stuns you. just how human is this guy?

“s-sorry, i —”

“hey, i’m just kidding. you’re fine. you look pretty good in those clothes — soobin would be jealous,” you chuckle. his ears perk up at the mention of soobin again. is he your boyfriend? he must be. why else would he have clothes at your house? is that why you don't want to sleep with beomgyu? because you have someone already? if that's the case, why rent him at all? but he is not brave enough to ask these questions, so he settles for a soft “thank you” and returns to his spot on the couch.

you toss him the remote and he catches it with ease before unsurely flipping through your streaming services. he finds something that piques his interest and turns to you with an uncertain look before you nod encouragingly. he selects it and lets it play. he doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself sinking further and further into the cushions as it progresses.

it’s a sweet movie — a romantic comedy about an amnesic woman whose memory is wiped clean every morning, but a man falls in love with her, anyway. she never remembers him, so he has to make her fall in love with him in a new way every day. he finds himself smiling throughout it, but a particularly funny scene has him actually laughing for the first time. it’s a squeaky sort of thing, and he has never laughed before, so he’s somewhat surprised as it leaves his throat. he looks to you in trepidation, but you just smile warmly and respond with a soft chuckle of your own. he finds that he looks to you every time a new development occurs, and you always answer encouragingly.

the end of the film surprises him. it’s bittersweet in that she never does get her memory back, but the man makes a video recounting their entire love story for her to watch every time she wakes up. it ends with them living happily together in spite of everything, and it’s enough to make him sob. he turns to you and sees that you’re teary-eyed as well, but you seem to be enjoying his reaction so much that there’s still a grin on your face. after the film ends, you can tell that he has something on his mind.

“what’s wrong? didn’t you like it?” you gently ask.

“i did. i just don’t understand,” he replies timidly.

“don’t understand what?”

“why he would do all of that for her, i guess,” he says.

“because he loves her. when you love somebody, you’d do anything to be with them. you always find a way,” you tell him, and the sentiment seems to strike a chord within him.

“even if they’re that different?”

“of course.”

beomgyu spends the following nights with this same routine. he’s switched on, sees you standing in front of him with a smile, gets comfortable, and watches as much media as he possibly can while you two chatter away about every scene. he learns much more from it than he ever did from experience with his previous renters, and he finds himself becoming more and more emotional by the day. you never try to question him or press him to explain any of his feelings, and it just makes him feel even more comfortable with you.

one day, he even feels comfortable enough to ask you a question. the question.

“can i ask you something?”

“of course! what is it?” you reply in earnest. beomgyu has never directly inquired about you.

“why do you rent me? i mean, i know we watch stuff together now, but why rent me in the first place?” and even when he feels exponentially more at ease with you than he ever has in any other context, he’s still nervous when he asks it.

“oh, my friend did it as a joke, i guess,” you shrug. “he thought i needed to get laid or something, but i’m not into stuff like that, so i just thought i’d ask you to help me clean. obviously, that’s what i actually need,” you giggle. what he feels at your words can only be described as disappointment. “stuff like that”? so you’re not into sleeping with sexbots? is it because you find them disgusting? is it because you find him disgusting? he’s not sure what he expected, but this wasn’t it.

“oh. so why don’t you buy a cleaning bot?” he asks softly, and while you are usually pretty perceptive of his emotions, you don’t register the fact that he’s at a loss right now.

“i dunno. my parents were always against that sort of thing. they thought it was wrong, i guess, so i didn’t grow up with them like everyone else did. i didn’t really have an opinion on them until i met you,” you tell him while grinning and lightly nudging him with your elbow. he tries his best to smile because, in theory, your words are really sweet. you see him as more than just another android, so why does he feel like that’s not enough?

the fragile connection you two have made seems even more fragile now. at least, it does to him. you only met each other because of a joke your friend just so happened to make, not because of fate or the divine intervention that he always sees in the movies. maybe in another world, your friend rented a different sexbot. maybe you’d even treat them the same way you treat him. the thought alone makes something ugly burn in his chest.

still, you are oblivious to the internal war raging within beomgyu.

“hey, i’ve got an idea,” you tell him, and he perks up a bit. “have you ever listened to music?”

“not really,” he replies solemnly. people have played it in the background of their sexual escapades, but he hasn’t really gotten the chance to listen the same way humans do. you finally register his crestfallen appearance, but you chalk it up to him feeling like he’s missing out.

“why don’t we listen to some? i can play a bunch of different genres so you can find what you like,” you suggest, and he agrees to it. truthfully, he doesn’t fully understand how music can be better than movies and shows, but he is curious to find out what makes it so special.

and special, it is. he doesn’t like every song you play, he realizes, but that’s only natural given how different they are from each other. he finds himself being drawn to the more emotional and moody ones, but he can’t help but enjoy the way you quietly sing and nod along to the more upbeat tunes.

as you continue to sit together, you begin to fiddle with your hair. you’re scoffing and loosening it for the umpteenth time before you’re about to give up, but beomgyu stops you.

“let me do it,” he says.

“do you know how?”

“i think i can. i’ve been watching you,” he says simply.

“... okay.”

you turn your back to him to give him access to your hair and he scoots closer to you. closer than you’ve ever been. his touch on your head is careful as he gently gathers your hair and begins to braid it. you’re not sure how much time passes because he’s actually quite slow, but it’s relaxing all the same. you find yourself softly humming to the tune of the song playing. the lyrics are a little dark, but you follow along in earnest, and beomgyu thinks he finally understands why people like music so much. for moments like this. he tries to soak up every detail he can, from the way the light hits your frame to the melody you hum, and he wishes this moment could last forever.

but you only have so much hair, so the moment does have to end, eventually. he ties up your hair and you pull out your phone camera to admire his handiwork. admittedly, it’s a lot better than anything you could’ve done. it seems that he’s a fast learner.

“this looks perfect! thanks, beoms,” you say warmly. he’s stunned for a second at the nickname.

“beoms?”

“yeah, like beomgyu. beoms,” you say with a casual shrug, and something in his chest blossoms. “i give all of my friends nicknames.” and something in his chest explodes at the title of “friend”.

“you do?” he asks excitedly.

“yeah. like, i call soobin ‘soobinie’ or ‘soobie’, sometimes,” you giggle, and the bloom of hope in his chest dies with it.

“are you two close?” he asks, even though he knows the answer will probably hurt him.

“very. he’s my best friend,” you answer fondly. oh. you’re beomgyu’s best friend — you’re beomgyu’s only friend, and tentatively at that. the idea that the deep connection he feels with you is even deeper with someone else, at least in your eyes, makes him feel sick. do you let soobin play with your hair? do you hum along to songs you’ve shown him while he does it? do you smile at him after he’s finished and compliment him on his skills? probably, probably, probably. the ugly feeling that was previously completely foreign to him now takes its usual place in his chest, and it makes his stomach hurt so much that if he could vomit, his metaphorical dinner would be all over the floor.

“oh,” is all he can say.

days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, but every time beomgyu awakens, he finds you smiling up at him. this can’t be good for your bank account — he’s quite expensive to rent, after all — but he’s far too afraid to actually bring it up. what if you realize just how much money you’re sinking into him and want to stop renting him? what will he do if you don’t want him anymore? he feels an incomparable sense of dread at the thought.

he prepares to sit on the couch and watch something, listen to music, or even play a video game with you. you two have gotten into them recently, and he’s discovered that he very much enjoys playing with you, even when you’re yelling at him and demanding that he stop letting you win. he can’t help but grin when he thinks about it. you start playing a song, and you do, indeed, invite him to sit on the couch, but you don’t sit down next to him and start babbling away about your day like you usually would.

“do you think you could do me a favor?” you ask.

“what, do you want me to wash your dishes?” he jokes, and you share a laugh before you say your next words, but all laughter and joy is profusely sucked out of him when you say them.

“no, smartass, but can you braid my hair for me? i’m going over to soobin’s tonight, and i want it out of my way.”

“soobin’s?”

“yeah, it’s been a while since i’ve stayed the night, and he said we’re way past due for it,” you tell him, and the world as beomgyu knows it comes crashing down around him.

“you’re staying the night with him?”

“mhm. he’s right, it’s been too long; but don’t worry, i bought a pass so you can play video games online. there’s even a headset so you can talk to people, if you want. maybe you’ll even make some friends,” you say while playfully waggling your eyebrows. beomgyu’s silence is pensive, to say the very least, and you worry that he’s apprehensive of making a friend that isn't you.

“seriously, you might like it. it’ll be good for you to meet more people, honestly. i’m sure it’s driving you crazy to only have me to talk to,” you jokingly add, but to beomgyu, it’s the worst joke he’s ever heard. no, it does not drive him crazy to only talk to you every day. in fact, even though he’s not conscious during the time you spend away from each other, he thinks, deep down, that he still somehow misses you when you’re apart. and no, he does not think he needs to have anyone but you. you are more than enough for him, so how could you ever think he needs more? again, he is taunted by that same strange and implacable feeling he’s been having ever since he met you, yet he can’t quite put his finger on it, even when he nods and tells you that he’ll try making new friends.

but as he brushes out your hair and you sing along to the words:

"i’m glad i didn’t die before i met you

but now i don’t care

i could go anywhere with you

and i’d probably be happy"

he finally understands what that feeling is. that warm, all-consuming feeling. that feeling of comfort, safety, and unconditional understanding. that feeling of infinite curiosity about the other person. that feeling of wanting to known and be known in a way so profound it physically aches.

yes, as he gathers your hair and ever-so-gently twists it in his hands in preparation for you staying the night with a man you clearly prefer over him, the feeling becomes clear as day. love. what he feels for you is love — an emotion he should never be able to even fathom, yet he does.

and it makes him loathe himself to a degree he never thought he was capable of.

he’s so put off by this sentiment, he almost can’t finish the braid because his hands are shaking so much, but somehow, he finishes, anyway.

“are you done?” you ask as you fiddle with your hair and look back at him.

“mhm,” he replies.

“yay! thank you!” you say giddily.

“you’re welcome,” he mumbles. you’re not stupid, so you notice that something is off about him, but you just assume it’s because he’s nervous about being left alone to make new friends. you feel guilty in a certain sense, but it’ll be good for him to branch out and meet new people, so you tuck the feeling away as best as you can before packing your nightly essentials and getting ready to leave.

“i’ll be back tomorrow morning,” you tell him, and he only nods with his lips pursed, which makes your heart feel sour.

“try not to miss me too much,” you tease, but it doesn’t seem to cheer him up in the slightest.

“have fun,” he replies weakly, and your previously sour heart now kind of aches, but you have to do this for him. you can't always be beside him for everything, right? besides, it's only for the night.

you open the door to leave, but before you go, you turn back to him and he senses hesitation in you. before he can question it, you’re opening your arms, and his eyes widen when he realizes you’re inviting him in for a hug. you almost regret doing it as soon as you open them for fear of making him uncomfortable, but he embraces you before you have time to process such feelings. on beomgyu’s end, he has always been wary of touch for obvious reasons, but he gravitates towards your open arms like he was meant to be in them.

he rests his chin on the top of your head for a moment and you spend an unknown length of time just standing with your arms wrapped around each other.

“i’ll miss you,” you admit, and before you can smack yourself for being so dramatic and sentimental over what will ultimately only be one night, you can swear you feel his grip tightening even more around you.

eventually, you break away and look up at him with a smile. you ruffle his hair and promise to see him later, and he answers you with a nod. then, you're leaving and locking the door behind you.

immediately, beomgyu feels a sense of loss he’s never felt before. after all, to experience loss, you must have something worth losing in the first place, and he has never had anything like that. at least, not until you. so he stands at the door for who knows how long, just like a puppy waiting for his owner to get home.

soobin can sense you’re out of it before you even finish crossing through his doorway, and it puts a halt to your typically overdramatic greeting.

“what’s the matter? are you feeling okay?” he questions concernedly as he pulls you in for a hug. you nod before you break apart from him and walk through the threshold.

“y-yeah. it’s just, i don’t know, i guess i just feel bad about leaving beomgyu all by himself,” you tell him as you plop down on his couch.

“the android you’ve been renting?” he asks incredulously. “i’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually. why’re you renting it so much? i barely even see you anymore. is the sex that good?”

“you know i don’t use androids like that,” you snap in annoyance, partially because he’s calling beomgyu “it”.

