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spideyjimin · 4 months ago

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Bloodlines entwined: VIII | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.

— pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader

— genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut

— rating: 18+

— words: 7,993

— warnings: sexual tension, strong language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, nipple play, a lot of teasing, nervousness, mention of death, a looot of crying, mention of murder, grieving, sadness, emotional distress, and dark thoughts

— author’s note: soo my hand is still very much in pain, but slowly throughout the week, i’ve prepared the post because this chapter has been written like 2 weeks ago. I hope i’ll be able to post next week the next chapter because I haven’t been able to work on it at all 😕 This chapter is quite emotional, I cried writing it so be ready for what’s coming 🫣 The chapter is shorter than the previous one, but since it’s a heavy one, I decided to make it shorter 🤗 Hope you’ll enjoy it & let me know what you think ❤️

Chapter VIII: memories of the past

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

Sleeping with Jungkook could have been easier if you hadn’t been so much into each other. The bed felt so small with him by your side. And man, you simply couldn’t resist him. You couldn’t resist his leg brushing against yours. You couldn’t resist his strong scent.

You tried to keep your distance, to focus on sleep rather than the way his breathing matched yours, the way his body radiated heat that pulled you closer. But resisting him was useless. His mere presence ignited something deep inside you, something impossible to ignore.

And then there were his arms—strong, inviting. One careless movement, and his hand was resting on your waist, his fingers barely brushing against your skin. A shiver ran down your spine, your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You turned slightly, just enough to glance at him, and found his dark doe eyes already on you. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips parted slightly as if he, too, was struggling to fight the pull between you.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself. But with Jungkook so close, so intoxicating, you knew sleep would never come easily. His eyes roamed your face, his fingers soothing the skin of your waist, his tongue licking his lips, and his breathing was heavy. It was a matter of seconds before you’d both surrendered to temptation.

And well, before you could even register what was going on, his lips were sealed on yours, kissing you like there was no tomorrow. His hand on your waist pushed you closer to him, the other one was right under your chin to hold you. Your hands found their way to his hair, playing with it.

The kiss was far from being innocent. It was actually those kinds of kisses that only meant one thing. Sex. None of you wanted to stop. You were both craving each other so deeply. You always did. There hadn’t been a second in the past weeks that you didn’t desire this man with your entire soul.

Before you knew it, his cock was buried deep inside you as you were riding him. This was pretty much unexpected, but man, it felt so good. Yuna could come more often if it meant having Jungkook inside you. Your palms rested on his toned chest for leverage as you lifted yourself up and down on his cock.

“Shit,” you gasped.

You were completely drunk in the feeling of his cock filling you up, his hips working in tandem with yours while your arousal dripped down your thighs, pooling around the base of his cock. Jungkook couldn’t help but love the way your body contorted with delight as you were both fucking.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his hands holding your waist tighter when your walls squeezed him. “And making such a mess on my cock, sunshine” his deep voice sent shivers down your spine.

At this rhythm, you knew you’d be coming undone at any moment. A desperate moan fell out of your mouth, your nails digging into the skin of the muscles on his chest. Jungkook groaned when you sped up the movement of your hips, the warmth of your walls wrapping around him tighter than before as his hands went up on your body, cupping your breasts in them. He pinched your nipples between his fingers, causing you to moan louder and louder.

“You’re fucking hot, yn,” he groaned. “You’re riding me like you own this dick.”

You could feel his cock twitch inside of you as you rocked your hips at a steady rhythm, your palms still pressed against his toned chest while his hands gripped onto the sheets.

“But I do own Jungkook Junior,” you winked at him.

“You fucking do,” he whispered.

A small moan left your lips when you looked down at him. His wet hair sticking on his face was turning him into an even hotter man. His eyes were staring up at you in that stunning way that showed you how lost in the pleasure he was. His tongue licked his lips as he moaned out your name, tugging at the sheets and thrusting up into you with more urgency each time.

Your walls clenched around his length, squeezing him hard. So far, he had let you set the pace and used him the way you wanted but it was just too slow for him. He craved more so he started thrusting up to you in a harsh way. He went deep inside of you, and you were loving it. He was stretching your insides so much with his rough thrust and it made your whole body tremble. The wave of pleasure inside you had suddenly grown so strong that you felt like you were about to come.

“Gonna cum, Jungkook,” you whimpered.

Your nails sank into his chest, making him groan at the pain and pleasure it gave him. He gripped the sheets harder as he continued to roughly thrust into you.

“Go ahead, sunshine, make a mess for me,” he groaned as he kept thrusting hard.

Those dirty words were all you needed to let go of your orgasm. You were fiercely coming, biting your lower lip to muffle your moans. Your thighs were shaking but he kept thrusting into you while you were completely high from your orgasm. Jungkook was completely loving the way you were creaming his dick.

His pace became more brutal as he was chasing his own orgasm, making the bed creak under you. Your walls kept clenching around him and that was all he needed to come. He closed his eyes, enjoying this moment of release and you were sure he’d never look so sexy.

You collapsed over Jungkook as you both tried to catch your breath for a little while, and you left a lot of kisses on his sweet face. He loved it and he could stay like this forever. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight in his embrace.

If temporarily living with him meant having sex at 3 am, you would be more than down for it. Then, you broke the hug to clean yourselves because both your arousals were all over you. His dick was covered with his sperm and your juices while those same things were dripping down from your pussy.

Once cleaned and back to being dressed, you fell asleep in each other arms, more than happy to be together.

Hours later, Jungkook told you the Shadows would like to reveal your existence to your grandparents. They also asked him to be the one giving them the news. Obviously, he didn’t want to do it without your approval. He also mentioned that he wanted to do it with you by his side, which meant meeting your grandparents for the first time.

And now, you’re standing in front of their house after four hours of driving. Jungkook is firmly holding your hand while he hears your heart beating extremely fast. He can feel your nervousness radiating through his chest due to the strong bond linking the two of you. But he can’t really do much, except being there for you as he’s been doing for the past three months.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he tells you through thoughts. “I’m right here.”

“What if they don’t want me?” your eyes look up at him.

“Give them some time,” he answers. “This is going to be a shock for them.”

You’re very much aware of that. They thought you died twenty years ago, and now, you’re showing up at their door with a baby on the way. But you’re afraid they might push you away because of your true nature.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you answer.

Jungkook knocks at the door, and the second he does it, footsteps are heard on the other side of the door. Your heart pounds faster, your hands squeezing Jungkook’s hand. You’re dying on the inside. This is way more frightening than going through a transformation or finding out that you’re part of the werewolf world.

Those two people are about to discover you’ve been alive all these years.

When the door opens, an old man of around 75 years appears. Your grandfather. The second he sees Jungkook, he bows.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a honey-like voice.

But when his eyes land on your figure, his face falls apart, and he completely freezes. He recognizes you, there’s no room for doubts. People always told you that you were the perfect mix of your parents. Apparently, you look like both of them.

“Is this real?” he finally breaks the silence.

Jungkook speaks for you because you don’t know what to say. You can’t just say ‘Hi grandpa, it’s really me, yn, the granddaughter you thought dead.’

“It is really her,” his voice is low and extremely soft.

Tears form in his eyes, and it completely breaks your heart. You can’t even imagine how he must feel right now. Seconds later, your grandmother comes into vision, and she instantly falls to the ground, tears running down her face.

What you do next catches you by surprise. You get down on your knees to be at her level before you wrap your arms around her. She hugs you back, holding you like she’s holding for dear life. She cries in your embrace, soaking your shirt, but you couldn’t care less. Tears also appear in your eyes, and you let them run down.

Since you were very little, you have desired nothing more than to meet them. Your parents barely talked about them; there was a lot of tension between them because of what they did. But today, your parents’ sins don’t matter anymore. You are finally meeting your grandparents. The werewolf grandparents whose bloods run through your veins. The ones that make you a part of this world.

“Yn,” your grandmother whispers at some point. “My dear granddaughter.”

You hold her tighter as she whispers those words. She’s devastated; you can hear it in her voice. That voice reminds you of your mother’s voice; it was a very similar one. This is, for sure, very comforting.

“I thought you were dead,” she continues. “I thought we had killed you.”

“You didn’t,” you answer. “I’m right here.”

She doesn’t stop crying, her grasp still tight around your body.

“I’m so sorry,” she adds. “I’m so sorry.”

Hearing her apologizing to you breaks your heart beyond comprehension. Is it really her fault? You’re not sure. Your parents were the ones who broke the rules in the first place. Your grandparents didn’t kill your parents, but they could have protected them. They could have protected you. But they didn’t.

However, you can’t blame them. Everybody seems to follow the rules of this universe. Hybrids are forbidden, just like the love between a human and a wolf is. They warned your parents, but they never listened. So it isn’t entirely her fault.

“I’m sorry, yn,” she repeats.

“It’s okay,” you answer.

She doesn’t answer, she only cries more. This reunion isn’t going the way you expected it. You envisioned your grandparents slamming the door at your face, and insulting you for being alive. But they didn’t do that. Your grandma is crying in your arms, apologizing for the past.

The two men watch this heartbreaking moment with tears in their eyes. Jungkook didn’t know what to expect, he knew it’d be an emotionally challenging moment, but he never thought it’d be like this.

After a moment, you put an end to this tight embrace. Your grandmother’s hands clean your face, her fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while a small smile appears on her face. Her face is so close to yours, and you get to properly see her. Your mother looks so much like her. Her hands cup your face while she definitely looks at you.

“Welcome home, yn,” she breaks the silence.

You hug her once more before you both stand up. They let you get inside. As you walk in the hallway, you notice the many pictures hanging on the walls. You stop when you see one with your mother in it. She was so young on it, you’d say she was like 12-13 years old. She has the brightest smile on her face, and she looks absolutely wonderful. Seeing her like this reminds you of how much you miss her.

Your mother was a sunshine; she’d spread such a warm energy. You’d love being around her, your mother was your everything. Losing her was the worst thing that happened to you. Losing her comforting embrace is what still hurts the most. Nothing can ever compare to being in your mother’s arms. It’s been twenty years, but you’re not sure this pain will ever go away.

There are pictures of other people, some looking a lot like your mother. You’d guess that they might be her siblings. Uncles and aunts you never met so far. Your grandparents halt when you reach the living room. It’s a very cozy one. There’s a TV with a beautiful couch, and on the left, there is a large table. However, what catches your eye is the beautiful picture of your mom and one of you next to her. It’s a picture of you as a baby.

Seeing those two pictures hanging on the wall breaks your heart. It’s a reminder of the grief they’ve been carrying for twenty years.

They offer coffee or tea which you accept, and while they disappear for a moment, you hug Jungkook. His presence is beyond comforting, but his arms are without any doubt what you really need. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his strong arms around you, understanding how much you need this. Having him by your side when you navigate these intense moments is what you truly need.

“The coffees are ready,” Jungkook whispers before pressing a gentle kiss on top of your head.

You step back to turn around. Your grandparents are standing behind the table and looking at the two of you with a little smile. They bring coffee, some biscuits, and pieces of cake, and everything looks exquisite. They invite you to sit down before they pour coffee into four cups and hand you a plate. At first glance, you take a piece of cake.

“Thanks for the coffee and the cake,” you offer them a little smile.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Jungkook adds. “The cake is delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” they bow to the king.

It still amazes you how respected Jungkook is. It’s so special to see people bowing to him, and you’re not sure you’ll honestly get used to it. And one day, your son will also go through this.

“Where did you get that picture?” you ask, referring to the picture of yourself.

“Your mother sent it to us for your first birthday,” your grandmother replies. “Even though things were tense, she dropped a picture of you at our place.”

“We hid it for years,” your grandpa says. “But after that tragic night, we’ve hung it there to commemorate your and your mother’s lives.”

It doesn’t surprise you that your father is nowhere to be seen. He was a human—celebrating him wouldn’t really make sense. But he still deserved it; he was such a wonderful man.