“i know, which is why i’m so confused. why rent it in the first place if you’re not getting anything out of it?”

you struggle to answer his question. you promised beomgyu you’d keep his secret, but you trust soobin, and you know he won’t judge him, or worse, report him. besides, it’ll be good to have an unbiased third party weigh in on the situation. with this in mind, you tell him about beomgyu, skipping over some of the more personal details. he’s in disbelief at first and actually thinks you’re just fucking with him, but as you tell him more and more about the time you’ve spent together, his smile falls and his face turns serious.

“so that’s why i feel so guilty about leaving him alone,” you finish with a deep sigh. he’s silent for a few moments before collecting his thoughts.

“god, i can’t believe this is actually happening,” he whispers.

“i know. it’s insane, but it’s true. he’s just so… human. you should've seen the way he looked at me when i told him i was leaving. i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone look so sad before.”

“well, you’re right about him needing to make friends,” he says with a nod, and it validates all of your misgivings about leaving him alone. “but don’t you think you should, i don’t know, think about what all of this means?”

“what do you mean?” you ask, and in that moment, he knows you have no idea about the way beomgyu probably feels about you. he’s not 100% confident in his deductions, but the way you describe how beomgyu acts around you pretty much tells him everything he needs to know.

“i mean, you basically have a completely sentient creature who relies on you for everything. if he’s as human as you say he is, then he can probably feel everything that we do. right now, i’d guess that he feels like you’re all he knows.” and the sneaking sense of guilt that was previously threatening to creep up on you is now completely overwhelming. you’re all he knows. and you left him all alone to fend for himself and make his own friends. yes, he needs to learn how to make connections, but how could you expect him to know how to do that? it took weeks for him to finally seem comfortable around you, so how could he possibly know how to make them on his own? moreover, even though it's nothing to you, you're his entire world. he must feel like you abandoned him.

“i’ve gotta go,” you mumble.

“what?” he asks.

“i–i’ve gotta go home,” you repeat as you hurriedly stand up and hug him goodbye.

“wait! i think you should —”

“love you, bye!” you shout as you book it out of the doorway.

when you return home, you open the door to see beomgyu listlessly staring at the television screen. when he hears you, he turns to look at you with watery eyes. he looks so lost in this moment, and all of your suspicions are confirmed.

“beoms, i am so sorry,” you tell him as you rush over and throw your arms around him.

“for what?” he asks with a gulp as he stays in your embrace, shakily wrapping his arms around your waist.

“i’m sorry for leaving you all by yourself. i thought it was just for one night, so it’d be alright, but you don’t have anyone but me right now; and i realize that it’s unfair for me to expect you to meet other people all on your own when you’ve never had to do it before. if you want friends, i’ll help you, okay? i’ll be there with you as you do it,” you tell him, and you feel his body trembling.

“i-i’m sorry. i know it’s not a big deal, but when you’re not with me, i feel so scared. i… i don’t know how to do anything by myself. i’m s-sorry i need you so much,” he whispers, and your heart breaks.

“don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “how about this: i’ll join you online and we can talk to people together. then, when you’re ready, you can start hanging out with my friends in person, too, okay? we can keep going until you don’t need me anymore.” beomgyu outwardly agrees, which seems to put you at ease, but there’s just one issue: he’ll always need you.

gaming online is actually really fun, but making friends is hard for someone like beomgyu. he’s quiet and a little awkward at first, but after a few nights and with your help, he finally warms up to the people he games with. he gets so comfortable, in fact, that he’s even able to shit talk with them a little.

“fuckkk, that’s so unfair!” his new friend, kai, wails over the headset.

“it’s not unfair, you just suck,” beomgyu chuckles, and kai whines again. you laugh at their interaction before kai continues.

“how are you so fucking good at this game? you’ve only been playing for a few nights, and you’re already better than me!” he pouts.

“i’m just gifted,” beomgyu boasts.

“very true,” you add, and he beams, but kai’s next words throw him off-kilter.

“whatever. stop asking your girlfriend to argue with me — you two make me sick,” he jokes with his signature maniacal laugh, but the two of you are too stunned to laugh along. you look at each other in sheer embarrassment, and you can see beomgyu’s ears turning bright pink beneath his blond hair. you’re not sure why you feel so mortified, but you do. this is beomgyu, for god’s sake. there’s no earthly way you could ever see him in anything other than a purely platonic way, so why does your heart feel uneasy at the notion? while you’re still too stunned to speak, beomgyu tries to pipe up and respond.

“sh-she’s — we’re not, uh —”

“damn it!” kai yells as his character dies yet again, and any momentum beomgyu previously had to clear up the misunderstanding is killed stone dead in its tracks.

he turns to look at you unsurely, but the awkward moment seems to have passed for you as you laugh at kai’s character’s death. if only he could be as unfazed.

after kai goes offline, you two decide to quit gaming for the night. you turn to beomgyu nervously, and he immediately knows that you’re going to say something serious. he hopes beyond hope that it’s not about what kai said.

“can i ask you something?” and his heart sinks. oh god, you probably caught onto his feelings. he’s not sure he has the confidence to tell the truth, but how could he lie to you?

“y-yes,” he replies, voice a bit unsteady.

“okay, you can say no if you want, but soobin invited us to a get together he’s having pretty soon. it’s not anything too crazy, so there’ll only be a few of us. i think it’ll be a good start for you. maybe you’ll even make some new friends, you know?” he’s silent at your words just out of sheer shock. he’d definitely missed the mark when guessing your intentions.

“it’s okay to say no,” you hurriedly add, “but my friends are really nice, and i’d be with you the entire time. even if you don’t talk to anybody, you can talk to me.”

“okay,” he agrees before he can even really think about it. he guesses he’s just relieved that you still don’t know about his feelings, but part of him aches even still.

“really?” you ask incredulously. “oh my god! i have to tell soobin — he’ll be so excited!” you babble, and his lips curl upwards at how happy you are. he wishes he could always make you happy like this, and it seems that he’d agree to absolutely anything if you were the one asking.

work has been especially taxing today, which is nothing new, but you have this insatiable suspicion that something feels… off as you finish up for the day. as you’re about to head out for the night, you wonder what beomgyu will want to do once you get home. maybe he’ll want to play games with kai, or maybe he’ll want to watch a movie with you. maybe he’ll let you cuddle up to him for warmth, which he’s been very willing to do, lately. the unspoken rule that you two will never touch has become blurry for some reason, but you’re pretty touchy with all of your friends, so it only feels like a matter of course to you.

you’re thinking about all of the potential ways tonight could play out when it hits you: you didn’t reserve beomgyu. you spit out a curse and hurriedly take out your phone to book him, but it’s too late. he’s already assigned to someone for the night. fuck.

when you get home, you’re anxious beyond belief. you haven’t spent a night without beomgyu in months, but more importantly, he hasn’t spent a night without you. you try not to think about how scared he will be when he’s powered on in a stranger’s home. you hope he’s able to just switch back to his initial programming, but somehow, you just know it won’t be that easy. you feel sick with worry when you think about how someone so human will have to involuntarily turn his feelings off and pretend to enjoy something he’s being forced to do — with no compensation, no less. he must think you abandoned him. he must think you don’t care about him. how could you forget to reserve him when he needs you so much? fuck how busy you were with work, his wellbeing should have been your first priority.

so you sit and watch the hours tick by. you try to relax. you try to tell yourself it’s only for one night, and he’s been doing it for years, but something just feels wrong, wrong, wrong. you’re about to try to force yourself to go to sleep so the night ends more quickly when you hear a rapid knocking on your door. it’s strange for someone to call on you so late, indeed, but when you look through your peephole, you see none other than the very boy you’ve been worrying about.

“beomgyu?” you say incredulously when you swing open the door. immediately, he embraces you, and you feel hot tears streaming down your neck as he nuzzles his face into it. you hold him as best as you can as you rub circles into his back and try to shush his cries.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” you tell him, and he whines. you try to break away to get a good look at him, but he just pulls you in even closer, as if you’re his only lifeline in this world, and in a way, you are.

after his breathing slows and his sobs die out, he reluctantly parts from you, so you hold his hand and lead him to your couch. his eyes are swollen and bloodshot while his nose is a bright pink, but he never once takes his eyes off of you for fear of letting you out of his sight. in his mind, you can’t leave as long as he can see you.

“are you alright?” you tentatively ask, hand still holding his and soothingly caressing it in an attempt to calm him down. he goes to nod before stopping himself and shaking his head in the negative. your eyes soften even more at the action.

“do you want to talk about what happened?” you try, and he nods before clearing his throat.

“i, um, i woke up and i was at this woman’s house. she… she wanted me to get undressed, but i didn’t want to, so she started doing it for me.” you wince at his words, but he’s not finished yet.

“she kept touching me, and it was so disgusting i just — i just couldn't stand it, so i ran away and came here. i don’t mean to make your life harder, and i won’t ask for you to stay the night with me anymore, but if you could just let me stay here, i promise i’ll learn how to clean or do anything you want. please, just don’t make me —”

“beomgyu, stop it,” you say softly, but firmly. “you are not making my life harder. you can stay here as much as you want and do whatever you want while you’re here. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean for this to happen. i was just so busy with work, and by the time i realized it, somebody had already booked you. i promise you that it’ll never happen again, okay? so you don't have to be afraid. i’m not leaving you, and i won’t let anyone hurt you, either.”

you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone look so relieved before. it looks as though you just saved his life, and to beomgyu, you essentially did. he holds your hand even tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of this planet.

“wait here, i’ll get you some clothes,” you say gently, but as you go to leave, he holds you even tighter. your eyebrow quirks in a silent question at his actions, and he looks sheepish for a moment before saying his next words.

“c-can we just stay like this for a bit? just for a little while? i’m still scared,” he mumbles, and your heart melts.

“of course. come here,” you beckon, and he falls into your arms and rests his head on your shoulder, breathing your scent in as he tries to imprint this moment into his hardware. you stay like that for a while before you finally convince him to change out of his uncomfortable clothes. he reluctantly lets you go, and his eyes follow you everywhere you walk.

that night, you stay up later than usual to spend more time with him. he stays glued to your side and ensures that he’s always touching you in some way, which is endearing in a way you can’t seem to put into words. when you’re about to head to bed for the night, you swear you hear him whimper, but he lets you go, anyway. as you lay your head down and get comfortable under the covers, you hear a timid knocking on your door. you call him in, and his gaze shyly flickers between you and the floor.

“c-can i stay with you tonight? i won’t bother you, i swear. it’s just — i just still feel weird. y-you can say no! i just thought that —”

“come here,” you softly interrupt, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen. he closes the door behind him and shuffles towards you, stopping uncertainly at the edge of the bed in a silent plea for permission to enter it. you feel a weird, warm feeling in your chest when he does it. you scoot over and pat the open space next to you before he gathers enough courage to slide in. you cover him with your blanket, and he stiffly accepts it. you giggle at his awkwardness and cuddle up to him, placing your arms around his waist before thinking better of it. how could you just invade his personal space when he’s clearly traumatized? you go to remove your arms and scoot away before he firmly locks you in place.

“it’s okay,” he whispers, settling himself into your embrace and mindlessly toying with the ends of your hair.

“are you sure?” you ask.

“i’m sure.”

it isn't long before beomgyu hears your breathing slow down, and eventually he hears you begin to snore. he smiles at the sound. he can't really sleep, but he's perfectly content with watching you rest. he continues to play with your hair, and you nuzzle into his touch every so often. he doesn’t want to repeat the events leading up to tonight, but he would do it all over again — any number of times — with a smile on his face if it meant he got to be with you like this again.

the next morning, beomgyu waits for the usual delivery guy from the company to pick him up, but it’s currently way past the usual pickup time. he’s most certainly not complaining, but you don’t seem even remotely fazed by the matter. however, while you’re casually flipping through your streaming catalog literal hours after he’d already be gone, he can’t stop himself from asking:

“um, d-do you know when i’m being picked up?” you pause, and he worries that he may have said the wrong thing before you turn to him.

“do you want to be picked up?” you ask solemnly.

“n-no! of course not. it’s just, you know, i’d usually be gone by now, so i —”

“do you want to stay here? with me, i mean,” you interrupt.

“i… i do,” he replies with a gulp. usually, that’d be all you get from him, but it feels like the perfect opportunity to be honest about his feelings. “i always want to stay with you, but i know i’m expensive, and i don’t want to be a bother.” he looks ashamed as he admits it, but if he had the courage to look in your eyes, he’d note the fondness that lies within them.

“i told you that you’re not a bother to me. i also told you that you could stay here for as long as you want, remember?” and he does, so he nods.

“alright. i meant it when i said it last night, and i mean it now. if you want to be here, you can stay for as long as you’d like. you don't have to worry about your owners anymore, i promise.” and he thinks he’s never seen you as serious as you are now. he wonders what you mean before it dawns on him.

“you… did you buy me?” he asks in disbelief.

“y-yeah. i’m sorry, it sounds so gross when i hear it out loud, but that doesn’t mean that i own you or anything. what i really wanted to buy was your freedom, so you can stay as long as you want, but that also means that you can leave whenever you want, too.”

“i’m so sorry,” he says in a hushed, hurried tone. “i know i'm expensive. i’m really sorry.”

“money is not an object to me,” you dismiss in faux arrogance with a wave of your hand in hopes that it’ll lighten the mood, but beomgyu can’t stop the tears from falling over his waterlines, and you’re afraid your attempt to help him only made him feel more indebted to you. all worry is promptly washed away when you feel him pull you into his arms.

“thank you,” he just barely breathes out. “i don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back, but i’ll try, i swear.”

“you don’t have to do anything for me, beoms. i should’ve done it a lot sooner, but i’m just a little slow, i guess,” you muse, and he chuckles softly into your neck.

sleeping with beomgyu should’ve only happened once, but every night when you say you’re heading to bed, he looks at you with puppy eyes and you find yourself inviting him to come along. each time, he looks so excited that if he had a tail, it would most certainly be wagging. he obediently follows you to your room and settles into the empty space next to you before holding you in his arms as you drift off. he’s even taken to humming the tunes of songs he likes when you struggle to settle down, and his baritone voice lulls you to sleep like a charm every time. he spends his time by just looking at you and trying to reconcile with his new reality. this is real. he gets to spend however many nights he wants next to you, as per your own words. even if you didn’t mean them, he plans to take them seriously. he is perfectly content with spending the rest of his life just sleeping with you, looking at you, being with you.

soobin’s get together is tonight, and you look different than usual. your typical look is very casual, which makes sense because you’re only ever at home when you’re with him, but you are now primped and ready to be seen, and it makes him anxious because you look even more lovable. he knows these people are your friends, so they must’ve seen you dressed up before, but that only makes him all the more uneasy; they know a side of you he is only now seeing, and it makes that same old ugly feeling he's grown so accustomed to sprout in his chest.

when you arrive at soobin’s place, the first thing you do when soobin swings open the door is jump in his arms like you didn’t just see him a week ago. he spins you around with a dimpled grin that’s so sincere, beomgyu feels emotionally decimated by it. you both giggle as you break apart, and the jealousy beomgyu feels brewing within feels unpacifiable.

“is this beomgyu?” soobin asks, grin still very much apparent.

“yes! you’re gonna love him,” you answer giddily.

“it’s nice to meet you,” soobin says warmly while stretching out his hand, which beomgyu awkwardly shakes while he tries to force his lips to curl upwards in what he prays is a believable smile.

“nice to meet you,” he mumbles.

“everyone’s already here, but you’re late as always,” soobin playfully chastises, and you pout in response.

everyone greets you when you walk in, mostly by hugging you and lightheartedly scolding you for not coming out anymore. they’re very clearly bantering with you, but each reproach feels like a knife to beomgyu’s heart. he’s the reason you haven’t seen them in so long.

clueless to it all, you introduce him as your friend to everyone, which only makes him feel worse, somehow. he is just one friend out of many, meanwhile you’re his entire world. you’re far too caught up in the joy of seeing some of your favorite people after so long to notice his dismay, however.

you lead him to soobin’s couch to have a seat with you and one of your friends, taehyun maybe, offers him a drink, to which he awkwardly declines. you quickly follow up with something to the effect of “he isn’t much of a drinker,” and beomgyu nods in affirmation. you try your best to include beomgyu in conversation, but they’re all talking about people and places he doesn't know. all he knows is you, and the world you two built together seems smaller and smaller with every new topic of conversation.

he notices that soobin seems to be eyeing him somewhat strangely, though he tries his best to play it off. he could just attribute it to surface level curiosity, but his intuition tells him it’s much deeper than that. is soobin sizing up his competition? maybe so, but there’s not much to see. beomgyu is handsome, and he knows it, but soobin knows a side of you beomgyu has only ever heard stories about. you’ve told him about your friends and the goings on between you and your coworkers, but it pales in comparison to actually meeting them. he makes an internal note to ask even more questions than he usually does the next time you’re telling him about your day. until then, he sits as close to you as humanly possible and clings onto your arm, which is so second nature to you, you don't even notice that he’s doing it.

soobin, who is usually not the inquisitive type, can’t help but question the dynamic between you and beomgyu. at first, the lingering glances and intimate gestures were innocuous enough to be written off as mere friendliness, but when you whisper something in beomgyu’s ear and he flushes a bright pink, soobin knows he can’t ignore it any longer. he especially can’t ignore it when you turn away from beomgyu and he raises a hand to the ear you just whispered into as if he’s reliving the moment. well, time to test his theory.

soobin slides into the open cushion next to you and begins excitedly chattering about how pretty you look tonight, and he even takes your braided hair into his hands and twirls it between his fingers.

“your hair looks pretty,” he muses.

“beomgyu did it, actually,” you grin, and soobin glances over to said boy, who is currently glaring daggers at him. the look in beomgyu’s eyes is so intense, he almost wants to back off, but he has to get to the bottom of this.

“did he? you know, it’s been a while since you stayed over. wanna have a sleepover tonight? you have some clothes here from last time, and we can cuddle, i know you like that,” he says as innocently as he possibly can.

before you can even reply, beomgyu is slamming his hands on the coffee table. you turn to face him in surprise, and the look on his face is the angriest you’ve ever seen him. his eyes are dark and his nostrils are flared as he heavily breathes. he’s never been angry at all in front of you, actually, so to say you’re taken aback is the understatement of the century.

“beoms? what’s wrong?” you ask concernedly, completely turning away from soobin. your voice is enough to somewhat placate him, but before he can fully calm down, soobin is saying his next words.

“i’m sure he’s fine. beomgyu, you can find your way home tonight on your own, can’t you?” beomgyu is positively seething at this. before you can question him again, he’s gripping your hand so tightly it’s like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning, so you excuse the both of you and drag him to the bathroom for some privacy.

“are you alright?” you ask, frantically scanning his figure for some sort of sign of pain or discomfort.

“i-i’m fine, i just, uh, i don’t feel good,” he says flatly.

“what’s wrong? is it too much? do we need to go home?” he’s so flustered, he barely registers that you’re calling your house “home”, but he still notices it in spite of everything, and it’s like a balm on his aching heart.

“y-yeah, can we go home? please?” he pleads, and you hurriedly nod.

“of course, just let me say bye to everyone before we leave, okay?” and he wants to say no, but he’s as weak as ever in front of you, so he relents.

that doesn’t stop him from gripping your hand, though, as you say goodbye to everyone. you go to give soobin your usual hug, but beomgyu pulls you back to him even more tightly. you write it off as him not feeling well and just wanting to leave as soon as possible, to which you oblige, and before you know it, you two are scurrying out of soobin’s place like there’s something chasing you.

as you’re driving home, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket, but it isn’t until you’re walking through your doorway that you check it.

soobie: we need to talk. call me as soon as you get home

you’re worried beyond belief at his serious tone, so you tell beomgyu that you’ve got to make a call before ducking into your bedroom. you don’t shut the door behind you, because why would you?

you quickly call soobin and the line connects after just one ring.

“what’s wrong?” you ask anxiously, and soobin just sighs, which makes you all the more anxious.

“we have to talk about beomgyu.”

“beomgyu? what about him? is something wrong?” you question.

“yeah, i mean, maybe. this might sound crazy, but i think — i know — he likes you.” you’re stunned silly for just a moment before bursting into laughter.

“likes me? what the hell are you talking about?” you dismiss, and you sense his agitation even through the phone.

“i’m serious. i had a feeling before, but tonight just confirmed it. he likes you.” you’re silent for a moment, just trying to process his words, but once your mind somewhat clears, you can’t help but deny, deny, deny.

“you’re wrong. it’s not like that at all. i’m just the first person who’s ever treated him nicely, and i —”

“you’re not listening,” he cuts in irritatedly. “he looked like he wanted to skin me alive tonight. how else do you explain that?”

“soobie,” you sigh. “you’ve got it all wrong. maybe you’re right and maybe he was feeling insecure, but that’s probably because i’m the only person he knows. he most likely just felt like you were stealing my attention away.”

“you’re always so dense about these things, you know?” he groans. “okay, look, i’m not sure how they came about, but i do know that he has feelings for you. maybe it started out as dependence, i’m not sure, but it’s definitely much more than that now.”

“that’s impossible,” you snort, actually feeling a bit impatient now. how could he possibly think that your relationship with beomgyu was anything other than platonic?

“why? because he’s a robot?” oh, that shuts you up. “just think about it. if he were a human, would you still be saying the same thing? like i said before, if he’s as human as you say he is, he can feel the same way we do, and he’s definitely capable of feeling love, too.” you are, again, stunned into silence. suddenly, as if there was a fog that covered your brain before, things that you never really considered become clear to you. the soft touches, the gentleness. sleeping in the same bed and waiting for you to get home. wanting you — needing you — around all the time. the way he plays with your hair. the way he’s so interested in everything you have to say. the clinginess, the dependence. it all makes so much more sense to you.

“i —” you begin, but you just so happen to glance up and see beomgyu right outside of your doorway… looking absolutely devastated.

“i’ve gotta go,” you tell soobin as you hang up, not even bothering to say your usual goodbye.

“beoms, did you hear us?” you ask tentatively, and he flinches a little bit before looking down at the floor and nodding.

you’re unsure of how to navigate this situation from here, but while you’re still trying to figure it out, beomgyu speaks.

“i-i’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly. “i understand if you don’t want me anymore.”

“w-what? no, i —”

“i’m just really sorry,” he says, looking as ashamed as a person ever could. “i know it’s wrong, i know it’s disgusting, but i —”

“beomgyu.”

“but i can’t help it. i wish i could, but i just can’t; and i understand if you want to return me or whatever, but if you could just —”

“beomgyu, stop it,” you interrupt firmly, no room for argument. he stares at you with defeated eyes, and you feel your heart break in two. “i am not disgusted, and i don’t want to return you.” his eyebrows furrow as if he doesn't quite understand, so you continue.

“your feelings are not disgusting to me, don’t ever say that again, okay? please? it makes me sad,” you plead, and he hesitantly nods. “i think it’s normal, actually. you don’t really know anybody else other than me, so of course you’re confused.”

“confused?” he asks incredulously, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“confused,” you nod. “it'll change once you meet more people, i swear.” you try to smile reassuringly, but suddenly, you see tears welling up in beomgyu’s eyes.

“beoms?” you carefully try.

“i don't need to meet more people. i just need you,” he chokes out. “don't tell me i'm confused because i'm not. i-i'd rather you just say you don't want to be with me than tell me that.” your heart clenches at his words, but he continues.

“i just want to be with you, no one else,” he tells you desperately. “i can understand if you don't feel the same way, but i can't stand to hear you say i don’t love you, because i do. i really, really do.” and as if you're dissociating, your mind is bombarded by times where he's shown you this exact sentiment. again, you go back to every intimate moment you two have ever shared. it was easy to just chalk it up to his lack of experience, but when he's telling you that's not the case so earnestly, is it truly possible to still believe it’s nothing? after a while, you decide that it most certainly is not.

the question is: do you feel the same way? you try to put a name to the feelings you have when you’re with him. the trust you have, the understanding. the desire to share everything you know and like with him, no matter how mundane it may seem to others; and consequently, the endearment towards him when you see how eager he is to listen. more than that, the intimacy between you two. how you like waking up to him smiling down at you, and how when something happens, he’s the first one you want to tell, good or bad. how when you listen to new music, you feel excited at the prospect of sharing it with him.

you realize you want to know more about him, the happy things and even the sad things. why he is the way that he is, why he thinks the way he thinks. the peace you feel when he’s running his fingers through your hair and holding you close when you watch the same film for the dozenth time. you try to picture a world where somebody else rented him. a world in which somebody else got to see him as soon as they wake up or as soon as they get home from a particularly grueling day at work, and you finally understand that you wouldn’t like that at all. but why? you’ve only ever thought of him as a friend, right? so why does it matter to you?

your eyes focus on beomgyu again, and you notice how utterly defeated he looks. his heart is on full display for you — and you alone — as tears stream freely down his pretty, doll-like face. are these tears just for you? you think so. is it safe to trust that these feelings he has for you are real? you’re not sure, but you want to. still, there’s something stopping you.