“My mom’s picture is really beautiful,” you admit with a little smile.

Jungkook’s hand delicately rests on your thigh, a gesture indicating that he’s by your side and ready to comfort you in case you need it. For a moment, your eyes linger on him, and his fingers soothe your skin.

“I’m right here,” he mind-communicates to you.

“I know,” you answer.

Your eyes look once more at your grandparents.

“Can I ask you something?” you question, and they nod. “Why are you welcoming me so well? I’m a hybrid, and you hunted my parents and me to kill us all.”

“Life took a tragic turn the moment your parents met,” your grandmother begins, her voice laced with sorrow and longing. “They knew the risks, knew exactly what would happen if they chose to be together—but they still followed their hearts, running away to build a life of their own. We never wanted that for our daughter. We wanted her safe, by our side. But what could we do against love?”

She pauses, her gaze distant like she’s reliving the pain all over again. Seeing her like this isn’t easy because you only feel sorry. How has she kept living while thinking she has forever lost her daughter? God, the only thought of losing your baby boy devastates you, and he’s not even born yet.

“When we found out she was pregnant… we knew we had lost her forever. That pain was unbearable,” she says, shaking her head. “It only worsened when they vanished without a trace. Not only had we lost our daughter, but we knew there was a child—a grandchild—we had never met. You.”

Her voice trembles, but she composes herself. Honestly, you admire the woman standing in front of you. For sure, life forced her to make the wrong decisions, but she has been enduring the harsh consequences for the past twenty years.

“Even when we learned what you were, it didn’t matter. You were still our blood, our family. We would have never turned our backs on you.”

A deep sigh escapes your grandfather’s lips as he finally speaks.

“After that night,” he begins. “The night we thought we lost you all, we have mourned and honored your lives. And yet, your true nature has never mattered to us. It never will. You are our grandchild, and nothing will change that.”

His eyes soften, glistening with emotions too heavy to name. Instinctively, your hand rests on top of Jungkook’s to squeeze it.

“Seeing you here, standing before us, feels like a dream. But knowing that you are alive? That is the greatest miracle of all,” he admits.

“Mr. Song saved me that night,” you tell them. “He actually wanted to save my parents too, but mom refused to be saved. She was ready to face the consequences of her sins, but she didn’t want me to pay for it. So he took me out while they were executed in our living room.”

Your words send shivers down their spines. In twenty years, they have refused to hear a word about that night, but today, they want to know how you survived.

“My dad’s friend took me in and raised me for the past twenty years. He’s my second father, and I love him with all my soul. But what I ignored all these years was the fact that the late King Taemoo was protecting us. He knew about me but kept me alive.”

This definitely takes them off guard. Their eyes move to Jungkook, asking for confirmation from him. The man nods.

“I grew up all these years ignoring my wolf side, and it’s been hard to realize that my parents hid this from me. I’ve had powers but never knew they were linked to this. I unveiled all of this when I got pregnant.”

They don’t seem surprised, but you guess they can hear the baby’s heartbeat and his special scent.

“It hasn’t been easy. Being pregnant, discovering I’m a hybrid, discovering the real story behind my parents’ death, and navigating through this whole werewolf world have been draining me,” you continue. “But I’m glad that I got to meet you. To meet my biological family.”

A smile appears on your face. Your life has been pure chaos lately, but in the end, you’ve got to meet your maternal grandparents. You finally get to connect with your biological family. You’re not expecting things to go easy, but you’re glad to be able to meet them.

“And we’re extremely glad to see you,” your grandma smiles. “We’re happy you didn’t die that night. You’re our miracle, together with the life growing inside you.”

Your other hand goes to your little belly to caress it with your fingers. The baby inside your stomach is the reason why this all has been happening. And honestly, you’re happy because, after all these years, you’re finally getting the answers to all the questions you always had. Hearing them isn’t easy, but you finally have them.

“Is it the King’s child?” your grandpa dares to ask.

“It is,” you confirm, and Jungkook nods at the same time.

“So the next heir will carry our blood,” he whispers. “In the middle of all this pain, at least, we’ve got some wonderful news.”

You don’t doubt your family might be proud that their next King will carry their genes. It must be such a new thing to them as the royal family has always been part of the Blood’s pack.

Your grandparents proceed to tell you that you have two uncles and three aunts. All of them are married and have children. They all have two kids, except for one of your uncles, who has four kids. That’s huge, honestly. So it means that you have twelve cousins. You’re actually their oldest grandchild. Your mom is their firstborn and had you when she was 22. The next cousin born after you is actually four years younger. Your youngest cousin is actually 5; it’s crazy.

They also tell you many stories about your mother. It matches the souvenirs you have of the woman you grew up with. She had the purest of souls, always helping others and always shining through the dark. She was loved by everybody. She was the perfect firstborn, but everything fell apart when she met your father, a human. After all these years, they wondered if he was her soulmate. They believe so because who would run away like this with somebody who isn’t their soulmate?

It's something you never thought about, but now that they bring this up, it seems to make sense. It is something you’d do with Jungkook if you had to. This bond is so damn strong.

You spent the entire afternoon with them, remembering your parents and cherishing those memories. It seems like it was a lifetime ago, but hearing new stories of them is deeply comforting. You got to meet another side of them. A side where they were more than just your parents. A side where they were individuals. As their child, you only saw them as mom and dad, but they were also more than that. They were a daughter and a son, they were a sister and a brother, they were friends, they were coworkers, and above anything else, they were lovers.

They also told you how your mother looked like as a wolf. Based on what Jungkook told you, it seems like you’re identical to her. You would have loved to see her wolf side. You would have loved to share your first transformation with her. But that wasn’t the case, and it hurt. It was a blessing to have Jungkook, but you got this wolf blood thanks to her. You would have loved her to be by your side as you unveil this part of you.

So it makes you cry. Jungkook hugs you, trying to comfort you, but this time, his arms aren’t enough to appease the pain inside your heart. It doesn’t appease the hole your parents left when they were ripped from you. Your grandparents join this hug, trying to provide the same comfort, but it doesn’t work. All you want right now is your mom and dad because this isn’t your adult self crying. It’s the ten-year-old version of yourself that is crying.

On your way back home, you ask Jungkook if you can stop at the cemetery. You feel the need to speak with them tonight. It’s pretty late, but you can’t go to sleep if you don’t speak to them. They won’t be able to answer back, but at least you’ll take a weight off your shoulders.

Jungkook is waiting for you in the car, leaving you some privacy, although you know he’ll hear everything, but you don’t mind. He’s the man you’re falling in love with. You trust him so much, and you know he won’t do it in a villainous way.

“Hi, mom,” you say as you watch the picture hanging on the tombstone. “Hi, dad,” your eyes move to the right to see his picture. “Hope you’re having fun in heaven.”

A smile spreads across your face as you imagine them dancing together. They used to do that quite often to maintain the spark. That was what they said. Your right hand is holding a used tissue. You bring it with you in case you start crying all over again.

“I met grandpa and grandma today,” you say. “I was so happy to meet them and hear all the stories they had about you, mom. They also shared some stories about you two,” the smile on your face doesn’t fade away. “It was hard to hear them, and I guess I’ve never gotten over your deaths. Maybe I never will.”

This is the sad truth. You were so young when you lost them, and you’ve struggled your entire life to accept it, but unfortunately, you never did. Even now that you know the truth. You thought that knowing the full story would help, but it didn’t. Maybe you need some time, but it feels like the more time passes, the more you realize this pain will never leave you.

“I’m so sad you never got to tell me about this whole werewolf universe. I’m sad I never got to go through all of this with you. Even if I love Jungkook, it’ll never compare to how it would have been with you. I just wish you could have been here today. I just wish you could meet Jungkook and see how beautiful he is,” your eyes halt at your mom’s picture. “I wish you could help me navigate this pregnancy.”

Jungkook hears your words, a tear rolling down his face as you’re pouring your pain out. He wishes he could be enough, but he knows perfectly well he’ll never be able to fill the void in your heart. His father left one in his heart, too. He understands your pain more than anyone else. He wishes he could go and hug you right now, but he knows you need to be alone. He’ll hug you once you’re back.

“But I hope you’re watching over me from where you are. I like to think that your souls are somewhere because it helps ease the pain, but I’m not even sure you’re really there. I like to think that all these years you’ve been my guardian angels, that you protected me from being killed because of who I am. I like to think that with the late King Taemoo, you brought me and Jungkook together. I might be stupid, but it’s what helps me keep going.”

For a brief moment, you look up at the sky. The stars are shining so bright tonight, it feels like it’s a sign from them. It feels like they’re telling you they are here by your side. Your smile grows wider at the mere thought that they are with you.

“I hope one day I’ll get to see you again and hug you because your arms will forever be my favorite place. I remember I’d sometimes cry for no reason because all I wanted to see were your faces and feel your arms. I remember not being able to fall asleep without a goodnight kiss from you. I remember pretending to sleep when you’d come to check up on me and kiss my cheek. I remember going at 7 am to your bed, in the middle of you, to wake you up.”

You remember so many little silly things, and you cherish those moments. You hope one day to have them with your baby boy.

“I remember so many things that I wish I could live again one more time. It’s hard to keep living without you. It’s hard to wake up in the morning and realize you’re not here. It’s hard to hear that you saved me that tragic night because sometimes I wish you didn’t save me. Sometimes I wish that I was gone with you so I didn’t have to bear this pain.”

Tears roll down your face as you tell them how you feel sometimes. How you feel when their passing is a heavy weight to carry. The pain is sometimes so suffocating…

Not too far from you, Jungkook cries because he never imagined how hard it truly was for you. He knew it, but it’s deeper than that. This pain is deeply rooted in your heart; he can feel it. It’s extremely hard to hear that sometimes you’d prefer to be dead.

“But now, there’s my baby boy, and I feel like I need to live for him. This whole journey to become a mother was to gain back control over my life, but I guess it truly was to give me a reason to hold onto life. To see that life can truly be beautiful too. That there isn’t just pain,” you confess while cleaning your tears. “And that journey gave me Jungkook. It gave me a man who protects, loves, cherishes me, and stands by my side in silence. His presence has comforted me in ways I can’t even explain. He’s the only one who’s come close to filling the void you left behind.”

For a moment, you think of Jungkook with a smile growing on your face.

“I’m not saying Felix didn’t give me that,” you say. “He’s loved me like a father, but Jungkook’s love is so different. It’s more precious.”

Felix is your father, his arms have given you the comfort your parents couldn’t anymore. You feel safe in his embrace, and there’s not a day that goes by where you don’t wish to be in his arms. But Jungkook is very different. The love he gives you is completely different. It’s a love you’d like to keep forever in your life.

“I know I’ve never made things easy for Felix, but he always stood there like a father would. He’d hug me when the pain was always too overwhelming. He’s my third parent. He didn’t fill the void you left but showed me that I could let him in. My heart created a special place for him. A place that only he has. I love him so much.”

You look down at your hands, fingers playing with a button on your coat.

“And now there’s Jungkook. His love has been mending my heart. It’s like he’s been picking up the pieces and putting them back together.”

You can’t picture a life without Jungkook anymore.

“And I know he’s going to be the best father to our son. Like dad, and Felix.”

Tears stream down your face, and you let yourself cry again. You wrap your arms around your chest, imagining that it’s your parents' arms, imagining them trying to comfort you from wherever they are.

In no time, Jungkook is here, his arms wrapping around you and your face falling against his chest. He doesn’t speak; he only holds you to let you know he’s here. You don’t see him silently crying. This hurts him too, not as much as you, but it still hurts.

“Can we go home?” you ask in the middle of your sobs.

“Yes, sunshine.”

Once you stop crying, the two of you quietly head to the cars. The night’s darkness feels like a fragile blessing, shielding your ravaged face from people’s eyes. Your chest still feels heavy, but you’re grateful for Jungkook’s steady presence beside you. Neither of you speaks during the ride to his place. There’s only a thick and unspoken tension that lingers in the air. The rhythmic motion of the car gradually makes you fall asleep, exhaustion pulling you under.