“i think… i think i feel the same way,” you admit, and his previously downtrodden appearance immediately lights up with hope. “but we shouldn’t.” and the words are like lead in your mouth.

“why not?” he asks, clearly distressed. you just gave him an inch, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take a mile. he never in a million years would have thought that you’d ever reciprocate his feelings, so he can’t just let them go so easily.

“i just… it’s just not something that i can —”

“is it because i’m an android?” he questions, voice teeming with self-loathing.

“n-no! i mean, we’re just so different,” you tell him, trying to skirt around the topic as best as you possibly can, but he won’t have it.

“whatever it is, i’ll change it. please? i can do anything,” he pleads.

“it’s not like that. i want to, but we can't. i-i'll get older. i won't look the same — i won't be the same,” and it’s embarrassing as hell to admit it out loud, but you mean it. beomgyu’s urgent gaze softens, and he inches closer to you before he’s standing before you. he reaches out to gently cup your face and tenderly pushes your hair behind your ears.

“and what about me?”

“what about you?” you scoff, but you don't pull away from his touch, though your eyes do dart away. “you’ll still be you, and i’ll be old and —”

“what about when my parts start creaking? what about when i don’t remember things like i’m supposed to? you’ll still love me then, right?” he asks, but he already knows, and your eyes snap back to his.

“th-that’s different. you can get repairs. i can’t —”

“then i won’t. you’ll get old and gray and i’ll get rundown and out-of-date. i don’t care what happens, as long as i’m with you.” you’re silent in the wake of his heavy words, so he quickly continues.

“you told me that when you love somebody, you’d do anything to be with them. you said you always find a way, and i want to find a way to be with you.” your heart simultaneously warms and aches at this sentiment.

you consider what it would be like to be with him. things would be difficult, yes, but not impossible. maybe you’ll come to regret it someday, but you don’t want to think about that right now. you feel like the luckiest girl in the world when you think of the fact that somebody so beautiful, inside and out, wants to be with you. you don't think you’ve done anything particularly special for him, but he still wants and accepts you for everything that you are and ever will be.

“okay,” you say shakily, and you finally recognize that his hands are still very much cupping your face, fingers lovingly rubbing against your cheeks. he smiles in pure relief at your answer, but he makes no move to break away his hold on you.

you notice how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, and you decide you'll have mercy on him as you lean up to him and press a chaste kiss on his pouty lips before parting. he’s visibly red at the action, and you grin at how flustered he looks. on beomgyu’s end, he feels another bloom of excitement and swell of hope threatening to overcome him. when he looks at the playfulness in your eyes, he smiles even wider.

“i love you,” he whispers affectionately.

you pause before you tell him:

“i love you, too, beoms.”

that night, beomgyu is even clingier than usual. he sticks like gum to your side. when you head to sleep, he eagerly nestles in your bed and holds his arms wide open. you follow his lead and settle into his warm embrace. he sings you one of his favorite songs you’ve ever shown him. the last words you hear before you sink into sleep are:

“to die by your side

is such a heavenly way to die

to die by your side, well

the pleasure, the privilege is mine”

notes pt. 2: sfw work ends here!

you and beomgyu have been “together” for a few weeks now, so the relationship is still very new. surprisingly or not, things seem more or less the same. you guess you never realized just how intimate you two have always been until you put a label on things. the only tangible differences are that instead of just a mere hug when he greets you, he plants kisses all over your face before finding his ways to your lips. and when you’re watching movies or even just talking, he’ll steal a kiss or two. and when you head to bed, you know you can expect him to catch your lips like a man starved before you sleep. things get heated, sometimes, but they never lead to anything besides labored breaths and promises to calm himself down. you take his hesitancy as him wanting to take it slow and treasure your first time together, and you realize he still may be traumatized from the years he spent as a sexbot.

you have apologized to him for telling soobin his secret. you let him know your reasoning for telling him, and he accepted your apology quite graciously. honestly? he was never mad, and he tells you that very clearly, but you still feel somewhat guilty even when he says he understands. your guilt is only absolved when he says he’s thankful you told soobin because things may have never changed without his wise input. he says that he’s grateful to soobin for being a voice of reason in the face of your emotional density. you blushed when he told you this, and apologized for being so slow on the uptake, but he just assured you that he wouldn’t have you any other way, which made you love him even more, somehow.

you’re now about to go to soobin’s again for another get together with your friends. second time’s the charm, you cheekily told him when you brought it up, and he blushed in response. when you two walk through the doorway, everyone cheers. you greet everyone as usual, and beomgyu tries his best to keep his searing jealousy at bay, but his anxiety starts clawing at him as soobin seats himself next to you and asks you how you are.

you giggle and tell him you’re doing well, and he responds by updating you on his tumultuous work life. beomgyu immediately wonders why you haven’t told soobin about your new relationship. are you embarrassed to be seen with him? it’s not like he doesn’t understand, what with him technically being made out of wires and machinery. of course a human like you wouldn’t want to be seen with a metal man like him. you could have the entire world in your hands if you wanted, so what’s the point of playing pretend with a fake like him? maybe, if he were you, he’d be embarrassed, too. he likes to think that maybe you aren’t like that, but at the end of the day, how could you not be? he’s nothing more than a robot masquerading as the real thing.

his anxiety worsens the more in depth your conversation with soobin gets. you try to include him by briefly giving him context about the stories soobin tells, but he can’t stop himself from worrying. again, he feels like soobin is stealing you away from him, and his mood sours.

your other friends try to talk to him, too, but he’s very obviously in a bad mood as he watches you two continue to laugh together. when you finally do turn to beomgyu, you immediately notice how awful he looks.

“beoms? are you alright?” you ask gingerly, but beomgyu’s discomfort is not at all placated even at the term of endearment.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, and you’re genuinely in shock at his change of attitude. soobin looks very concerned, but he excuses himself to get a drink so you two can work it out, though he has an inkling of an idea of what’s triggering beomgyu.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask concernedly, but he shakes his head sulkily.

“do you wanna go home?” you offer, and he immediately nods. you look torn for a second, but when you see how sad he looks, you know you can’t deny him.

you say your goodbyes to your friends and apologize for leaving early, but everyone says they understand. soobin makes you promise to host the next get together, though, to which you happily agree.

the ride home is mostly silent, but you look over to beomgyu in concern every so often. you grab his hand and squeeze it in a way you hope is comforting, but he doesn’t look any better at all.

when you enter your house, you immediately head to your bedroom, and he follows you in silence. you sit on the bed and pat the space next to you.

“beoms, what’s the matter?” you ask pleadingly as you grab his hands, and his heart, which was previously aching, is (a little) soothed by your concern.

“i-it’s nothing,” he answers, but you can tell that he’s lying because of the way he refuses to make eye contact with you.

“baby, i can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong,” you say. you’re right, and he knows you’re right, but you’re already doing him the favor of a lifetime just by deigning to be with him. how could he dare to ask for more? he’s ashamed at the thought, but you look so sincere, and he knows in his metaphorical heart that he needs to be able to communicate with you if you two are going to have any shot at a lasting relationship.

“i-i’m just j-jealous,” he sputters.

“oh, baby, why?” you ask.

“because i’m not like you,” he admits after a pause. “i already feel like i’m not good enough for you, so seeing you with someone who actually is makes me feel awful.”

“who? soobin?” and you’re absolutely petrified when he sheepishly nods.

“honey, it’s not like that at all,” you tell him. “we’re just friends, i promise.”

“but it would be so much easier to be with him. you wouldn’t have to be ashamed about telling everyone you’re with an android,” he argues.

“beomgyu, i am not ashamed of you. i just wasn’t sure if you felt comfortable with me telling everyone. if you want me to tell them, i’ll happily do it. you’re so good, how could i ever be embarrassed of you?” his eyes soften.

“do you mean it?” he asks, and you nod.

“do i not show it enough? how much i love you, i mean.” he furiously shakes his head no, but you know it’s a lie. beomgyu himself will admit that he needs more validation than most people, and it’s going to take him a while to ever get over it because of his own issues. that doesn’t mean you can’t try to help him, though, so you brush his cheek with your hands before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

“does this make you feel better?” you ask after you pull away, but he still looks somewhat depressed, so you pull him in again before pressing your lips against his. this time, you swipe your tongue on his pout, which makes him gasp. you tease your tongue against his and electricity thrums between you two when you do it. he reciprocates your enthusiasm immediately, and before long, you’re both sucking and teasing each other until you’re out of breath.

you pull away again and rest your forehead against his.

“better?” you question.

“a little,” he says. “m-maybe a little more?” you grin at his coquettishness, and you go in for another kiss. your tongues tangle, but you don’t stop there. your mouth travels, peppering kisses down his jaw to his sensitive neck. he shivers at the contact when you swipe your tongue over his unmarred skin before lightly sucking. he lets out a broken moan when you do it, and it reverberates throughout your entire body and straight to your core.

“better?” you ask again.

“m-more,” he pants.

“anything you want, baby,” you tease before your lips hungrily capture his. one of your hands snakes its way up his shirt, and he gasps when you roll his hardened nipple between your fingers. beomgyu is more sensitive than most people, as is the nature of his model, so every little touch drives him crazy.

you seem to have noticed this, so when your other hand palms his hardened length through his sweatpants and he almost screams, you have to bite back a giggle.

“d-don’t tease,” he begs, and you’d do anything for beomgyu, really, but not this time.

you palm him even more harshly and his breath catches in his throat.

“more?” you ask, and he fervently nods. you oblige, sliding your hand under his waistband and teasing the sensitive skin around his length. your fingers brush against it every so often, and he involuntarily bucks every time you do.

“c-can i touch you?” he practically implores.

“of course, my love,” you tell him as you remove your devious hands and pull your top off before unclipping your bra.

his mouth waters when he sees you, and you can see him gulp almost comically as his big hands meet your breasts. he copies your movement from earlier, rolling your sensitive buds between his very clearly experienced fingers. you let out a contented sigh at the action, but you won’t let this be all about you, so your hand sneaks it way back down his pants. this time, you grab his girthy cock and give it a harsh tug. his actions stutter, and you smirk devilishly at how fucked out he is when the fun part hasn’t even begun.

you pull at his waistband, and he eagerly tugs his pants and boxers off as soon you do it. he even goes as far as to tear his t-shirt off over his head before he pulls your half-naked body flush against his, falling onto the bed as he desperately kisses you for everything that you’re worth. eventually, he situates himself on top of you, rutting his thick, long cock onto your still clothed thigh. you didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at him before, but you’re able to look down at him now, and you realize his dick is gorgeous. just like every other part of him. it stands tall, blushing profusely at the tip and practically weeping precum. it’s a bit hooked, too, no doubt to elicit the most pleasure out of his clients. your pussy is drenched just thinking about how it’ll feel when it’s inside of you.

he almost rips your bottoms off of you and his mouth waters even more at the sight of your pussy, all slick and glistening in anticipation for what’s to come.

“so gorgeous,” he whispers as he prepares to lay himself between your legs, but you hook them around his waist before he can do so. tonight will be all about him, you’ve decided, so you tug him closer and put one of his pretty nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue on it and occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. your other hand continues to tweak the other one before you alternate between the two, causing him to let out a low, guttural groan.

eventually, he goes in for another kiss, all tongue and teeth and saliva, and you take one of your hands and harshly clench around the base of his throbbing cock.

“is this what you needed, beoms?” you tease, and he nods pathetically as you tug again, harder this time, and let your hands stroke all the way up to his reddened tip. your thumb glides over his slit, and he’s seeing stars.

“i don’t know why you’re so jealous of someone else, my love. you’re so perfect,” you praise, and his ears get even redder, somehow, in spite of the situation you’re both in.

“i — nghh — i don’t like when you’re with him,” he pants, in spite of everything you're doing to him. “only want you with me.”

“oh, baby, you have me,” you coo. “always.” and with that, you begin to feverishly jerk him off with one hand while the other returns to his nipple. his hips buck with every movement, and his eyes are screwed shut. you can tell he’s about to come before you completely take your hands off of him.

“n-no! w-why?” he asks with a crack in his voice, watery eyes shooting open at the sudden action.

“don’t you wanna come in my pussy, instead? it’s warmer and wetter than my hand,” you ask with faux innocence with a tilt of your head, and his previously aggrieved demeanor morphs back into pure lust.

“that’s what i thought,” you giggle as you grab his length and rub it against your slickness. he groans at the feeling, but you don’t immediately take him in, opting to instead roll your hips up, just barely letting his flared head catch against your entrance.

“baby, please,” he whines, and with a smirk, you finally wrap your legs around his waist and line him up with your entrance. you just barely take the tip in, easing it into your pussy, before you force him out again. he gasps raggedly at how tight you are, and he’s wound up so much, he feels like he’s on the brink of exploding. he’s about to take matters into his own hands before you guide him back inside of you, and he feels your walls struggling to accommodate him.

“s-so tight! h-how are you so tight?” he hisses, eyes reddened and face strained, but you’re far too busy with the euphoric feeling of him finally inside of you to reply. he eases in inch after throbbing inch, and it is a snug fit, indeed. he almost wonders if he’ll even fit, but though the stretch burns you, the pleasure is too great to ignore. finally, your walls slightly relax, and he’s able to completely sheath himself in you. you both moan as his tip pulsates against your cervix, and he considerately gives you time to adjust, walls contracting wildly around him, before he attempts to pull out and really begin.

“stop,” you command before he can do so, and his eyes fill with worry at your words.

“w-what’s wrong?” he stutters.

“oh, nothing,” you say between pants. “i just want to see how long you can last.”

“w-what do you —”

and you interrupt him with a kiss. he ravenously reciprocates it, and he can’t help but unconsciously thrust his hips, tapping deliciously on the deepest parts of you, but you prevent him from ever fully pulling out. you tangle one of your hands through his hair and grip it — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him groan into your mouth.

“c-can i move?” he pleads, but you shake your head no.

“why?” he whimpers, but you just smirk as you kiss him again and bite his bottom lip.

he doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, but it’s far too long for his liking. he feels his dick swell, and you still refuse to let him move, but you teasingly scrape your fingers against his balls and it’s all he can do not to come.

“p-please let me move, it hurts,” he cries, tears now flowing from his eyes. for once, sex is all about beomgyu and what feels good to him. he could cry just from the sentiment alone, but his current tears are the direct result of how you’re teasing him.

“and where does it hurt, baby? use your words, i know you can.”

“h-hurts, my c-cock hurts,” he sputters out.

“and would pounding my pussy make you feel better?” you goad, and he whines even louder at the imagery.

“y-yes,” he sobs, and you smile as you say your next words.

“such a good boy. you can move.” and that’s all it takes, really, before he’s pulling out despite your cunt’s attempts to suck him back in, and ramming himself back inside of you again and again.

the curve of his cock hits places previously untouched, and your walls spasm around him at the sensation.

“does it feel good, beoms?”

“s-so good,” he mumbles as drool pools off of his tongue and out of his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “so warm and t-tight.” you clench against your will at his filthy words, and it makes a strangled cry leave his throat.

“pussy so good, baby. your pussy is the b-best,” he babbles, and your lips meet his again before your mouth travels down, sucking a blooming hickey onto his neck. he trembles at the pain that comes with the pleasure, but somehow, he still has the presence of mind to roll his skilled fingers against your clit. just a few touches, and you already feel your orgasm approaching. he can feel every spasm of yours, and it makes his dick twitch inside of you as he wildly fucks you open.

he’s drilling into you so hard, you have to dig your fingernails into the skin of his back to keep yourself grounded. with each thrust, you feel more and more like you’re about to burst.

“gonna come!” you whine.

“do it, baby. c-come all over my cock,” he pleads.

“come inside? want it so bad,” you mewl.

“of course, my angel. a-anything for you,” he tells you as he tenderly brushes your hair out of your sweaty face, and he hammers himself into you at an inhuman pace as you feel the pressure in you crescendo into a searing hot orgasm. you clench even tighter around him while you come, gripping him so forcefully he can barely pull out, so his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated before he rams himself into you one last time and paints your inner walls with his cum.

you two stay like that for a while, just panting and basking in the feeling of closeness you feel. he presses a kiss on your forehead as he relaxes his arms and lays on top of you. you giggle at the intimacy and he finds himself sharing your laughter, your joy.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says between breaths, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing. “i love you.”

“i love you, too, beoms,” you tell him, and you do love him. unconditionally.

notes pt. 3: :,) :,) :,)))))) i'm very sorry if this was disappointing but i hope it was worth it! i would love to hear your thoughts or answer any questions you may have about this fic/universe. feedback is needed to a disgusting degree bc i need validation to survive #sorry

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yandere-daydreams · 18 days ago

Text

Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

#yandere #yandere x readery #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere twilight #twlight #twlight x reader #yandere carlisle cullen #carlisle x reader #they can't stop me from sexualizing that old man #no matter how mormon coded he might be

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ladysharmaa · 8 months ago

Text

Break in

Jay Halstead x reader

summary: when Jay's girlfriend is home alone while he's at Molly's, someone tries to break into their house

Y/n was looking disinterestedly through the fridge, closing it with a sigh when she couldn't find anything to eat that she felt like. It was a slow night, her workday had been quiet at the hospital, with only a few patients showing up.

Her boyfriend, Jay, had invited her to join him and the rest of the police department at Molly's. However, she refused, wanting him to spend quality time with his friends, feeling that she had already stolen him from them long enough after he took a few days to take care of her after she fell ill.

Detective Chuckles: Is everything okay out there? The guys miss you! Wish you could be here with me :(

The ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she read Jay's message. But she couldn't deny the butterflies that invaded her stomach knowing he was thinking about her. Their relationship was relatively recent, but they had never felt stronger love.

Jay once revealed to her that he realized she was the most important person to him when he was called on an undercover mission. They had only been dating for about 2 months. When he returned, after all the time they hadn't been together, he was shocked to see her waiting for him. He thought she had abandoned him, realizing that she couldn't live with his job, but he was wrong. He ran to her, picking her up and spinning her around a little, her laughter echoing through the room.

After answering his text, Y/n lay down on the couch, watching a movie while waiting for her boyfriend to come home. She didn't even notice when, halfway through the movie, her eyes started to get heavy, and she gave in to sleep.

She woke up again when she heard the lock on the front door click, almost as if someone was trying to get in. Too lazy to get up, thinking it was Jay trying to get in, Y/n tried to call him to remind him he had a key, in case he was already a little tipsy.

At the end of the second ring, the cop answered, but something made Y/n freeze in place, glancing at the door in alarm. She could hear the noise coming from the other people at the bar, meaning he wasn't the one at the door.

"Baby, you there? Is everything okay?" Jay's voice brought her back to reality.

"Jay, aren't you the one trying to get in by any chance?" her voice shook, still standing in the same spot on the edge of the sofa, now raised.

"What? Guys, shut up, I can't hear Y/n. Baby, I told you I'm at the bar with the rest of the group." his voice immediately became serious. "Why? What's happening?"

"Jay, I think someone is trying to get in." Y/n muttered, holding the phone tighter to stop it from falling due to the shaking of her hands. Her wide, frightened eyes were fixed on the door.

As soon as those words left her mouth, Y/n heard a noise on the other side — Jay was shouting something to Severide. Then, there was silence until the sound of Jay's jeep engine was heard.

"Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You go to our room and lock the door. Then you go to the bathroom and stay in the bathtub until I come and get you. No one else, just me. Do you think you can do that?"

From Jay's voice, Y/n noticed that he went into police mode, speaking calmly but with authority. In fact, this was just so he wouldn't lose control and be able to help his girlfriend, despite the fear that was spreading throughout his body.

"I need verbal responses, baby. Do you understand?"

"I understand." her voice shook.

"Good girl. Everything's going to be okay." Jay tried to comfort her, breaking all the traffic rules and having the sirens on to get home faster.

His heart was tightening in his chest, almost stopping him from breathing. He blamed himself, he knew he should have stayed at home with Y/n, and now she was in danger, and he couldn't protect her.

Behind him, Severide followed him in his vehicle on a 911 call.

"I'm scared, Jay." Y/n's scared voice caught the police officer's attention.

"I know, baby, I know. But I need you to be brave until I arrive. I won't let anything happen to you. I just need you to hold on and then we'll finally go to bed and cuddle. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah." She felt tears coming to her eyes but tried not to let them fall. Just like Jay said, she had to be brave until he came to save her.

Y/n then started to go to her room until she stopped halfway up the stairs when the front door handle stopped turning. For a moment, she thought she was exaggerating and it was just someone who made a mistake in the house. But the panic returned when the automatic rear light came on, indicating that someone had passed by.

Jay only heard the gasp she let out. "What? What's happening?! You need to talk to me, Y/N."

"I think they're trying to get in through the back. I don't know if I locked that door!" She stopped her speech suddenly. "Oh god, I just remembered I left Missy sleeping in the kitchen."

"Y/n, do not go in there just because of the fucking cat!"

Jay didn't even like the little furball who seemed to hate him from the moment Y/n started dating him. However, he knew that his girlfriend would never forgive herself if something happened to the cat.

"Don't scream at me! I would be such a bad owner if I didn't come back to get my cat."

"I don't care about the damn cat when you're in danger!" Jay argued, but he knew Y/n was already heading downstairs to get Missy.

When Y/n arrived, she quickly found the animal on the dining table, looking super calm, an emotion quite contrary to what Y/n was feeling. Picking her up and quickly kissing her head, the girl thought about what her next step in the plan would be: go back up the stairs or find another place to hide.

However, the intruders finally opened the door, and the choice became obvious. Y/n quickly ducked and hid behind the kitchen counter so she wouldn't be seen. On all fours and with Missy under her arm, she grabbed a knife and tried, as silently as possible, to head towards the pantry.

"Y/n, don't go silent on me. Tell me what's going on. I'm three minutes away."

"They're here, Jay. I'm in the pantry with a knife." Her breaths were ragged and shuddering. She had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying. "I was so stupid. Why didn't I do what you said? I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. God, don't apologize, sweetheart." Jay muttered with a heavy heart, running his hand over his face in despair, never having felt greater helplessness.

"They're getting closer." Y/n whispered, closing her eyes and holding her hand in front of her mouth so you wouldn't hear her heavy breathing. Jay slammed his hands on the steering wheel, clenching his jaw and thinking about what he could say to his girlfriend. "I love you, Jay. So much."

"Don't say that like it's goodbye, Y/n. I can't take it." He shook his head, using all his strength not to break down and burst into tears. "I'm almost there. One minute."

But Y/n was no longer able to respond. That's because a man, dressed all in black, entered the kitchen and looked around. She was peeking through the pantry bars, hoping he wouldn't be able to hear her and that Missy kept quiet.

She just had to hold on for one minute. Jay would be there on time. Either way, she held the knife in front of her, ready to attack. But deep down, she knew she had no chance against the muscular man. Very easily he would be able to throw her down and take the knife from her. But she wouldn't go down without a fight.

She knew that if it came to that, she would have to try to scratch him to get his DNA under her nails. That way Jay and his team would have a better chance of catching this man.

The man got closer and closer to the pantry. Y/n's hands were shaking uncontrollably. She just wanted to close her eyes and discover that it was all a nightmare. But as much as she wanted to, this was reality and the fact that she could die that day became more and more real and scary.

She didn't want to die without kissing Jay one last time. Without calling her parents to tell them she loved them. Without telling her best friend she should take the first step and text the boy she liked. She wanted to be a mother. She wanted to marry Jay and experience an eternity with him.

But just as she was ready to run out with the knife pointed at him as soon as he opened the pantry door, the man was pulled aside. She heard a moan of pain followed by things falling to the floor. Y/n wanted to go out and see what was happening, but Jay's words echoed in her head: stay hidden until he came to get her.

And then came immense relief. She heard sirens. Before she could process everything that was happening, the pantry door opened. Y/n, in a moment of panic, got up and tried to attack, the person easily dodging and putting his hands up in defense. It was only then that she realized that the person in front of her was Jay, and the intruder was on the ground, bruised, and being arrested by another police officer.

Missy, with all the commotion, quickly ran up the stairs, probably hiding in the guest room until things calmed down. In turn, Y/n dropped the knife on the floor, her face contorting and her lips trembling. She began to cry, finally releasing all the panic and fear she felt. She was pulled into Jay's arms and into his chest.

With his arms around her, feeling his warmth and the movements of his chest, Y/n finally felt safe. Jay kissed her head, saying words of comfort in hopes that she would calm down.

"Jay…" she cried, grabbing his shirt with a very tight grip.

"I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. You're safe. Shh…"

Jay then just pushed her away slightly, holding her face with both of his hands. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm okay. I was so scared."

"I know, baby. But you were so brave, I'm so proud of you. And I'll never let this happen again, I promise." he gave her a small kiss on the lips, pulling her back to him. She would never disappear from his sight again.