When you arrive, Jungkook glances over and notices your peaceful face, stains left by your tears still visible on your cheeks. He doesn’t have the heart to wake you. With careful hands, he lifts you from the car, cradling you against his chest. Your body instinctively curls closer to his warmth, seeking comfort. Each step he takes is deliberate as he carries you inside to his bedroom.

He gently lays you down on the bed, pausing for a moment to take in the softness of your sleeping form. With quiet precision, he removes your coat and shoes, his fingers brushing over your skin as if afraid you might break under his touch. After pulling the covers over you, he lingers for a moment longer—watching you breathe, watching you rest. You’ve been through too much already, and every part of him aches to shield you from more pain. But even he knows there are some battles he can’t fight for you.

Leaving the room, he descends the stairs and makes his way to his study. The air feels colder here, heavier. He pulls a crystal glass from the shelf and pours himself a generous measure of whisky. The amber liquid glows softly in the dim light as he takes a long, slow sip, hoping the burn will dull the ache in his chest. But it doesn’t.

This isn’t how he imagined becoming a father. Not surrounded by secrets, danger, and the constant threat to your lives. But despite everything—despite the weight of it all—he wouldn’t change a thing. Because loving you, protecting you, and knowing that a part of both of you is growing inside you means everything to him. Still, that love comes with an unbearable price.

And tonight, the weight of it is too much to carry alone.

With a sigh, he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials a familiar number. It doesn’t even ring twice before Taehyung picks up.

“Can you come over?” Jungkook’s voice is quieter than usual, strained with the effort of holding himself together.

“I’m on my way,” Taehyung replies without hesitation.

Fifteen minutes later, Jungkook barely manages to hold himself upright as Taehyung steps into the room. The second he closes the door behind him, Jungkook loses the battle he’s been fighting all night, and his composure crumbles.

He falls into his arms, crying about how much it pains him to see you like this. About how much this hybrid situation tortures him. About how hard it is to protect you from everything. This time, Jungkook is the one who needs some support, and he can’t seek it from you because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“You’re not superhuman, Jungkook,” Taehyung whispers while comforting his best friend. “You’re allowed to need someone, too.”

Slowly, you wake up, your body heavy with the weight of exhaustion. Your eyelids flutter as they adjust to the soft glow of ambient light filtering through the room. Something feels different—this isn’t your bedroom, nor is it the guest room where you’ve been staying at Jungkook’s place.

The bed beneath you is larger, softer, and feels like it could swallow you whole. The faint scent of Jungkook—or should you say, his new scent mixed with yours—clings to the sheets. You’re still not really used to this new scent. It feels like it’s been the only thing you’ve been able to smell lately.

You stretch your limbs lazily, your muscles aching slightly from the emotional toll of the night before. As you shift, the absence beside you becomes obvious—the bed is empty. The warmth that should be there is missing, leaving the sheets cold to the touch.

A flicker of disappointment stirs in your chest as you push yourself upright, brushing your hair out of your face. Your gaze scans the room—a space that is unmistakably his. Wooden furniture fills the room, elegant and minimal, yet personal in the small details. A leather-bound journal rests on the nightstand beside a silver watch, both items feeling so inherently Jungkook.

Your heart skips a beat when you realize where you are—his bedroom. The most private part of his world. Somehow, while you slept, he brought you here. The thought makes warmth blossom in your chest, even as a hint of confusion lingers. Why didn’t he wake you? Where is he now?

You glance down at yourself and notice you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes, slightly wrinkled from sleep. The memory comes back to you in fragments—the silent car ride, the heaviness of your eyelids, the way your body gave in to the pull of sleep despite your efforts to stay awake. He must have carried you here. The thought of his strong arms lifting you so gently causes a shiver to run down your spine.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stand up slowly, your bare feet sinking into the wooden floor beneath you. The house is quiet. Too quiet. But as you try to look for any sign of life, you hear the household staff talking and moving around. Your son’s heartbeat suddenly echoes in your ears.

However you’re searching for any sign of Jungkook, but you can’t find him. Most probably, he left for work reasons. He’s the werewolf king, and he always seems so busy. You still wonder how on earth he finds time for you.

You walk toward the door before opening it. You peek your head, looking around. There’s absolutely nobody in the hallway. You get back into the bedroom to find slippers. The floor is way too cold for you to walk around on barefoot. And Jungkook will kill you if he sees you walking without something on your feet. He takes his role as a protector very seriously.

It doesn't take long for you to find a pair of slippers and put them on. Then, you leave the room, heading to the downstairs dining room. Since your first time here, you’ve been having breakfast there, so you suppose it’ll be the same now that you live here. Otherwise, you’ll simply go to the kitchen. You’re so fucking hungry.

On your way down, you run into Jinwoo, who instantly bows to you. As much as you want to tell him not to do it, you can’t. He’ll get mad because it’s his job, and if he doesn’t do it, Jungkook will get mad at him.

“Good morning, Miss y/l/n,” he offers you the brightest smile on earth.

“Good morning, Jinwoo,” you smile back at him. “You know, you can call me yn. We’re going to live in the same place for a while, and I’ll be more comfortable if you call me by my name.”

Jinwoo nods. “No problem, yn.”

“Do you know where Jungkook is?”

“He had to leave,” he answers. “But asked me to ensure you’ll have your breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you say. “I’m starving!”

Jinwoo chuckles before he guides you to the dining room, the warm aroma of coffee and toasted bread filling the space. It smells so damn good! As you take a seat, he places a steaming cup of coffee in front of you, your curious eyes looking down to notice the perfect shade of light brown due to the generous amount of milk. Beside it, there is a plate of golden toast with a pat of butter melting into its surface. It looks absolutely delicious.

“You always get it right,” you glance at Jinwoo with a small smile.

“Jungkook made sure we all knew,” Jinwoo chuckles.

That makes you pause while you are reaching for your coffee. Honestly, it warms your heart the way Jungkook looks after you and makes sure you have everything you love. You couldn’t have asked for a better baby daddy.

“Of course he did,” you shake your head with an amused huff before taking a sip.

Suddenly, Jungkook walks in, and Jinwoo instantly leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone. You glance up, your sharp gaze catching the exhaustion lining his features. He’s dressed casually, but there’s a heaviness in his posture like the weight of his responsibilities hasn’t quite left him. Still, he smirks as he approaches, his eyes flickering from your coffee to your toast.

“Well, well,” he muses, sitting next to you. “Looks like someone is already making herself at home.”

“It’s not like you forced me to stay here,” you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

Jungkook slides closer to you, reaching for your toast without hesitation. You can tell he’s about to eat it, but you’re not one to share, especially now that you’re pregnant. The little boy inside you is constantly asking for food.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn.

But it’s too late. He takes a bite, completely unfazed by your glare.

“You’re impossible,” you grumble.

“And yet, you still put up with me,” he counters smoothly, chewing leisurely.

You shake your head, pretending to be annoyed, but there’s no hiding the way your lips twitch. Then, just as effortlessly, Jungkook leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s quick, teasing—like he’s simply claiming what’s his.

This new scent you both carry is still something you’re trying to adjust to. It’s a combination of his scent with yours, but it still feels weird. You constantly smell it, even when you’re alone, because it’s still very new to you.

“Do I really have much choice?” you tease him.

Jungkook pretends that you hurt his heart, his reaction being overly dramatic.

“You’re being so dramatic,” you roll your eyes before biting into your toast.

“Your words profoundly hurt me,” he says. “I’m goooing to die.”

You start laughing at his exaggeration, and he smiles when he hears that sweet melody leaving your lips. He knows how hard it was for you yesterday—it was for him, too. But he doesn’t want yesterday’s pain to ruin your day. So he’ll do whatever it takes to make you laugh.

“You’re a drama queen,” you say once you’ve swallowed.

“Eeeh, I’m no drama queen,” he pouts and crosses his arms against his chest.

A smile grows on your face before you lean closer to kiss him. His pout fades away to kiss you back.

“You’re my drama queen,” you whisper against his lips.

The man presses a peck on your lips. Once he pulls back, his eyes roam your face with a smile on his face. He finds you absolutely breathtaking, the prettiest woman he has ever laid eyes on. This soulmate bond is so damn strong, he can feel it deep in his bones. His entire body longs for you, and he constantly finds you extremely beautiful. You’re his favorite person.

“I’m going to take a shower while you finish eating so we can go grab lunch at your dad’s house,” he says.

Every Sunday, you have lunch at Felix’s place with Lexi. However, this time around, Jungkook is coming. Now that he’s part of your life, it seems natural to include him in those little family gatherings. And very soon, your baby boy will be joining too. You can’t wait for that.

“Can I join you?” you ask.

Jungkook arches an eyebrow.

“If it’s for naughty time, let me tell you…” you cut him short.

“You have such a naughty mind,” you tell him. “I just want to shower with you without any crazy ideas in mind.”

“Mmm,” he narrows his eyes. “Why do I struggle to believe you?”

You roll your eyes, annoyed.

“Now, I don’t want it anymore.”

You resume eating your toast, your eyes looking at the coffee cup.

“And I’m the drama queen,” he ironically says while leaving the room.

You chuckle, your head moving to the right to take a look at his strong figure walking away. This man—your soulmate—is incredibly hot. It’s still hard to believe that he is all yours, that destiny chose him to be your forever person. It’s also hard to imagine loving him more than you do now. You know it’s only the beginning, but thinking about the love you’ll probably feel in one year seems almost unachievable.

But Jungkook is the love of your life. He’s the missing piece you’ve been looking for your entire life. He’s the reason why the chaos you’ve stepped into seems bearable. And as long as he’s by your side, nothing will ever be scary or hard to manage.

You finish your breakfast very quickly before hurrying up to his bathroom. The second you step inside the steamy room, Jungkook feels you.

“I thought you didn’t want to come,” he pokes his face from the shower.

Jungkook with wet hair is a very hot vision. One you’ll never be able to forget.

“I never said that,” you pretend as you’re stripping your clothes.

His hungry eyes never look away while you get naked to join him. A smile grows on his face when you walk in his direction. Once you’re in front of him, you lock your eyes with his, and for a moment, the world around you freezes.

“Hi, angel,” you cup his face in your hands.

“Hi, sunshine,” he answers.

His lips meet yours for a hot and passionate kiss, but you cut it short since you don’t really want to do naughty things in the shower. You just want to be with him. You just want his presence near you. Nothing else.

You throw yourself against him, arms wrapping around his strong torso and your head falling against his chest. The sweet melody of his heartbeat appeases your soul as his hands wrap around you. His lips press a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“Thanks for yesterday,” you murmur.

“No need to thank me, sunshine.”

“Of course I need!” you exclaim. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” his hands move higher to stroke your hair.

“I’m not,” you directly answer.

His hands immediately stop touching your hair to cup your face so you look at him.

“Don’t ever say that!” his tone is firm which sends shivers down your spine. “You’ve been through hell and back, but you’re still standing tall. Life didn’t spare you, especially lately, but you’re here, thriving and creating life. You should give yourself more credit,” his thumb caresses your cheek.

“From my perspective, it doesn’t feel like I’m strong,” you honestly say. “It feels like I have no choice but to face what life throws at me.”

“A lot of people would have already given up a long time ago, but you never did,” you melt under his touch. “Your strength is something I deeply admire about you. It’s what makes me fall for you more and more.”

You rest your face on his hand while your eyes close for a moment.

“I actually adore everything about you, even the way you breathe,” he chuckles. “What I want to say is that you’re a very admirable person, and you can be proud of yourself for the way you’ve been braving things so far.”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, your eyes looking up at him.

“And I would really like to call you my girlfriend,” he admits.

Although you really want to say that he actually already did it when Yuna suddenly appeared, you don’t want to ruin this cute moment.

“As long as I can call you my boyfriend, you can do it,” you smile at him.

The biggest and brightest smile stretches across his beautiful face. You’ve never seen him react like this, and it’s by far the best thing you’ve witnessed.

“Obviously, you can,” he answers. “My sunshine.”

He presses a kiss on your lips.

“My angel,” you whisper.

Nothing can ever make you feel as happy as you do right now.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bloodlines entwined #bloodlines entwined: chapter 8 #spideyjimin

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celestialprincesse · 1 year ago

Text

🎀💞

I just know that Simon Riley wants his face sat on🤭

nsfw below the cut 🪷 mdni

You'd always been a little shy when it came to sex, understandably so considering that your boyfriend was a real life Adonis, some kind of cruelly beautiful deity come to taunt you for your prudishness. Obviously, you and Simon had done it, you'd fucked countless times when he came back from deployments or frustrated from debriefings gone bad, but it was always, for lack of a better word, tame. You'd always assumed, given his past, that he wouldn't be down to have sex, period. The beginning of your relationship was a minefield of navigating boundaries and understanding the complexity of the beautiful man you got to share your bed with. What you foolishly failed to recognise, however, is that whist you subconsciously saw Simon as wounded, he saw your fragility as clear as day, like a ripple under the surface of clear water.

He'd aways been so impossibly gentle with you, even when you'd wanted things differently, too afraid to ask him and send Simon spiralling back into that dark place he'd only recently been pulled from.

"Want you to fuck my face." Simon's deadpan voice snaps you from your reverie, brings you back to where you lay sprawled and waiting in the centre of your shared bed.

"I'm sorry?" You barely manage to splutter, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at where he sits patiently between your knees, not even needing to look down to your panties to know that your cunt is already dripping.

"Fuck, love." The sound of his exasperated sigh makes you feel like you've done something wrong, but the almost pained crinkle of his eyes confuses you. "You need me to spell it out? I'd like you to sit on my face and let me eat you out." Simon's words make you choke, jaw hanging agape as you process the fact that not only is he willing to take such a step in your sexual relationship, but also that he's so seemingly comfortable with the idea of you essentially fucking his face. Sure, he's eaten you out before, but never in such a compromising way. "Are you -" A soft kiss being placed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is enough to silence you as you look down at Simon practically grovelling between your legs.

"If you don't want to, you can say no, baby." "It's not that I don't want to. I just don't want to - fuck." You huff, slumping back against the mattress with a sigh as you struggle to find the words you need to express the way you feel. "You don't want to fuck?" He smirks wickedly at you, one hand still cradling your outer thigh as he presses his cheek to the warm skin, trying to lighten the mood. Ease you up a bit. "Simon." "Tell me what you're thinking. I'll make it make sense." God he's always so unbearably patient. It almost has you in tears.

"I just - I'm not so confident with stuff like that, you know? I mean it took us six months of having sex for me to even feel comfortable enough to ride you. Now you want me to sit on your face?"

Simon's eyes soften at your reasoning, and he practically drags himself up the bed until he's face to face with you, propping himself up on his elbows to stare down at your face, so beautifully flushed and bashful.

"If you don't want to do it, that's fine, but I need you to know, that I look at you and get hard okay? You're the most beautiful thing I've seen. Ever. If I died by being suffocated between your legs? Fuckin' kill me already, yeah?"

His words have you giggling softly as you play with his hair, distracting yourself from the burning arousal in the pit of your tummy.

"Okay." You nod, slowly, meeting his eye to make sure that he sees you're serious. "You don't have to say yes if you're not sure." "I'm sure, but can we go slow?" "Of course, baby. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with."

It doesn't take long for you to be sat nervously on Simon's hips, clothes piled on the floor, discarded in order for you to sit naked atop him, bottom lip pulled nervously between your teeth. "Do I just -" You point awkwardly between the general vicinity of your cunt to Simon's face, heart fluttering when you catch the way he gazes up at you like some sort of statue, some masterpiece. "Mhm." He nods slowly, pupils blown impossibly wide, the chocolate of his gaze turning almost entirely black. You feel his massive palms take your hips, guiding you up to your knees before settling your slick cunt just over his face.

"Sit." He grunts when he doesn't immediately feel the press of you against his mouth, his nose barely touching your puffy clit. "What if I hurt you?" "I'll let you know. Now, sit." Before you know it, his fingers are digging into your hips, leaving you gasping at the suddenly overwhelming sensation of his entire lower face stuffed against your pussy.

"Holy sh-" You whine, already beginning to roll your hips in search of stimulation, all whilst Simon gives a contented hum which rumbles through you and has you clenching around nothing. His hands guide your hips in their rhythm as his tongue licks a flat stripe between your wet folds, leaving you stuttering and your eyes rolling back, all whilst you grip onto his hair like of you let go he'll disappear entirely.

He sets a languorous pace with his tongue, eating at you like you're his final meal, hands digging firmly at the meat of your ass whilst he uses the slight bump at the bridge of his nose to press up against your clit, making you dizzy. Whilst he uses both hands to guide you, you use the hand not tangled into his hair to roll a hardened nipple between your thumb and forefinger, the sensation going straight to your pussy and making you gasp. Simon, perceptive as ever, notices your want and pushes his tongue inside you to push just that little bit further - and he can tell that you're close by the way your thighs clench around his ears and the fact that you're wonderfully more vocal than usual.

Similarly, sensing your oncoming orgasm, you desperately attempt to pull yourself off of him, all of a sudden shy about cumming on his face like you haven't done it countless times before. Your wriggling is met with a small slap to your ass which has you seeing stars as the small sting snaps the elastic band stretching taut in your lower belly, and Simon laps up every bit that you'll give him.

"Didn't think that men like me got to go to heaven." Simon sighs when you both lay sprawled and happy in bed together.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

I did not intend to write 1.1k of smut when I opened my laptop this evening but boundaries and communication are just so !! sexy !!

N e ways I'll just leave this here for y'all💕

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mommy-mortis · 14 days ago

Text

"Glory"

Remmick x Black!reader

Prompt: "Oopsy, you weren't supposed to see that"

Notes/Warnings: Smut, Fake Marriage

Search →Location→Gigs→Domestic gigs

Fake Wife needed Compensation: Negotiable

Fake wife needed, single male with a rare and severe sun allergy that makes it impossible to go out in the day looking for a Wife. Pretend to be my wife and deal with social and legal daytime obligations that I may have trouble completing.

Requirements

• Must have a well kept appearance, wear appropriate attire while preforming outside social interactions, to keep up with social expectations.

• Accompany Husband(me) to social events when asked, and keep up agreeable behavior while at said events.

• Stay out of the basement.

Benefits

• Living in a fully furnished home for free.

• Monthly Allowance.

• Full access to house (not including basement) to decorate as desired.

post id: 785XXXXXX posted: about 15 hours ago ♥

You stare at a Gregslist posting that you had stumbled upon, trying to find something quick and easy enough that could help with the rent that was already past due. It screamed Gregslist killer, but if it was real maybe you could get out of this shit hole, maybe you could start over with your life.

The only reason you were even in this situation was because you chose to trust the wrong person; you had both moved from your hometown over a thousand miles away to seek your fortune in the cities. You were supposed to look out for one another but they had ditched you, gotten married to someone of some means and peaced out. And without even paying their share of the rent, forcing you to scramble for ends. You were able to scrounge up the money for the first couple years after their departure, by using your saving and the kindness of your family, but you just couldn’t do it anymore.

This wasn’t living, this was surviving; all your dreams had been thrown out the window when they pulled their bullshit stunt. “I just don’t want to struggle anymore,” this is what they said as they packed, neither of you had been truly struggling, not like you are now. Both of your goals had been close enough to touch, and in a year or so they could have accomplished all that they wanted; they just didn’t want to work anymore. Which you could understand, but how could they leave so easily without even asking if you’d be okay? Everyday that you woke up, would be more heartrendingly painful than the next.

Looking over at the empty pantry that you never seem to keep full, to the empty pet bowl to a picture of a pet that you had to surrender to the state just so they wouldn’t go hungry, to the barren décor; what did you even have to lose? At a certain point who even cared if they were a killer? You weren’t living anyway.Hello,

I saw your listing on Gregslist, and would like to audition for the role as your Wife. Attached are a few pictures of me, if I look like your ideal wife give me a call at (XXX-555-2564) hope to hear from you soon.

A day goes by without any answer so you decide to take a peek at the listing again to see when the last time he was on, and your heart sinks immediately.

Either he chose someone else, or (and the most likely reason) it was a fake ad that got taken down. You’re seconds from crying when your phone rings.

“Hello.”

“Yes…”

“Right now…Shades…”

“Yeah I’ll be there in…”

He wanted to meet you at the 24hour diner down the street from your apartment. The fact that he chose to meet you at a place with witnesses, was a positive sign that he wasn’t a serial killer right? It’s so late at night though, it must be hard to navigate life with an allergy to the sun.

You wasted no time getting dressed and walking to the diner where a man stood off to the side with shades, ‘That must be him’ you walk up to greet him.

“Well, hello there Sweetheart.” You can't place where he’s from, he must travel often enough to develop an ambiguous accent. ‘Was that even possible?’ You had been a little taken back by his easy use of endearments, but maybe that was just something he had picked up like the accent.

You don’t know what you were expecting him to look like but this wasn’t quite it. He did look clean and put together, but he dressed like someone over half a decade older than him, it felt like he was trying to prove… maybe even trying to hide something. The only thing that seemed to be out of place on him, were the pair of tinted shades he had on. You wanted to ask about his clothing, but decided against it, the last thing you wanted to do was shame him for his choice in fashion. Not when you were in stuck in such a deep hole, practically begging for help.

Though he must have already realized you were on your last match, you're guessing that's the only reason he placed an ad on gregslist, only a desperate person would reply. It wasn't like he was hideous, it was actually quite the opposite; since he wasn't completely irredeemable in the looks area, this could only mean that he was so morally bankrupt that no one in his circle wanted anything to do with him.

He cleared his throat snapping you of the mental gymnastics your mind was doing, trying to find out what was wrong with this man. “Would you mind inviting me in?” He smiles “One of my many eccentricities that I’m hoping you’ll have the patience for.”

Was this a kink thing? You wave him forward as inconspicuously as you can, not wanting anyone to witness whatever kink play he was having you perform, no matter how small.

He smiles walking past you, he chooses a seat in the back of the dinner where you both sit in silence, until the waitstaff comes around asking to get you refreshments. You could afford enough for a water, so that's what you order, while he orders ¾ a cup of black coffee. As the waitstaff nods and walks away he can't keep his eyes off you.

“The photos don’t do you justice you are quite beautiful.” You nod thanking him for his complement, but couldn’t see what he was seeing. You hadn’t worn anything special to impress him, just what was clean and made sense. You complemented him back, and wondered if it would be too forward to let him know that he made your pussy clench when you first met, or would that be outta pocket?

Before you can think any harder on the subject, the waitstaff comes back around; they place down your drinks and ask you what you’d like to order. You clam up, you couldn't even afford a proper drink, there is no way you'd be able to afford anything on the menu, maybe if you ask for half a piece of toast.

Noticing your inner struggle, he tells the waitstaff that you'd like more time. Lightly brushing his hand over yours he leans in, “Have whatever you want don’t worry about the bill.” Embarrassed but grateful for his discretion, you nod, thanking him for his generosity. And when the waitstaff comes back around you order something that you know that you'll like, not wanting to waste his money.

You watch as he orders something similar. “So… Remmick what do you do for work?” ‘That was a safe enough question right?’ “Restoration and Preservation” he gives you a smile but says nothing else, your not sure how to follow up with that. He seems content to just sit there in silence enjoying the heat coming from his coffee, though he never seems to take a sip.