"Hey, sweetheart." Gabby's voice broke the moment between her and Jay. Y/n she turned her head to look at the woman she adored so much, only now realizing that Severide and Brett were watching the scene from afar. However, she continued to grab Jay's shirt, ensuring he stayed close to her. "Do you mind if we go to the ambulance just to make sure everything is okay?"

A moment of hesitation. Brett, realizing the problem, stepped forward and with a gentle smile said, "Jay can come too."

So, Y/n nodded in permission, following the paramedics to the ambulance. Outside, there were two more police cars and neighbors were in front of their houses in their pajamas to see what was going on. Always under Jay's arm, Y/n waited for Dawson and Brett to do their assessment, ensuring that everything was really okay.

After ensuring that there was no need to go to the hospital, despite a lot of resistance on Jay's part, Y/n won the argument with the condition that the next day, Will would stop by to check on her. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to sleep with Jay next to her.

Once in bed, the man had one arm over her protectively, making sure there was no space between them. "I will protect you until the end of my life. I love you."

"I love you too." she looked at him with just love in her eyes. Finding a more comfortable position, Y/n closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

But Jay stayed up all night. The most important thing is that Y/n recovers after that traumatizing night. And if she had any nightmares, he would be there to protect her.

#chicago pd #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x y/n #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #will halstead x reader #jay halstead x female reader

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starogeorgina · 2 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.01

“His heart beats for blood. Blood and fire.”

Jacaerys stares at his betrothed from across the room, watching as she mumbles to herself while flicking through the same book he’s seen her read many times, her heavy-looking eyes often fixated on the same page for a long period of time. He was informed the library and Sept were the only places she would visit outside her private chambers since Aemond killed his brother.

The last time Jace’s family were all together, in King’s landing, King Viserys declared his youngest daughter and eldest grandson were to be wed, with the intention of mending the rift between House Targaryen once and for all.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His betrothed was visibly happy and very vocal about how excited she was to start planning the wedding with his mother. Then his grandsire died, his mother’s throne was usurped, and his unborn sister died. Since returning from Winterfell Jacaerys, the princess hasn’t even glanced in his direction; she was avoiding him, which stung. Jace had never felt so alone; he always had Lucerys by his side before. Perhaps the princess was hiding herself away out of fear of being treated badly for what her brothers, mother, and grandsire had done to his family.

Not that he thought of her any differently; if anything, the young prince pitted her.

Jacaerys watches her for a few moments longer then decides it’s best to leave the princess be; no point in disturbing someone who is seeking isolation.

—

You stop making alterations to the tunic you were embroidering when you hear the door to the chambers you were currently occupying being opened; without looking back, you know who it is. When the footsteps don’t go any further than the doorway, you start threading the needle again.

Every corner you turn, you feel dark eyes burning a hole into you. Nothing that you could say would undo the pain inflicted already. Your mind begins to wonder again, and you don’t notice Jace moving until he’s sitting next to you at the wooden desk. He was looking directly at you, but you avoided meeting his gaze.

“My Prince.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, “I hold no ill will towards you.”

The funeral for Lucerys was held earlier that day, just before the sun began to set. You watched from afar as Rhaenyra crumpled to pieces, and the rest of her family sobbed, mourning the loss of such a sweet boy. It would have been wrong for you to join them when someone you cared for dearly caused them so much pain.

“How can you not? My twin is the reason you won’t get to see Luke again.”

Jacaerys says nothing to your response. What could he say? You sit in silence, watching Jace’s finger trace over the outline of a dragon on the tunic. “It’s unfinished; it was meant to be a gift for after the wedding.”

A small smile pulls on his lips. “It’s Vermax.”

Regardless of the awful things that had happened, you wanted to remain on Dragonstone but doubted you’d be able to stay long. You were nothing but a reminder of what Aemond had done.

“What’s on your mind?”

You finally looked up and met his eyes, which are glossy from holding back tears. In comparison, your own issues seem minuscule, but you share what’s bothering you anyway. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m afraid.”

Giving you a sympathetic look, Jace uses the pad of his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand. Comforting touches weren’t something you were familiar with, but you liked the warmth coming from his hand.

“You’re safe inside these walls. I won’t let anybody come in here and hurt you.”

“I’m afraid of Dae—”

You’re cut off when there’s a knock at the door and Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Elinda, walks into the room. You expected Jace to remove his thumb, but instead he squeezed your hand.

Elinda greets you both, “Princess, the queen wishes to speak with you.”

—

Staring into Rhaenyra's eyes was like staring down a dragon. Her fury was evident the moment you entered her quarters; you had seen Daemon storming in the opposite direction and presumed he had something to do with the queen's foul mood. You were thankful when she went to stand by the window.

“I believe my son was in your bedchamber when I sent for you. Is that correct?”

“No, I mean—“ you begin to stumble over your words. “Yes, he was there, Prince Jacaerys came to speak with me.”

“Nothing that could have waited until the morrow, I’m sure.”

Her expression was hard to read. Although she didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to explain further. “I told him I didn’t want to go back to King's Landing, and he told me this was my home. He said, I'm safe here.”

“Why would you believe any differently?”

“Nowhere is safe.”

Rhaenyra uncrosses her arms, her expression softening. “Nobody under my rule will harm you, but I must share this with you.”

Elinda hands you a scroll. Confused, you take it from her, “I don’t understand why someone would write to me.”

You open it nervously and read it. Your lips parted slightly; Rhaenyra asks what it says, but you’re unable to answer her. Elinda looks at it and lets out a small gasp, “It’s from Aegon. He’s demanding the princess return to King’s Landing at once.”

You take the scroll and toss it into the fireplace. “It may have my brother’s signature, but that is my grandsire and mother talking.”

“Elinda, leave us for a moment.” Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated sigh. When it’s just the two of you, she asks, “Do you wish to stay here, on Dragonstone?”

“Yes,” you say, taking a step towards her. “I understand if you want me to leave, but please don’t make me go back to them.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, she nods. “We may not be close, but you are my youngest sister. I know you are innocent.”

“I miss Helaena and her sweet children.” You begin to sob, “I was so quick to leave with you for Dragonstone that I never went and saw father before I left. I never said goodbye to him.”

“Neither of us knew what would happen.” Rhaenyra caresses your cheek in a motherly manner. “Jacaerys is right, you are safe here.”

—

Dragonstone was much darker and colder than what you were used to; your hair always feels damp even when it’s dry. You found the sounds of waves crashing around the island comforting.

But not as comforting as being held by Jacaerys.

You expected the prince to have returned to his own quarters, but he was waiting on you to return. You were sitting on the edge of the table with your legs dangling over the edge, Jacaerys forehead pressed against your own while he held you close.

The both of you were lonely, hurt, and scared.

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here so late?”

“We will be married soon,” Jacaerys says, stepping back. “Will we share a room when we are married?”

“I was told that women only lay with their husbands for a couple of nights a month, but everyone who I know who does it seems unhappy. Would you want us to always share a bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, you peck him on the lips. “Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“It’s okay.” He closes his eyes. “I hope the war ends soon so my mother can sit on her throne, and you can be my wife.”

You chuckle slightly. “As happy as I am to be your wife, I’m scared for our wedding night. My mother told me sex is painful for a woman.”

“It’s not always.”

“Wait, have you...” You don’t finish the question; the thought of him bedding someone else made you feel sick.

“No, but my stepfather is Daemon Targaryen,” he chuckles. “He always told me it was important for everyone involved to feel pleasure.”

“I was just told to grip the sheets while waiting for it to be over and that only men feel good.”

Jace’s lips ghost your own, his breath warm on your face. “Have you ever felt pleasure before?”

“Yes… kind of, have you.”

Jacaerys cheeks flush red as he nods.

“I touched myself once, but I didn’t put my fingers inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sin for a woman to touch themselves for desire. I went to the sept immediately afterwards and didn’t do it again.”

“Sweet girl,” Jace kisses your cheek. “I’ll never touch you anymore than you want me to.”

You hug again, but this time Jace’s head is pressed against the side of your neck. You still like that in a comfortable silence until you feel him lightly kissing your neck. He pauses waiting for your reaction; a moan slips from your mouth, and you tighten your grip, going around Jace’s back, encouraging him. “Do it again, please.”

Jacaerys starts kissing up your neck until he reaches your jawline. Lifting his head, your noses brush together, “Can I make you feel good now?”

You take Jacaerys hand and guide it underneath your skirts, helping him find the sensitive spot that brings you such pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

Jace shushes you with a kiss, “We need to be quiet.”

You hold onto his shoulders tightly as he rubs circles on your clit until you climax.

Smiling Jacaerys kisses you again, “It’s late; we should get some rest; the morrow will come soon enough.”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

He takes your hand and helps you off the table. “Yes, but I’ll need to go before the handmaidens come in the morning.”

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon/you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #jacaerys targaryen smut #jacaerys targaryen x reader #Jacaerys Targaryen x you #jace velaryon fanfic #jace velaryon x reader #madness

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jiminrings · 3 months ago

Text

four seven eight, phase 3 (3)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: jungkook wants to fight with, for, and beside you.

alternatively, nothing will ever be the same again, and you and jungkook couldn’t be any happier.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ fluff, angst, the moral dilemma of keeping someone (read: yoongi) who was almost ur first, last, and everything in ur life despite having another person (read: jungkook) to be exactly that, yearning, full circle moments, The Vagueness n different kind of angst now that 478's a family n not jus a couple anymore, redemption :) ]

notes: thank you for locking in!!!! the og 478 fic aka phase 1 was released two years ago n now we're here can u believe . hee-hee thank u for all the love you've given and continue to have for them!! TRUSTTT that this won't be the last you'll see of them :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

In a nightmare that Jungkook’s experiencing in real time, Hwayoung mistakes Yoongi as her dad.

Jungkook knows fully that there’s a knee-jerk reaction available for practically everything. He knows it well, because the impulse that occupies him kicks in during the most important events of his life.

Your husband’s impulse, which he often confuses for instinct, is too driven to the point that even for the briefest second, all that Jungkook could feel is himself.

He tasted blood in the roof of his mouth when you left him the first time all those years ago. He had clenched his fists so hard, he almost drew blood over the realization that you had given up on him, even if it was for the time-being.

He felt his heartbeat in his eardrums when Hwayoung’s cries first pierced into the world (and straight to his ears), all to the point that the people surrounding you thought that he suddenly fell ill.

Jungkook could and should be able to feel himself right now; right now when his only child glazes past him and calls Yoongi as her dad, and right now when he hears his name called out for someone it doesn’t and should never belong to — except Jungkook can’t even feel his fingers.

He can’t taste blood in the roof of his mouth and he can’t feel his heartbeat in his eardrums. Jungkook can’t even claw himself out of a nightmare that’s built around him yet staged by his karma alone.

“That’s not appa, Hwayoung,” you cut into the thick air, your lips set in a straight line as it takes everything in you not to scoop up Jungkook into your arms because he looks like he’s about to collapse in shock. “Yoongi’s not your dad.”

Hwayoung understands, of course. She understands it like how she always does whenever her little mistakes get rectified. The concentrated pout on her face tells you that she’s listening, hearing you loud and clear as you reiterate a fact that she seems to have forgotten.

Jungkook genuinely tweaks within his own hold, the knot in his throat unbearable as he can’t even figure out how he’s standing beside you on his own to feet. He stands beside his wife and he stands before his daughter, yet he doesn’t even know if the weight he holds in between is enough for him to stay rooted.

Jungkook is as still as a rock while he watches you correct Hwayoung on the spot. He’s immoveable as he sees his daughter’s eyes flit to him in curiosity before finally coming to realization. He’s frozen, not by his own choosing, but because neither of his impulses nor instincts kick in.

Hwayoung nods easily, and Jungkook thinks that he’s about to lose his mind if it hadn’t already been muddled three seconds prior.

In a dream Jungkook doesn’t tell anyone, he’s not as easily interchangeable with Yoongi in the same way that Hwayoung thinks apples are pears sometimes, and that blue is somehow violet.

The mornings without Hwayoung have been too long for Jungkook.

They’ve been too long since her impromptu vacation from the both of you started, dragging out endlessly to the point that he had to ask you to hold his phone so he could withhold himself from hovering above Hwayoung by asking Yoongi for updates by the minute. Mornings were too bright; too normal to be spent by you and him without a playful toddler who tries to slip her finger in whenever someone yawns.

Jungkook’s missed his mornings with Hwayoung in between the two of you.