Neither of you say another word, not even when your food arrives. You wait a second for him to begin eating, but when he just sits there not moving you decide to start without him, not commenting on the lack of bites he takes from his own plate. This seems to have been the correct thing to do, because when you’re finished eating he smiles at you; ‘Was he a feeder? It wasn’t exactly serial killer behavior but you’d think he’d be upfront with something like that.’

When the waitstaff comes back around to take payment, they notice the food still sitting on his plate, they ask if everything was alright, and if they could make him something different. He just waves them off, asking for a to-go container instead, when they come back with his receipt and containers, he thanks and tips them before they walk away.

When you're finally alone again, he slides his untouched plate over to you, handing you the containers. “Here pack this up for me, Darlin’,” you do as your told, packing everything neatly away, even putting the container in the paper bag that was left on the table for it. He nods and smiles, but you're truly confused to what you've done to put him in such an agreeable mood.

“Yea’ I think this” he says pointing between him and you “Is gon’ work out just fine” He flags down a random worker and asks for a pen and paper, he then writes down an address with a date and time. “I’ll have a moving truck pick you up, just be ready.” He pulls out a few hundred dollars, you eye the money with far more hunger than you mean to. Embarrassed you look away, just so he doesn’t see the desperation in your eyes.

He taps his finger on the diner table to get your attention, your head snaps in his direction and behind his shades, you see he has a hunger too just a different kind. “Here’s fir yer time, and don’t you go on tryin’ to pay the movers, they’ve already been compensated, kay?” He hands you the money with the slip of paper on top of it.

You start to get up to leave, but he gently grabs your hand before you can fully get going. “I don't think we ever gave each other our names,” His hands are freezing making you shiver, no wondered he ordered that coffee. You tell him your name and he nods picking up the bag of left overs, with a couple of fingers he hands them to you. “Name’s Remmick, Remmick O’Connell and I think we’ll be gettin’ on just fine.”

You make your way safely home placing your leftovers in the fridge; you weren’t quite sure what to think about Remmick, he was most certainly a weirdo, but you couldn't figure out what kind. A knock comes from your apartment door, and your heart droops; did he follow you home? Great now he was going to kill you and take his money back, you were going to be broke even in the afterlife.

You quickly walk over to your door to look through the peep hole, you let out a deep sigh not from being relived but from frustration. Standing front of your door was the owner of the property, they never missed a day to harass you, you open your door but before you have a chance to ask them what they want they begin yelling.

“So you have enough money to eat out but not enough to pay me my money?” You begin to message your temples, “Please I just got home, can’t we talk about this later?” Folding their hands over their chest “Fuck no we can’t talk about this later, small town fucks like you always movin’ to the cities to make it ‘big’, causin’ problems for the locals, cus’ all of a sudden you can’t pay rent, this ain’t in the middle of bum fuck, and rent ain’t two cents and bag of corn!”

Not being able to take it anymore, you slam the door in their face and scream. “Just leave me the fuck alone for the night, I’ll have your money soon, then my small town ass will be outta your hair!” You can hear them sputtering behind the door “Ya! you better have my fuckin’ money, don’t forget I know people!” You scoff, that’s what everyone here said, “I know people” ‘Who the fuck cares!’ You hoped more than anything that everything with Remmick worked out, you don’t think you can do this anymore.

As expected the movers had come in the middle of the night; you told them to move silently as not to wake the neighbors, but in truth you had your own selfish reasons for telling them to be quiet.

What you hadn’t expected was for Remmick to show up in tow.

“Can I come in?” He looks almost giddy.

“Yes, of course please come in, what made you stop by?”

Smiling he steps past the entrance taking a look around, “It occurred to me that you might not have a way to get to me on your own, and having a driver pick you up for me felt too… formal, for our kinda relationship.”

“Thank you, I had planned to hitch a ride with the movers, but now looking at the lack of room in their truck, I don’t think I would have fit.” Giving the apartment another once over you begin to grow anxious, Remmick notices and asks if anything is wrong. “Nothing” you give him a tight smile “It would just be best if we left soon.”

From the time that you met Remmick to the arrival of the moving trucks you had been silently packing everything you could, you really do plan to pay the property owner but with a lack of funds all you can do is leave quietly then pay latter, unfortunately nothing got past your property owner, not even in the middle of the night.

Dramatically entering your apartment without even asking, the property owner stomps their way over to where you and Remmick are talking. “Hmph, just like a field mouse, trying to scurry away. listen I don’t know who the fuck ya are, but she ain’t goin’ nowhere without paying whats already due!”

You want to sink into the floor, shame encasing you like amber.

Without even looking your way or pausing Remmick smiles at the scowling asshole in front of you, that’s purposely trying to make you look bad. “Well, how much does my girl owe ya’?”

You wince at the amount.

He just smiles looking over to one of the movers that had been waiting by the door. “Grab my checkbook” as he waits he looks over at the property owner “You do take checks right?”

The owner folds their arms and give Remmick a sharp nod.

“Remmick, you don’t have to-” He places a hand on your shoulder placing a finger in front of his lips “Shh, don’t worry about it Darlin’, this is nothing if it means I can get you home quicker.” He winks at you making your face heat up.

With a flick of his wrist he cuts the check, handing it over to the owner, not even blinking as he erases the debt that had consumed your life, and been the reason for all of your stress.

“If this bounces…” They sneer at Remmick

He rolls his eyes but tries to keep a smile on his face “It won’t” his irritation slowly growing as the property owner just stands there.

You look at the property owner with exhaustion “Can we get a little privacy?”

“Don’t come back” they spit.

“She won’t” “I won’t” You look at each other and he smiles at you but you lower your head in embarrassment.

You hear the door slam, as the property owner makes one last grand exit in your life. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not but thank you for saying so.”

He looks around at your small barren apartment, a place that always brought you pain until you felt you were suffocating from its existence. “Are ya ready to go Baby girl?” you nod following him and silently prayed you’d never have be in a situation like this again, no matter what. You jump in the passenger side, you wait for Remmick to start driving but he just looks over at you. “Put on your seat belt sweetheart, safety first”

“Of course” you fasten yourself in still in awe of what occurred.

When you finally arrive at his home you take a good look around; he lives in a gated community with cookie cutter homes planted in rows.

Without being told to, the movers park and begin to move your things inside of the house. Remmick came to the passenger side of the car and lets you out, placing his hand on your lower back, he guides you into his home. He looks excited to show you around; from the kitchen and pantry, to the bed rooms and study, and finally the living room passing by the basement.

Your eyes only lingered for a second, but long enough for Remmick to notice, redirecting you to where you are now. “This is one of my favorite pieces in this house.” He says waving towards the coffee table beside your legs “It’s sturdy and reliable, had it for years; refused to get rid of it no matter how far I’ve come”

He seems nervous about something, and you soon find out what, as he gets on one knee in front of you your confused at first until he pulls out a ring box, “You’ll need this to make it, um… Official.” You slowly hold out your hand, he takes the ring and band out of its box placing both on your finger. If you’re shocked that they fit, you don’t show it. Instead you thank him and complement the style of the rings he beams at this. It all seems a little too sentimental to you but you allow it.

It doesn’t take long before your bedroom is ready; you hadn’t asked them to but the movers had to the best of their abilities put all of your things away. You didn’t have much but the things you did have were important enough to have brought them with you. You lay down for the night looking at the ceiling of your room. It’s always hard to fall asleep somewhere new for the first time. But as you let the day wash over you, you let yourself become comfortable, lulling yourself off into a dreamland; you don’t notice your door opening.

In the morning as you’re getting ready, you notice a few pairs of underwear missing, maybe they got lost in the move, but you doubt it. ‘Was this the kind of people Remmick employed?’

You make your way downstairs noticing all the blinds to the house are closed tightly. The only thing keeping the house lit were strategically placed floor lamps, and sconce lights on the walls. Giving off the feeling of it being daytime, but without the danger it could pose to Remmick. Speak of the devil you find Remmick sitting in the living room waiting for you, sitting opposite of him are a couple of people that seem to somehow be related, ‘Maybe cousins?’

They introduced themselves as your personnel seamstress and tailor; they quickly begin to take your measurements as Remmick looks on, amused at how green you are at everything happening. “You’re my wife and you’ll need to look the part” he lists your responsibilities, minding the garden and directing the gardener, talking with neighbors to keep up a friendly appearance, and showing up to meetings he can’t personally attend. This gig was starting to sound more like the job of a personal assistant. You ask him about that but he just laughs, “Aye, I could do that, but I like to think I’m cutting out the middle man this way. Too many people get involved with that kind of arrangement; this just feels more private.”

He looks at you “When you have to live like I do, privacy is something you begin to cherish.” You don’t ask any more questions, and when your new wardrobe arrives you fall into your new assigned role, tending to Remmick’s life during the day time, and in the afternoon relaxing around the house.

After a while he slowly begins to join you, at first he was too shy and assumed he was intruding on your private time. “How can you be intruding, we’re husband and wife.” you joke playfully but after that begins to play his role on his sleeve, giving you flowers out of the blue, and jewelry that he thinks might suit you. You think of stopping him, but decide to just go with it, it wasn’t hurting anyone and it seemed to make him happy.

He finds you in the kitchen one day, prepping a bouquet of flowers he had gifted you, you planned to put them in a vase and place them on the kitchen table. He stands at the entrance just watching you, he liked to do that. His habit of watching you probably stems from a lack of human interactions due to his sun allergy, at least that’s what you believe, but you never see him staring at clients when they stop by, like he stares at you.

Sometimes you feel like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox, and wonder if you should run away. But then you look back at him and see that he’s just a puppy, you shake away any feeling of uneasiness that tries to plant itself inside your heart, and instead try to convince yourself that everything is normal.

He smiles at you as you wave him over.

“Thank you again for the flowers they’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” He’s obvious trying to be suave but he comes off more like a boy with a crush, you chuckle, thanking him for the complement.

“Darlin’ I came seeking you out to ask you to attend as my date for a party.” He looks nervous asking you, as if you’d say no. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to, it was in your agreed upon requirements; you noticed he needed your approval for things that had already been agreed upon. Maybe what he really needed was for someone to pretend for him, perform for him. “No where I’d rather be, Honey” You smile throwing his overt use of endearments back at him, you watch him vibrate with excitement.

“Party’s just a short in and out, just business; just invite me in like the first time we met and smile, you can mingle but we won’t be there too long.” After he informs you of what his expectations are, he stands and watches you as you finish doing what you had been doing when he walked in.

Is it bad that you sometimes want to kiss him, feel his lips against yours, like a real couple? You wave the thought away, you’re forgetting why you’re here, ‘Don’t get attached, don’t get attached, don’t get attached.’ You try to snap out of your grand delusions, but it gets harder and harder when he’s like this.

You sigh, trying to dig your heart deeper into your chest, you spend the rest of your day like this with him by your side, just taking up each others time, until nighttime falls and you bid each other goodnight.

That night, you can’t help as yourself as you move your fingertips down your body, pretending that they were his. At first you’d been too self-conscious to do this in his house, but it’s been a while, and any hangups you had quickly melted in your panties the longer you were around him. It’s been so long that it doesn’t take much to find your release, you choke out his name while playing with your body. Even though his room is down the hall you try to be quiet, you didn’t know how thick the walls were.

The walls are thick enough that you never hear the body on the other side of your door, desperately joining you in your release, begging to be let in. You slowly drift to sleep without a clue to the body you’ve wrecked, like soft tides on a sand castle unaware of their destruction, but no lest devastating. He cleans his mess up leaving you to sleep and keeping you unaware.

For the party he calls the seamstress and tailor duo for you again; he let them adorn you with soft silk fabrics until you stand there in all your beauty. Remmick’s eyes never leaving your body, you begin to feel light headed as your pulse quickens and you begin to feel hot all over just from his gaze. The seamstress looks at you then to Remmick with concern “Mr. O’Connell, are you doing alright you have something-” they both motion to the side of his face where you can see a wet shimmer dripping from his chin ‘Was he drooling?’

He touches the side of his chin looking away, “Forgive me y’all’, I have some business to attend to in the study.” He looks back at the seamstress and tailor “Make sure to give my Wife whatever she wants.” After he leaves it doesn’t take long to finish, but you still want his opinion on some of the styles you may want to wear in the future. He had said he’d be in his study; you can hear the muffled sound of his voice. You don’t think to knock, you just quietly enter, not wanting to interrupt him if he was on an important call.

That’s how you come into view of him leaning slightly back in his chair one hand gripping the chair’s arm rest and the other wrapped around his dick. You swear you meant to look away but noticed something in his hands; it was your panties that had gone missing your first night here. You watch as his eyes screw up moaning your name, as his pace picks up. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t look away, and when he finally does notice you standing there, he’s too far gone to stop himself from cumming into the underwear fisted around his cock. “Jesus, fuck” he cries out panting out your name he tries to cover himself.

You turn around a tad to late “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt your private time.” you listen as he makes himself decent but you choose not to turn back around.

“I-I” he tries to stammer out an excuse but there’s nothing that he could say that wouldn’t make this situation worse.

“Please don’t say anything, we don’t have to talk about it, it doesn’t have to mean anything” there is a heavy silence between you.

“Alright.” he sounds so defeated, you wait for him to say anything else but when he stays quiet you decide to leave, pausing you turn back towards him, doing your best not to make eye contact. “I’m not sure if I, uh need to say this but, you can keep them, the panties.” looking at your underwear in his hands, he quickly places them behind his back. You leave quickly just in case he tries to explain himself again.

You spend most of your time in your room after that, only going out to preform your agreed upon duties, and talking with the seamstress and tailor about the attire you’ll be wearing for the gathering. Ever so often you find yourself checking to see if any more panties come up missing; they don’t, and the day for the party slowly approaches. The day before, you take extra care with your hair regimen, so that you can focus on your body.

The night before, after you come out of your bathroom glowing, you find multiple bra and pantie sets laid on your bed; they were definitely more expensive than the cheap pairs that he had stolen, was this an apology?

Should you apologize too? What he did was fucked up, but you didn’t need to continue watching, but you wanted to, you enjoyed watching him come undone with just a pair of cheap panties that you had gotten in a pack on sale.

You wonder if he still uses them; the thought begins to excite you but you can’t waste time fantasizing at the moment. You try not to waste anymore time; you pick out a set of undergarments and put on the final design of the dress, letting the Seamstress and Tailor in to make sure it’s laying right.

He smiles as you make your way towards him. ‘Fuck, he looks amazing’ maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to avoid him all this time, you had forgotten what he did to your body. He says nothing about the gifts he left on your bed, he doesn’t even ask if you were wearing them, you were but it’s nice that he’s gentleman enough not to ask about it. ‘Though not gentleman enough not to steal my panties.’ You wrap yourself around the arm he offers while he walks you to the car, he opens the door for you making sure your settled he places the seat belt on you, closing your door then jumping in the car and doing the same for himself, before hitting the highway.

Handing his keys over to a valet he smiles at you. “Before we go in I want to say something.” ‘Oh god, please don’t let him bring up what happened in the study, oh god please.’ “You look absolutely breathtaking.” You smile at him, giving your thanks; you let him lead you to the house where the social gathering was. Unlike when you first met you don’t wait for him to ask, immediately you invite him in.

Allowing him to place his hand on your lower back, you let him guide you over to a handsome older gentleman, with hair that was graying on his temples, who you can only assume is the Host for tonight. You had assumed that you wouldn’t know anyone here, and you wish that had been the case; but standing right behind him was the person that had got you into this whole mess. You didn’t know whether to punch them or thank them; instead you act like you don’t know them, letting introductions flow freely as if this was your first meeting.

“Where have you been hiding such a lovely wife?” the host remarks.

Remmick caresses your cheek. “Well you know I can be a very jealous man, and shes truly the apple of my eye,” He says looking at you with so much unadulterated love, that you almost look behind yourself to see who he’s talking about. “It’s hard to not want to keep ‘er locked up.” He says with a little to much honesty, that it even makes the host uncomfortable.

They chuckle and start to talk about business, at that you tune them out, every so often glancing around the party. Remmick’s hand never leaves your lower back; as he talks, a possessiveness that you never knew he had shines through, and everyone around could see it.

Remmick leans down and whispers in your ear making you shiver you don’t know if he noticed, but a smirk forms on his lips. “Be right back, remember what I said just an in and out.” You nod, watching Remmick and the host entering doors to the back rooms.

You had hopped your ex roommate would do the honorable thing and just ignore you like you had planned to ignore them, but you weren’t so lucky. They walked straight to you as the two men walked away. “Funny bumping into you here.” You continue to ignore them giving them the barest of acknowledgments.

“It’s good to see you again, looks like you finally followed my lead, and let go of your foolish dreams. Better to give up sooner than to die broke later, am I right?” That was your limit; why couldn’t they just leave you alone? “I never gave up on my dreams, and that is not why I’m here right now, it was you that couldn't cut it, not me.” You try to keep your voice down but they’re making it hard, before they can needle you again, someone that you assumed works for them tries to whisper in their ear, but you catch parts of the conversion. Band arrived but singer left separately, never showed. They look over at you, watching as you try to pretend like you’re not eavesdropping, smirking they point at you.

“We have a replacement right here. Tell the band to get ready, she’ll be on in a few.” The color leaves your face. “What are you doing” You hiss at them. “What, you said you never gave up on your dreams, or was that just a bunch of hypocritical bullshit you were spouting to make yourself feel better about snagging a sugar daddy like me, while still looking down at me from your high chair?” Brushing past them you make sure to bump into their shoulder. “Witness me Bitch” It comes out as playful, you would gladly raise to their challenge.

“Give me something worth witnessing” They smile knowing just what to say to rile you up, and for a second it’s as if you both were back in that apartment, two broke kids trying to make it big.

As you’re handed a mic you don’t have time to think if what your about to sing is business friendly, or if it will embarrass Remmick, you just feel the words flow out of you like a firework busting from its casing.

“Glory, glory, glory to the night That shows me what I am..”

You don’t know when Remmick comes back but he’s watching you intently, as you pour your soul out into a party full of strangers, and you hope this doesn’t break your agreement.

“As I go to the party on my knees Saying "Take it all, please"

You lock eyes with him as you sing, and just like that night in the dinner you see that hunger in his eyes, and it was meant for you.

“Glory, glory, glory to the night It shows me what I am”

He smiles as if he had finally found what he was looking for in life, and you realize right at that moment the hunger in his eyes was always meant for you, and that thought scares you, It could mean only one thing.

“I'm not happy or sad, just up or down And always bad”

Remmick had fallen in love with you.

As you finish the song you watch as your old friend walk away probably on their way to find their husband. Remmick walks towards you looking like he wants to kiss you, and you think would have let him if everyone including you weren’t suddenly shocked by a shrill scream that comes from the backrooms. The person that you used to know comes stumbling out of the doors. “He’s dead, please someone help, my husband he’s been murdered, get help!” You watch as people around you slowly begin to try and get help, but stop in their tracks as the host and supposedly dead husband, makes an appearance behind them with an oddly familiar smile.

“Sweetheart, I’m old not dead.” He places a hand on their lower back. “I can’t party like I used to, I need to re-energize somehow, and I’d like to do it without putting stuff in my nose.” He stage whispers making everyone breakout in a nervous laugh. “I apologize everyone, my young spouse here has mistaken my light nap for a visit from the grim reaper.”

Instead of nervously laughing along with everyone else they push their husband, the host away; you hear audible gasps all around as they make their way over to you grabbing you by your arms. Their eyes full of the kind of panicking desperation you only see in horror movies, they try to get you to listen to them “I know what I saw, please, pleas-”

Not sure what to believe you let their husband usher them away, not noticing the light stain on his collar as their screams become more panicked. Remmick quickly guides you out of the party without saying goodbye to anyone. No matter what they did in the past you hoped they would be okay, but you had a feeling in your guts that you just witnessed the death of a memory.

Getting you in the car he hits the highway towards home.

“I didn’t know you could sing.” It was something you wanted to keep to yourself, didn’t want it to be a part of you that you sold, but you couldn’t say that. Instead you say “Didn’t want to bother you with my silly little hobbies.” “It didn’t sound like just a hobby to me, sounded like something special, beautiful, real goddamn beautiful.” You thank him but don’t say anything else on the matter, and for a second it’s quiet as he drives. “Will you do it again, just for me?”

“Is that a request or a demand?” ‘Did that sound bitter?’

He takes a quick glance over at you, making sure to keep his eyes on the road for the most part. He drives in silence for the rest of the trip. Parking the car in the driveway, he softly grabs your hand while looking you in the eyes. “I’m not requesting or demanding but beggin’ ya please sing for me.”

You were only teasing him, you hadn’t planned to sing for him, but his pleading made you smile. He brings is lips to the back of your hand kissing it softly, glancing over at you he must know by now what he did to you, he begins to lean towards you and you know what he wants.

You unbuckle your seat belt not waiting for him you get out of the car, you practically sprinting to the house, you had to get away from him before you did something stupid.

He sprints after you calling your name.

Closing the door behind himself he finds you in the living room, walking towards the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms, but he stops you turning your body towards him, till you’re facing his chest.

“We shouldn’t.” You place your hands on his chest, it felt like a sin to want him so badly.

“Why not?” He says eyelashes almost touching you as he goes in to kiss you again.

“I think I'll regret this.” You start off with slow kisses, but soon you both get desperate, trying to get a taste of each other with every touch of your lips.

He runs down your body with his lips leaving kisses in his wake, as he rips open the front of your dress. The sound of shock leaves your lips, but he covers them with his own moaning into your mouth, as you paw at his belt working it loose with your fingers. He runs his fingers over your exposed bra looking for your nipple, he rips the fabric of the bra kissing and sucking on your breast then to your nipple, when he finally gets your titty free.

You unbutton his slacks, pulling them down far enough to release his dick from his underwear, before you can wrap your hand around him he pulls back from you. You watch as his chest lifts up and down, slowly descending in front of you he looks almost animalistic as he gets on his knees, he lifts your dress up, pulling your panties down. You don’t expect it, so when he pulls you down, pushing your back flush against the coffee table, and dives between your thighs with his tongue, you make a choked noise.

You try to close your legs from the over stimulation but he keeps you open, your legs firmly placed on his shoulders; he wasn’t going to let you go until you gave him what he wanted. Your hips lifting off the coffee table your hand goes to his hair pulling him deeper into your snatch. As you moan his name, you cum on his tongue and feel as he laps the juices off your cunt.

“Oh Fuck sweetheart you taste like heaven.” As you run your hands through his hair you notice that he has natural waves, “Beautiful.” The word leaves your lips as he grabs your hand, kissing the palm of your hands as he pulls you on top of him. You sink slowly on his length, already weeping with pre-cum. You begin to ride him like you were starved for just the taste of him. “Fuck love, please slow down it’s been a while, I’m not gon’ta last!” You look down at him with a smirk on your lips, he gave you no mercy, so why should you give him any? You kick it into over drive, rolling your hips with purpose.

Remmick tries to grab your hips to slow you down, but you grab his hands placing one on the titty he had ripped your bra just to get a taste of and the other on your lips kissing his fingertips. “Fuck so good, I can’t!” He’s practically weeping under you, as you keep rolling your hips in a smooth but relentless motion. You’re closer to the edge than you thought, you cum all over his dick, as he finds release in you. Panting each others names, delirious with euphoria he holds you close as you feel drops of him start to drip out of you.

After that day it feels like you are closer then ever, he lets his natural waves lay on his head, cause he knows you like to play with them and you sing to him in the after noon letting him lay his head on your lap. Everything feels like paradise, that is until you’re doing a little morning gardening and one of your neighbor sees you.