He missed the mornings where it’s still dark out and he’s been asleep enough for long that he could make out Hwayoung twitching in the dark as she searches for a cold pillow, before later ending up next to your stomach or next to his head.

He longed (read: still longs perpetually) for the mornings wherein he gets to sleep in and it’s you and Hwayoung who wake him up from dreams he’s always willing to part with, because he knows that he has something infinitely better to wake up to.

“Hiii, appa,” Hwayoung drawls out, hugging his leg as Jungkook automatically pats her head with a gentle hand, the smile on his face more or less forced as he chokes out a greeting. He gets snapped out of his trance immediately, even if he isn’t sure that the sight he woke up to this morning is even worth living alongside with.

“Hi, Young-ie,” he whispers, his eyes strikingly neutral even when Hwayoung grabs his hand and swings it around lightly.

Jungkook make the mistake of looking up and he doesn’t know which is worse; your husband, for once, can’t definitively tell if you looking at him empathically should placate him or unsettle him deep into his core.

What Jungkook can tell however, is that seeing Yoongi’s sly gaze on him with the ghost of a smirk on his lips plays into the rage that he can barely hold onto, if not for the little hand that’s already silently apologized to him.

Hwayoung may not know any better at the moment, but she knows well not to ask questions when Jungkook suddenly stands up out of nowhere when he’s just agreed to play on the floor with her two seconds ago, and she knows better not to stare when you immediately agree and not interrogate him at all.

“I’m gonna step out. Need to blow off steam because otherwise, I’ll take it out on him,” Jungkook whispers to your ear, hands grimly shoved into his pockets. “I know we both saw him do the same thing, Y/N,” he laughs humorlessly, clenching his jaw tightly before he leans down to speak again, enough for Yoongi to both see and hear just how angry he is. “Go put your friend on a leash.”

Yoongi likes to think that it’s spite that keeps him running.

The notion of doing things out of spite is not new at all to him; as a matter of fact, he actually thinks he’s the foundation of it.

Yoongi can’t keep track of the many times that it was spite that put food on the table and pushed him to his limits to arrive at the state that he’s in now. Yoongi yearns unlike no other to the point that it ails him because longing, without any bitterness in it at all, feels pointless.

Longing with only the ambition to surrender in the end is pointless; it doesn’t push Yoongi at all to be the best in anything. It doesn’t make him feel any better because without the regret in his stomach and the resentment in his chest, he wouldn’t be reminded of his dream.

In a dream Yoongi wants to tell everyone, he doesn’t fall short to Jungkook.

It’s a ridiculous gag dream that feels like a poorly-made skit to him. Yoongi, with all his spite, can’t believe that he only comes second to the likes of Jungkook, who hadn’t worked as hard as he did nor attempted to fight tooth and nail to be even recognized (even under your light) in the first place.

In a well-rehearsed yet trite skit that appears in Yoongi’s mind whenever he goes to sleep after drinking a little too much or waking up with the sheets a little colder than usual, he doesn’t acknowledge Jungkook to be in the same orbit as him; in his dream that’s equivalent to Jungkook’s nightmare, you and Hwayoung are within arm’s reach.

It had been spite that made Yoongi smirk at Jungkook, right after the latter’s whole worldview shattered in front of him when Hwayoung mistook him for a stranger.

It’s everything but spite that makes Yoongi keep his head up high at you, refusing to bow even just a little out of shame. You’ve dragged him to the nearest empty room and while he would’ve teased you about it for any other context, he can’t seem to do it now when you look at him in disgust, even before he gets to open his mouth.

“What was that, Yoongi?!” you fume, standing by the door as you keep your voice hushed.

It’s almost poetic for Yoongi to see because even when you’re bound to curse him out, even when the both of you are at a turning point (or whatever is left of it to change before it perishes completely), you still put Hwayoung first above all else.

“What was what?” he smiles cheekily, even if it’s apparent that it’s just for show because if anything, it’s Yoongi who knows the most about his own fallacy.

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I was playing around?” he offers weakly, shrugging his shoulders to make it seem that he doesn’t care at all about the anger you’ve reserved specifically for him; as if he’s not trying to buy time to prolong what could be the last time he’ll ever see you outside of work.

“That was nothing, Yoongi. What Hwayoung said meant nothing,” you grit, your fists balled to your sides as you try not to let your mind drift to the fact that you had confronted Yoongi first before comforting your own husband. “She’s a kid and she just got confused.”

There’s only silence between the two of you, and Yoongi wants to stay in it.

Yoongi wants to consume the dead air if it means that he won’t be backed into a corner and forced to take all the hits that Jungkook’s reality – which are his dreams— could throw to his face.

“You don’t have to tell me what I already know,” he murmurs lowly yet for some odd reason, Yoongi still refuses to bend his head.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t feel regret at all. Out of all the times he could ever feel it, he doesn’t feel it now, even when the supposed love of his life wants to banish him out forever.

“Then why do you look happy about it?” you seethe. “Why the hell did you look happy when Hwayoung called you her dad?”

“Because I was,” Yoongi smiles so tightly, his skin buckles under the pressure — come to think of it, his eyes almost feel like they’re stinging. “Do you want me to lie?”

“It would be better if you do,” you retort without even thinking, the tremble of your bottom lip only goading Yoongi further.

Yoongi stands before you, proud yet unwilling, as he serves as the largest and longest milestone of how far you’ve come in your career with his unrequited love for you as the barometer.

“Oh,” he reacts, his face falling before his throat tightens impossibly. Yoongi keeps nodding his head madly, the pricking of tears in his eyes making him frustrated even more. “Okay. Sure. Y-you know what, let me just lie andsay that I don’t constantly think about how it could’ve been me, o-or how I don’t usually hope that Jungkook completely fucks it up because I could show you that I’ll never do you wrong in the first place!”

“Friends don’t fucking do that, Yoongi!” you clench your teeth, the devastation on your face apparent yet never equivalent to that of Yoongi who’s already nearing his limit.

“I don’t want to be just your friend!” he whispers at you, because while he thinks about Hwayoung in the living room who’s just a few steps away, he also thinks of how scared he is to admit the fact to your face no matter how high he holds his head.

“I don’t think we can’t be friends either,” you sigh breathlessly, the finality to your tone making Yoongi freeze.

Finally, he lowers his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

In an overdone skit that plays in Yoongi’s head, somebody pulls out a slate and yells for the scene to be over, because not only did the whole thing play out in just his head, it was also just a silly dream that a married man with a kid could only have.

In a well-rehearsed, trite, and critically acclaimed skit that Yoongi writes himself but could never act in, you never have to be put in a position wherein you have to put a pause to your friendship with Yoongi.

The dependency and entanglement the both of you have with each other, no matter in what degree, only proves to be a double-edged sword that hurts you more than it could ever hurt him, and Yoongi knows he can’t ever live with that.

There needs to be distance between you and Yoongi, and he’s never hated that fact more than now, no matter how much he knows it’s needed.

Yoongi knows he’s an intruder.

He’s an intruder who frequently gets to see you at work, he’s an intruder who always gets to loathe Jungkook no matter from what angle, and he’s an intruder who occasionally gets to hold Hwayoung who isn’t his.

( ♡ )

The truth is, Jungkook didn’t even really think of having kids until you came along. It had been a long withstanding truth in himself, even with Sora before you, that the thought of having someone of his own flesh and blood was too heavy for him — too much.

Jungkook didn’t entertain the thought of having children until you came into his life and he had decided then and there that there’d never be too much of you for him.

You weren’t too much for Jungkook when you were still a new couple and had asked him if he’d be open to marrying you one day, even if you were barely a year into your relationship (and your first one at that) that he was yet to have a full grasp of.

You weren’t too much for him when you had talked his ear off when you were still a rookie, promising him sincerely that you’ll make it big and that soon enough, the both of you would live a comfortable life — provided that you were still in each other’s by that time.

You weren’t too much for the Jungkook of then, your wide-eyed boyfriend who’s a man of few words, and you’re not too much for the Jungkook of now, your husband who feels like he has far too many feelings.

The truth is, Jungkook didn’t even really think that his heart could exist outside of his chest until Hwayoung came along.

There’s this dull, agonizing pain that always squeezes on Jungkook’s chest like clockwork whenever he feels he’s letting his daughter down. There’s bitterness in failure and there’s failure, even when Hwayoung’s tiny hands don’t seek his when they’re walking side by side, or when she’s not as enthusiastic about her meals like how he had been when preparing them–

Or even when Hwayoung mistakes Yoongi for her dad.

“This shirt?” Hwayoung asks, interrupting his inner turmoil as she points to a shirt of his from high school. She has a whole drawer filled with yours and Jungkook’s old clothes for sleep shirts, the giddy smile on her face as she awaits for approval making Jungkook almost forget everything. (Read: almost)

“You can choose any shirt you want, Young-ie,” he answers, his eyes only half-lidded and just a whisper close to stinging with tears. The exhaustion in his voice is practically inseparable from the gutting feeling of his full-time work as a dad for a little more than two years, being mistaken for Yoongi’s part-time favor as a godfather for barely two weeks and then some.

Jungkook’s hands immediately twitch at his sides when Hwayoung walks towards him and stumbles for the slightest second, the brief hiccup on his heart reminding him that he’ll be attuned to her no matter what — even if his daughter mistakes him for a stranger.

He knows the shit that the elders say about letting children fall. He has the script memorized by now and he knows the annoyance that blooms in him routinely when he gets unsolicited advice.

Jungkook knows it all, and he knows that eventually, Hwayoung would get hurt and he won’t be able to do anything about it. Just like how she can hurt him, someway and somehow along the line (maybe she’ll call Yoongi appa again), and how he won’t know what to do with himself should that time come.

Tonight isn’t the time.

“Help, appa.”

“Okay,” he obliges. “I’m here,” Jungkook utters, ironically refusing to call himself the title that he wants Hwayoung to keep only for him; not for Yoongi, not for your manager, and not for the men that constantly pine after you even when they know fully that Jungkook’s in the picture.

Your husband knows greed and he hates it, because it had been in the form of Yoongi briefly smirking when Hwayoung called him appa that time.

Jungkook knows greed and is well-acquainted, because his fist is scuffed and Yoongi’s number is blocked.

He knows greed and whatever indomitable power that puts a brake to his rage right when it’s about to pour over, because he had punched the brick wall in the patio instead of Yoongi to blow off steam, and because he has the mind to not taunt Yoongi with a complete family picture right after you distanced yourself away from him.

“I’m sorry, Young-ie. Mama and I are sorry to put you through that, okay?” he murmurs to her ear like it’s only their little secret for them to hear, the unbridled wonder that lingers in his daughter’s eyes enough to placate him that everything’s okay between them tonight.

( ♡ )

To wake up in the same bed as Jungkook and Hwayoung after so long makes your heart swell.

Your heart swells, not just with pride, but with a feeling you can’t ever put a name to. You’re more than content enough to see Hwayoung cuddled up to Jungkook and the mess of their hair tangled in between, but even more, you’re filled with a strange yearning that you don’t want them to stay that way.

You want more of them in a way that you’re overwhelmed, just by thinking that they’re the closest you could ever have to feeling immortal in this life. Not everything is completely back into place like they once were, but oddly enough, neither you and Jungkook are actively trying to replicate the old times.

“You sure you’ll do the groceries alone this time?” you ask Jungkook for the third time, also receiving his third consecutive playful eye roll as he packs Hwayoung’s bag for you.

“Yes, ma’am. Just go with the princess and look at playschools,” he hums, ruffling your daughter’s hair that you spent a good ten minutes on. “If I come with, I fear I’ll already cry just by thinking Young-ie’s growing up.”

“She is growing-…”

“Can’t hear you!” he hollers as he backs out from the driveway, the smile on his face incomparable because he woke up with the thought that you did.

Jungkook wants more of you and Hwayoung, not because he just wants to return your unspoken sentiment, but because he figures that no amount of time or space will ever be enough if it’s the both of you that hold it.

It’s nice to be back to a somewhat normal routine. With your work finished (and all that is left is for the publicity to ramp up) after having spent so much time on it, you immediately resign yourself to the fixed routine you’ve been dying to get back on.

You’ve almost forgotten just how chaotic a supposedly mundane breakfast could be for a family of three, seeing to it that Jungkook’s packed lunches had grown on you to the point that even having your own plate on the dining table felt weird.

You’ve almost forgotten just how liberating it felt to walk outside with Hwayoung (despite having to put on masks and caps on for animosity) without having to worry how much time you have left before shooting starts again, considering that your daughter doesn’t even regard you for the actress that you are.