Waving you over they seem nervous at first, saying they weren’t going to bring it up, but you seemed like such a nice and normal couple. “Do you know about the people that your Husband brings home at night?” Blinking, that wasn’t what you had expected them to say. “What-, Mr. O’Connell… My Husband is in the business of restoration and with his sun allergy-” They don’t look convinced just like you don’t feel it. “It’s just that when they leave they look so disheveled, as if they had removed their clothing.” Your fists clench, you didn’t want to hear this. “What are you trying to imply?” “I didn’t mean to offend” “I don’t know what is going on in that mind of yours but I suggest you just forget what you saw.”

You try to breathe but it’s become harder. “Now I have roses to take care of, good day.” You hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but you hadn’t known of any people of the night visiting Remmick. Of course it would have been while you were asleep, and yes there had been times when you woke up to find his side of the bed empty, but he was probably in the basement working on restorations.

Beside it wasn’t your place to question what he did with his time; that’s right, you were just his fake wife, but you were his real lover and the thought of him in the arms of someone else made you so sick. You could barely breathe; you’re quiet for the rest of the week, and if Remmick noticed anything he doesn’t say a word. You can barely look at him without envisioning him making love to some random faceless person, to the point you begin to have nightmares about it.

It’s due to one of those nightmares that you awaken in the middle of the night; your neighbors words getting to you as you reach out for a body that you knew wasn’t there. You glance to the windows getting up when you hear the sound of his car driving into the driveway, you slowly pull back the curtains just enough to stay hidden, but also enough to peek outside.

You watch as he pops out of his car with someone that you’ve never seen before, at least you don’t remember seeing them; could they be someone from the parties he took you to? Your hand covers your mouth as he wraps his arm around their waist, and your heart drops into your stomach; your neighbor had been right, he was bring people home.

You don’t know why but you can’t help yourself as you creep downstairs; you see the basement door ajar and you don’t know what compels you to, but you steadily make your way down the stairs. Every part of your mind is telling you to go back upstairs, ‘what will you even do when you catch him in the act with someone else?’ ‘Are you really willing to ruin everything just to, what, sate your curiosity?’ ‘Please, please, please, turn around!’ Your heart screams at you to stop.

When you make it to the base of the stairs what you expected to see wasn’t there, not completely. They were naked but instead of seeing two people fucking like their lives depended on it, you find Remmick moments away from biting some poor persons throat out, with a Tarp laid neatly on the concrete floor so as not to leave any stains. You try to go back upstairs but a shovel leaning against the wall falls as you bump into it, alerting them both that you saw what was happening. Shocked by your presence Remmick stops dead in his tracks; had his eyes always been that color that was so deeply red, so inhuman? He loosens his grip on his victims body. “Sweetheart I can explain.” As he scrambles to glue together some kind of half lie his victim gets away before Remmick can catch them, running towards the stairs their salvation just feet away.

You grab the shovel off the floor that had been leaning against the wall and in one swift motion you wack the victim across their face; as they fall back you watch as Remmick grabs them by their hair, pulling them back over to the tarp. Both of their eyes never leaving you, one filled with betrayal the other filled with curiosity, you watch as Remmick gets down on his knees, forcing the victim’s head to the side as he bites down on their neck.

His eyes stay locked on you as takes all he can from them. As their eyes roll back losing consciousness and body becomes limp, what you’ve done catches up to your brain. You slowly turn away from him, making your way back up stairs, sitting in the living room. You don’t know how long you wait, but it was long enough that Remmick is walking towards you.

With his Victim a few steps behind him, now fully dressed, they smile at you. They give you a wave as if to say no hard feelings on helping them get murdered; you look at Remmick’s face still covered in blood as he lays a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry baby, you weren’t meant to see that.” You notice that his fingers are still elongated; your eyes snap forward focusing to the object in front of you, it really is a nice coffee table.

If you like what you read check out my other stories from my 'Corner Store' Series where you the readers get to pick the prompt.

Unplanned pregnancy - dhampir

Car broke down in the middle of nowhere

"Your husband sure works late a lot, huh?"

#remmick #remmick sinners #remmick x black!reader #fanfiction #fic series #remmick x reader #corner store series #corner store #smut #vampires

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with-my-calamitous-love · 1 month ago

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no one asked for angst but

loving katsuki is loving his determination and drive. loving him is being patient. loving him is knowing that in some ways, ways he might not admit, you’ll be second to his priorities. loving him is knowing his cockiness is a result of impossibly high standards he’s set for himself, ones that he’s scared to admit felt too high at times. loving him is telling him to humble himself and fighting, even as he knows his anger is hot to touch. loving katsuki bakugou is loving the hero and the person underneath, each spark and explosion that comes with it.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

loving shouto is loving all the hurt in him. loving him is holding his hand after he walks out of the therapists office. loving him is sitting with him while he unpacks years of trauma and pain he himself doesn’t fully know how to navigate. loving him is knowing that you can’t take away his pain even when you try too. loving him is waiting through his emotional distance, reminding him that its okay to feel and that he’s safe. loving him is assuring him that he isn’t going to make the same mistakes, because you won’t let him. loving shouto todoroki is loving his inner child, too.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

loving izuku is loving his brain, and all the puzzles and equations that are being solved inside. loving him is loving all his dreams and giddy ambitions, even when the world he’s living in plants small seeds of guilty doubt. loving him is loving his tears and beaten down moments, and trusting he’ll get back up afterwards. loving him is loving his selflessness, his desire to help people with no regard for himself. loving him is loving his kindness, his positivity and his tears. loving izuku midoriya is loving him through every step of the way that got him to where he is, now.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

loving eijirou is loving his dopey smile and corny jokes. loving him is loving him through appreciation, loving his red eyes that hold red droplets of doubt in his eyes. its loving every part of him even though he secretly envies others (his quirk envy is so bad). loving him is the people he loves and is inspired by, one of which is you. loving him is being the person to remind him it’s okay to be tired, because he’s a rock to so many people and often doesn’t let his smile down. loving eijirou kirishima is loving all his colours, the ones he’s proud of and the ones you love him for, nonetheless.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

loving denki is loving his bad jokes and and fucked sense of humour. loving him is seeing beyond what people characterize him as- just an electrified idiot who is the punchline of every joke. its loving his insecurities he’ll hide behind sarcasm or laughter, gently reminding him that you’re here. its allowing him to seriously talk, learning about his dreams and love and soul that he may not get to share with many other people. loving him is doing dumb errands together and spending time, even in silence. loving denki kaminari is making sure he’s laughing just as hard as you are.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

loving hitoshi is loving him through depression and anxiety. its loving the days in him that haven’t slept, his scars, and his nightmares. its loving him through all the walls he’s built up, because they can’t call him a villain if he doesn’t give them a reason too. its spending nights up with him, talking about nothing and being wrapped up together, telling him to go to sleep and that you’ll be there when he wakes up. loving him is loving his resilience, getting him through to where he can say he proved everyone wrong. loving hitoshi shinso is loving a true hero when everyone sees otherwise.

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lushleona · 2 months ago

Text

HOW MANY THINGS. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

summary ; mattheo was never the type to stay where he wasn’t wanted; that is, until he met you… inspired by the song how many things by sabrina carpenter. words ; 5.7k warnings ; modern au (cellphones are used), angst, swearing, drinking, vague sexual innuendos

navigation. masterlist.

Mattheo had never been a pushover; no, he was rather a force to be reckoned with — a hard-ass, for lack of a better word. Born with razor sharp thorns pricking up from under his skin, leaving him bloodied red as roses and torn up before he ever even needed to fight, and barbed wire forced into his throat as he grew older in a world that proved itself impossibly difficult to conquer, he didn’t put up with bullshit.

He didn’t take disrespect or let people get close enough to see even the faintest scab marks of an old wound, and if anyone crossed him, he would make sure they’d live to regret it, erase them from his world like they were nothing more than chalk on pavement — quick, cold, and final.

Maybe he should’ve kept it that way with you too.

He finds himself unable to recall the exact moment that you’d managed to cut through the vines of poison ivy that had snaked their way around his heart, but he does recall the moments that may have led up to it, the ones that brought you closer and closer to his softened center without even trying.

A brush of shoulders every morning when you walked through corridors, secret smiles exchanged like swapping keys to locked rooms, long-lasting conversations that moved from crowded classrooms to the cozy confines of your homes, allowing you to make your own little corner in his heart.

You never had to beg for space in his world. You carved yourself into him like you belonged there. Not forcefully. No, it was slower than that, more deliberate. Like water through stone. You wore him down until the sharpest parts of him didn’t point at you anymore. Until his anger softened at the sight of your tired eyes. Until your name stopped sounding foreign in his mouth and started sounding like home.

Oftentimes he found himself reminiscing on the beginning of your relationship, when you were warm and inviting, your love being the kind of fire he’d learned to cup his hands around to protect from the wind, aloof to the burn that grazed his fingertips every once in a while. For he was willing to put up with any pain as long as it meant your soul was still intertwined with his, his fingers mindlessly pulling at the strings to keep you close.

But lately, it felt like the fire had been snuffed out. What was once an embery, bright red blaze had dwindled to a lone candle flickering in the dark — and Mattheo couldn’t shake the sense that he was the only one still trying to keep it alive.

At first, he tricked himself into believing it was just a fluke. You were tired, or stressed, or busy; that had to be it. That had to be the only reason why he felt like there was a fucking chasm growing between the two of you — why he felt like you pulled away every time he got close.

It had to be something small. Temporary. Fixable. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

He was certainly never one to pry, opting to bury his feelings under layers and layers of soil from which beautiful flowers would sprout to cover the truth. If he could just make everything look okay — if he kept showing up, kept kissing your forehead, kept making excuses on your behalf — then maybe things would be okay. Maybe you’d notice. Maybe you’d come back to him without him ever having to ask.

Because asking meant acknowledging, and acknowledging meant accepting the possibility that he wasn’t imagining it. That it really was slipping.

Being a bother, a burden, was his worst fucking nightmare. He lived under the fear that you would grow even colder if he troubled you with asking. He knew what happened when people got annoyed with him. He knew what abandonment tasted like — cold and metallic, a childhood memory rotting behind his ribs — and he wasn’t ready to taste it again.

So he didn’t say anything. Not when you stopped reaching for his hand the way you used to. Not when you started spending more time on your phone. Not when you kissed him absentmindedly like it was part of a routine instead of something you wanted. He told himself it was just life getting in the way. Just stress, just timing, just hormones.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. You weren’t some ice-hearted monster that would shut him out for trying to communicate, but maybe that would’ve been easier. Because at least then, he could’ve hated you. At least then, there would be something clear to hold onto, something he could point at and say, this is why it hurts.

Instead, it’s all this fog. This slow, suffocating quiet where your love used to live, and somehow, that’s worse.

Mattheo stares at the wall across from him like it might offer answers, like it might tell him when exactly things changed. When your love became absentminded. When he became convenient. A fixture. Familiar, but no longer thrilling. Something you didn’t hate, but something you didn’t crave like oxygen either.

He hears the soft rustle of your perfume spritzing into the air in the other room and imagines the way it’ll cling to your coat, to the hollow of your throat, to someone else’s memory when they catch a whiff of it in the street. You’ll smell like something perfect and untouchable, and no one will know that the boy who notices every time you change your scent is sitting on your couch, barely holding himself together.

You hadn’t even asked him to come tonight, wherever you were going. Not even a throwaway “you can come if you want.” Not even a lie.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts most — how easily he’s been written out of your world, how you make it seem effortless. Like love was never supposed to be permanent, just something you tried on until it no longer fit.

He sinks further into the cushions, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them. He hates this, hates the version of himself he becomes when you’re like this: quiet, pliant, desperately waiting to be noticed again. It’s humiliating, really. He used to take pride in being cold, in being impenetrable. But now?

Now he stays alone at your flat when you’re out and remembers how you like your tea and flinches when you forget to kiss him goodbye.