Hwayoung pulls your hand and walks ahead of you, and you let her. She’s small and unyielding, even if she pulls you with the equivalent of a mini Jungkook’s strength.

Your daughter walks ahead of you and you don’t mind because you rarely ever get to see her in the sunlight wearing the dresses that Jungkook buys even if there aren’t any sales going on (you’re trying to get him to curb his shopping addiction), as opposed to her being bundled up in pajamas, sitting on your lap in your trailer under studio lights.

Hwayoung has the strength that only a child of yours and Jungkook’s could ever possess, because while you freeze in your tracks upon seeing a familiar face as soon as you open the glass doors to the playschool you were about to scope out, Hwayoung only looks at you and the woman in front with a smile.

“Y/N, is that you?”

“Sora,” you exhale, the surprise probably evident on your face because it takes a solid second for you to register her presence. “Hi.”

Sora’s even prettier in person (not that she was ever ugly in the first place) than the beauty she was on the picture you’ve seen of her and Jungkook, her genuine smile unmistakeable because she looks like light itself.

You get why Jungkook had fallen for her, and while there’s nothing about now to blame him for, you can’t understand either why Sora’s absolutely ecstatic to see her ex-boyfriend’s wife.

“She’s my daughter,” you belatedly add after finally moving on from being starstruck, putting a reassuring hand on Hwayoung’s back (who doesn’t need it anyway because she’s more at ease right now than you are) as you smile. “Say hi, baby.”

Sora gasps in awe, and while you appreciate her politeness in not assuming anything about Hwayoung before you introduced her yourself, the curious, baser part of you wonders if she thinks about you and what she could’ve been–

If Sora thinks about you as much as you do with her whenever she fights with her partner, or if she ever thinks about the lingering insecurity that comes with being a lover in general.

“She’s an absolute sweetheart! She looks so much like you.”

“She does?” you beam, completely surprised at her words. You’re already surprised about Sora in general along with her unexpected enthusiasm, but you’re even more shocked at her sincere interest. “A lot of family and friends say that she looks like Jungkook more.”

“I mean they do say that soulmates will look alike at one point,” she shrugs playfully, head tilting as she waves to Hwayoung while you digest her words.

You didn’t think Jungkook’s past would be this kind no matter how much it had hurt you before.

You feel guilty for having expected a confrontation of some sort, the slight paranoia that had creeped on you before completely dissipating the longer that you look at Sora. She looks at ease and it’s contagious, the soft smile on her face extending up to her eyes when she sees your gaze lingering at the hand on her belly.

“Oh, yeah. I’m expecting,” she announces excitedly, cheerfully, as if you’re childhood friends and go to brunch every Sunday — as if you’re close enough for her to spread her joy with.

“Congrats, Sora,” you grin, extending your hand to gently hold her arm in celebration.

You had insisted again and again to yourself that Sora’s no one to you; that she’s a blip in Jungkook’s radar that lasted for years and came before you. You had let the idea of her consume you fully to the point that her kindness takes you aback.

You can’t blame Sora, and she can’t blame you either. Somewhere along Jungkook’s mosaic he’s made for himself, she lingers in there as a stray piece that fits no matter the pattern. It’s irrevocable and only natural for your husband to be an accumulation of everything and everyone he’s ever loved, and while you know that you and your daughter occupy most of it, you can’t ever erase Sora from existence.

You want to ask who’s the dad with the most inconspicuous tone you could ever possess.

You want to ask her how she’s been and how things went with her partner during the last time that she and Jungkook had celebrated their anniversary as exes.

You want to ask Sora about her cousin and maybe even joke about how chaos must probably run in her bloodline.

You want to ask Sora about hundreds of things and hold her accountable for the sleepless nights she’s costed you and your family, but you hold yourself back — not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because everything had already worked out in the end. Sora’s already in the past and you want her to stay there, even if you have the opportunity to get the answers you’ve only used to pray for.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, I’m sorry. I know it’s a little too late to say it, but I really am,” she murmurs after some time of only you and her silently watching Hwayoung talk to another kid, the sincerity in her eyes evident even if she holds her head low before you.

The closure you could only ever ask for whenever your heart hurt the most, comes to you when you feel that you’re at your lightest.

( ♡ )

True to your word, you don’t let Jungkook attend your press conference.

There’s no point in denying that you do need Jungkook here with you, but there’s no denying either that needing him and wanting him to be here are two different things.

You’re oddly reminiscent of the time that you had been in this position, and even if the memory’s bittersweet, the rational and realistic part of your brain could only think that it’s reasonable to miss Jungkook despite barring him from here. This is your highest peak after all, and it’s only normal for you to be nervous.

It’s normal for you to be nervous despite telling the staff that you’re going to keep the wedding ring on your finger throughout the entire thing. It’s entirely reasonable for you to be jittery at the possibility of being asked about your family, no matter how far-fetched the queries could be from the actual movie at hand.

It’s only okay for you to feel that trepidation in your stomach even if everything in your life, at the moment, is at your favor.

The room’s quiet with only you and Jimin in it, and without the buffer of Hwayoung that laughs through everything that he says, the one-on-one that you have with your manager reminds you of the talk you had to have when the rumors about you and Yoongi broke out.

Jimin has more years and experiences under his belt now, but with the way he talks to you, it feels as if it’s neither of you are experienced; that the both of you are complete beginners who’d like to think that the only way to go is up, and that a tiny irregularity could instantly make everything you’ve built to collapse.

The talk about Eunsu has been a long time coming, and Jimin wants to let you know now when there’s nobody else — when you’re reminded that you have everything to both gain and lose.

“I’ve managed to put a lid on it for the meantime,” he clears his throat, looking at your reflection in the mirror as he puts on your microphone delicately. “I don’t know for how long though.”

Your gaze looks blank, almost unreadable to the untrained eye, yet Jimin knows that there’s a weight to it. Unlike all the brush-ins you’ve ever had with issues before, this is the first time that it had ever hit home and everything that ever mattered to you.

He could only imagine the weight of what it must feel like to be you; of how heavy it must be to be the one to take everything in stride.

“It’s okay, Jimin. Thank you,” you murmur, looking down on your lap as you try to fight the frown that comes with the realization that you’ve been used to having Hwayoung on it.

“Y/N,” he tuts, his tone stern yet familiar.

“Hmm?” you ask while you’re in a daze, letting yourself stare at a spot on the wall that could only hold your attention for so long. You can’t erase it as much as you can’t avoid this conversation with Jimin, and even more, you can’t avoid the eventual turbulence you’ll be subjecting your family to once everything goes public.

There’s an innate guilt that comes with being a wife and a mother, you figure. It’s your first time being both and with it comes the sense of doom; it’s not the morbid type of ruination, but rather, it’s the anxiousness that comes with knowing you don’t only have yourself to look after.

“What Eunsu did to Jungkook— to your family, even-…”

“I know,” you interrupt, nodding fervently to cut the conversation short, except Jimin doesn’t fold.

“I know you’re protecting them. I know you’re thinking about Hwayoung the most,” Jimin sighs. “But you wanting to protect them also means that you’re protecting Eunsu even if it isn’t your intention,” he murmurs, squeezing your shoulder gently. “The news coming out about her won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

The same two people that you’re protecting, one of them more innocent and clueless than the other yet just as loving, give you complacency amidst your unease.

( ♡ )

You always insisted on having a big bed.

Jungkook remembers your insistence on having a big bed when the two of you moved in together and slowly started furnishing your home before your wedding. Your preferences didn’t exactly clash his because while you mostly took care of the budget and he took care of the aesthetics, there would almost always be common ground. Almost.

Additionally, you also remember Jungkook’s gratefulness for your stubbornness towards having a big bed because realistically, he can’t ever picture himself lying down on a deluxe standard bed with a toddler between the two of you.

The maintenance for the third-biggest variation of a king-sized bed that you had pleaded him for (and even made a whole presentation about defending your case) with Hwayoung in the picture now is even more troublesome. The quest for bedsheets that are hypoallergenic, extremely soft and comfortable, have a neutral, classic, yet easily-maintainable design, and toddler-proof simultaneously seems to be never-ending.

Jungkook can’t sleep at all sometimes. Even when the airconditioning in the room is at a perfect temperature, his comforter is on his person and not on the other side of the bed by your doing, his daughter’s hair isn’t in his mouth, and his cat’s humongous built isn’t blocking his passage of air, there’s days wherein Jungkook can’t put himself to sleep.

In one way or another, it’s always the ache and worry that manifests in his chest for the next day. He keeps wondering about tomorrow’s meals and the probability of Hwayoung throwing a tantrum. He keeps wondering if there’s going to be a wild curveball that somebody will throw at you tomorrow, and how fast he can get to you should that happen.

Jungkook’s no stranger to sleepless nights. He’s used to analyzing one unfavorable context after another to scare himself into being awake so he can’t get nightmares when he eventually goes to sleep.

To wake your husband up just because you couldn’t sleep yourself is a menial task that you finally talk yourself into doing, the little shake that you give Jungkook on his shoulders enough to make him jolt awake.

“Kook, wake up.”

“What, what-…? What is it?” he darts up groggily, eyes barely adjusted to the dim light you’ve set the room to. Jungkook’s lost to why you even woke him up when Hwayoung’s out like a log, but he doesn’t question you on it — instead, he gently carries his daughter to occupy his warm spot on the bed, just so he could crawl his way to the middle to listen to you.

“Jungkook.”

“Hmm,” he hums again, sleepily propping himself up with a pillow as he tries to blink the sleep away from his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t even dare to take a peek at the alarm clock because all he knows is that you’re awake and you also want him to be, so he doesn’t complain.

Four seconds. Breathe in through your nose.

Seven seconds. Hold it.

Eight seconds. Exhale through your mouth.

“Let’s fight,” you whisper, leaning your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

Your husband could only rub his eyes tiredly, the yawn that escapes him making his entire body shake. “Huh? Right now?” he clarifies, the sleepy pout on his lips only highlighting how wide and docile his eyes are for you at the moment.

“Come on. Let’s fight,” you half-heartedly offer, bumping your head to his.

Your husband only stays silent, putting a hand up to your forehead to check for a fever.

Jungkook only yawns once again, his sluggishness being infectious to the point that you suppress your own by burying your face to his neck.

“Can we like, fight in the morning or something?” he tries to compromise, fully serious about a half-baked joke you woke him up for.

Jungkook’s come a long way. He’s no longer your husband who didn’t want to fight you on things for the sake of self-preservation. He’s no longer the one who avoided confrontation in fear of setting you apart from him. He’s this now, so willing to go with your every whim that if you want to have a fight with him at two in the morning, he’ll rub the sleep out of his eyes and let you rest on his shoulder if ever you were being serious.

You kiss your husband on the lips, the love-drunk smile that he gives you afterward making you snort.

Your king-sized bed is a mess. Somewhere by the end of your foot, there’s Hwayoung’s pink crayon that she insists on holding to sleep. Somewhere by the tips of Jungkook’s hair, there’s Miso’s fur kept together with his daughter’s hair clip because she didn’t want to go to sleep without putting it on him.

Jungkook, your husband who’s clad in a shirt of yours with too many holes on it because of his daughter’s safety scissors and his cat’s claws, hugs you to his chest in silence.

You think about how you can’t tell when the news about Eunsu is going to release, while Jungkook sneakily tries to uncover your sock-covered foot with his own because he lost one of his socks while sleeping and wanted to be even.

You think about how the Academy nominees are going to be revealed in a week, while your husband says out loud his grocery list for the week while randomly staring off into space every ten seconds.

You think about Hwayoung attending playschool in a matter of months, while your husband internally plays rock, paper, scissors with himself as he waits for you to gather your thoughts.

You think about you and Jungkook and whatever comes with, for, and between you while he hugs you under the dim lights.

Four seconds. Breathe in through your nose.

Seven seconds. Hold it.

Eight seconds. Exhale through your mouth.

“What if it only gets brutal from here on out, Jungkook? What do I do?” you murmur, looking up at him.

“Who says it has to be brutal?” Jungkook laughs, his voice bouncing out into the space as if you’re in a newly-built house with barely any furniture.

Jungkook’s laughter is still joyous and loud, because even if Jungkook’s heart is a newly-built house, his happiness still reverberates the more it settles into the ground and comes closer to its roots; closer to you.

“We’ll keep up.”

#DUNNNNN :O n to get ahead of questions.. yes there WILLLL be a phase 4!!!#jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader

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