Your heels click down the hallway. He doesn’t look up until you’re at the door.

“Do I look alright?” you ask, tugging your coat sleeve down, eyes flicking toward him only briefly.

He nods, eyes trailing over you, heart already unraveling. “Yeah. You look beautiful.”

You smile, distractedly murmuring a soft, “thank you,” before reaching for the door.

“I love you,” he says quietly, like a reflex.

“Love you too. Don’t wait up,” you mutter, adjusting your coat, pulling your phone out of your bag without sparing him more than a glance.

He nods and forces a small smile, the kind that feels like a lie made flesh.

“I won’t,” he says.

But he will, of course he will.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mattheo stares at it like if he focuses hard enough, it might open again. Like maybe you’ll come back and say you forgot something — your wallet, your lipstick, him.

But you don’t.

He sits there for a few minutes, motionless, before finally dragging his phone out of his pocket and opening his messages.

Mattheo: You doing anything tonight?

It takes less than a minute for a reply to come through.

Theo: Depends.

Theo: Are you trying to get drunk or are we brooding in silence again?

Mattheo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he can manage.

Mattheo: Bit of both.

Mattheo: Come by.

Theo: Be there in 20.

By the time he stands up, Mattheo’s limbs feel heavy. He stretches them out like he’s been sitting there for hours instead of minutes, runs a hand through his hair, and glances around the apartment — too clean and too perfect, all the edges smoothed out to fit your preferences.

He heads toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, then closes it again. Nothing sounds appealing. He’s halfway to the couch again when he remembers — your cat.

The tiny gray menace you insisted on adopting from a shelter last winter. She hated him at first. Clawed up his pillow and pissed on his shoes. But eventually, she started curling up on his lap when you weren’t home, started head-butting his chin like she chose him. He didn’t say it aloud, but he liked that. He liked her, mostly because she never made him wonder if she wanted him there or not.

He finds her in the corner of the living room, perched on the windowsill like she’s waiting for you too.

“Yeah,” he mutters, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. “Don’t hold your breath.”

She blinks at him slowly, then jumps down and pads toward her empty water bowl.

Mattheo goes to the kitchen to fill it, and that’s when it hits him.

The memory comes sideways, like most of them do lately. It’s nothing big. Just a night with you barefoot in the kitchen, your hair messy, laughing at something he said, one hand absentmindedly stroking the cat’s back while the other held a mug of tea. You were wearing one of his shirts — he remembers because he liked how it looked on you, the way it hung loose on your perfect frame, driving him mad with temptation and adoration.

“You’re staring,” you’d said back then, smirking without looking up, and he instantly knew your thoughts of lust and love mirrored his own.

“Can you blame me?” he’d replied, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist before his hands slid down to squeeze at your ass, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

You turned, kissed him slow and sleepy, and murmured against his lips, “I love you, y’know.”

He’d believed you. With everything in him, he’d believed you.

Now, standing in the same kitchen with the same damn cat and none of that warmth, he feels the grief of it. Not for a breakup or for something that’s over, but for something that’s still here, still breathing and just not alive anymore.

He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them like he can shove the memory back where it came from, but it clings. The knock at the door a few minutes later makes him flinch.

Theo.

Good. He needs the distraction. He needs something to do with his hands besides remembering you.

His best friend steps in with a bottle of firewhisky and a raised brow, already shrugging off his coat.

“You look like shit,” he says, by way of greeting.

Mattheo huffs a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. “You’re one to talk.”

They settle in the living room without ceremony. No need for pleasantries; they’ve known each other too long. The bottle is uncapped, poured, and the silence stretches comfortably between them, thick as smoke. Mattheo drinks like he’s trying to set fire to something inside of him. Maybe he is.

Theo throws his feet up on the coffee table — your coffee table — and leans back with a sigh. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Mm,” Mattheo says, noncommittal. He takes another swig, the burn catching in his throat like a warning he ignores.

Theo’s voice cuts through the silence again. “You still working on that bike?”

Mattheo nods, grateful for the shift. “Put in new pistons last week. It’s still fucked, though. Can’t get it to run clean.”

Theo grunts, swirling the amber in his glass. “Sounds like you.”

Mattheo lets the jab land and doesn’t argue. He just presses the rim of the glass to his lips and stares ahead at nothing in particular.

Truth is, he does feel like a broken engine. Still functioning, technically, but something deep in the machinery has been misfiring for a while. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s just the slow, dull rot of being in love with someone who’s stopped remembering to look at him like he’s hers.

But he doesn’t say any of that; he can’t.

Because saying it would give it shape. It would make it real.

Theo doesn’t push; he never has. That’s part of why Mattheo still lets him around — why he doesn’t flinch when he hears his voice, doesn’t tense when he catches his gaze. Everyone else wants pieces, explanations, a crack in the armor so they can stick their fingers in and pry it open. But Theo? He just sits there and lets him speak or not speak. Drinks the same as he always has, like it’s just another Thursday.

Mattheo leans back, glass balanced on his knee, firewhisky burning down into the pit of something he hasn’t named yet. The cushions under him dip like they’re caving in from the weight of all the words he won’t say.

Theo breaks the silence again, voice low but not soft. “You ever think we peaked in sixth year?”

Mattheo snorts. “I peaked in fourth, mate. Back when I still thought I was fucking invincible and didn’t know what it meant to be gutted sideways by things you can’t punch.”

“Mm,” Theo hums, tilting his head. “I miss when the worst thing we had to worry about was detention.”

“Now I gotta worry about whether I forgot to take the bins out and if she’s gonna come home pissed about it.”

“She usually pissed about it?”

Mattheo’s silent for a beat too long. Then, flatly: “She’s not usually anything lately.”

Theo nods, just once, like he understands, because he does, he always fucking does.

Mattheo shifts in his seat, tilting his glass in his hands like it might tell him something if he stares hard enough. “You ever feel like you’re—” he stops. Swallows, then tries again. “Like you’re… giving so much of yourself to someone that there’s not even anything left to miss when they don’t notice?”

Theo raises a brow, not surprised by the half-confession, but not pouncing on it either. “Yeah.”

Mattheo exhales. It’s not relief. It’s more like… confirmation. That this ache, this raw, bone-deep hollowness isn’t unique, isn’t special, isn’t even interesting. Just another fucking casualty of caring too hard.

“You ever say anything about it?” he asks, voice quieter now, but not weaker. Just less performative.

Theo laughs, sharp and short. “Fuck no. What good does it do? You either say it and scare them off, or say nothing and rot from the inside out.”

Mattheo lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Cheery, aren’t you.”

“I’m drinking with you, aren’t I?”

They clink glasses without ceremony. The sound is dull, like the whisky knows it’s not celebration but survival.

Mattheo stares down into the amber, watching it slosh against the sides like it might spill all the things he’s too much of a coward to say. And he is a coward, though no one would dare call him that to his face. Not when he’s always been the firestarter, the mouthy one, the first to throw a punch and the last to back down. But when it comes to you? He folds like a paper bag, like one sharp word might split him clean through the middle.

“I think I broke something,” he says suddenly, gaze still fixed on his drink.

Theo tilts his head. “What kind of something?”

“Dunno.” Mattheo shrugs one shoulder. “Something inside me. Feels like there’s this… noise all the time. This pressure. Like the inside of my chest is gonna collapse under it. Like if I breathe wrong I’ll fall apart.”

Theo watches him for a second, then offers, “Could be your ribs.”

Mattheo gives a weak laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re such a prick.”

“And you’re dramatic as fuck.”

“Says the bloke who wrote a sonnet after that girl dumped him in fifth year.”

“That girl had cheekbones carved by angels and smelled like cherry pie. Show some respect.”

Mattheo smiles, despite himself. Not because he’s okay or because he feels better, but because this — this banter, this brutal kind of loyalty masked as sarcasm— is the only kind of safety he’s got left.

“Thanks for coming,” he says finally, not looking at Theo.

Theo nods. “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah. And I’d mock your heartbreak the entire time.”

“Obviously.”

They fall silent again, but it’s easier now. Less like drowning.

Mattheo leans back against the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. He can still hear your cat pawing at the edge of the hallway, somewhere near the closed bedroom door. He knows exactly where she’ll curl up when she gets back. He knows she won’t come to him first. He knows he won’t say anything about it, about how you don’t come to him first either.

He’ll stay quiet. He’ll stay still. He’ll let it fester like a wound wrapped in silk.

Because saying something would make it real. And if it’s real, then he has to admit that this version of love — the one where he’s always last, always small, always too much and not enough all at once — is the only kind he’s ever known.

And if he loses this?

He’s not sure there’s anything left worth being. So instead, he’ll cling on as long as he can. Who knows if he’ll ever find anything better?

Time passes until he’s not sure how late it is, the hours blending together like chalk left out in the rain. Somewhere between his nth drink and Theo’s incessant babbling, the sound of the front door unlocking cuts clean through the air.

Your laugh filters in first, bright and bubbly. Something about it makes his stomach twist, because it’s not for him; it hasn’t been for a while.

Mattheo sits up straighter, suddenly too aware of how much he’s had to drink. His pulse stutters. You walk in a moment later, eyes sparkling, coat still half hanging off your arms like you rushed home in the middle of a story you couldn’t wait to tell.

“There you are,” you say, breathless. “Oh my god, baby, you’re not gonna believe this.”

His heart stumbles again at the word baby. You haven’t said it in days — maybe weeks — but now it’s casual, light, tossed out like a sweet nothing instead of a tether back to him.

You spot Theo on the couch and smile. “Oh, hey, Theo.”

Theo nods. “Hey.”

Mattheo’s mouth curls upward, slow and tentative. For a second, all he sees is you. The version of you from months ago, when you used to walk in the door with that look in your eyes and fall into him like home. You’re glowing now, lit from within by whatever you’re about to say, and fuck, he lets himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it’s about him. That maybe you’ve remembered him again. That maybe he still matters.

You laugh, tossing your bag onto the floor, and sit beside him, cupping his jaw with both hands and pressing a kiss to his lips like it’s still the most natural thing in the world. He melts into it, eyes closing, body sighing against yours like it’s been waiting all night for this moment.

Then you pull back, grinning. “I said yes.”

He blinks. “What?”

“To Spain. The study abroad program. My friend Daphne and I — remember, I told you about her? — we’ve been talking about it forever. And today, we just looked at each other and went, ‘Why the hell not?’ So we signed up. We’re going next term.”

It takes him a second to process the words. Another to feel the floor tilt beneath him.

You’re still smiling, proud of yourself, waiting for him to join in your joy.

And he wants to. Fuck, he wants to.

But all he can hear is the shatter of something delicate breaking inside his chest.

“You… what?” he says slowly, blinking. “You signed up?”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it crazy? I wasn’t even planning to do it, but it just felt right.”

He stares at you, blinking once. Twice. The smile doesn’t come back this time.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you now,” you say lightly. “It all happened so fast.”

Mattheo forces a tight breath through his nose, jaw working. “Did you even think about me?”

Your face falters slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, and his voice is rawer now, frayed at the edges like old rope, “you made this massive fucking decision — one that changes everything — and I wasn’t even in the room for it. Not even a conversation. Just… you and Daphne going ‘Why the hell not?’ like it was booking tickets to a bloody concert.”

Theo shifts slightly, rising from the couch. “Right,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go ahead and, uh, not be here for this.”

Neither of you look at him as he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him and the silence that follows is dense. It wraps around Mattheo’s ribs like iron.

You sigh, the kind that sounds like it’s been waiting to happen all day. “I didn’t think I needed to ask permission.”

“I’m not saying you needed permission,” he replies, voice quieter now, but colder. “I’m saying I thought we were a we. And I guess I was wrong.”

You frown. “Mattheo, don’t do this. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“I know it is,” he snaps, then winces and runs a hand down his face. “But I’ve been sitting here for weeks wondering if I’m even in your head anymore, and then you come home smiling like the sun to tell me you’re fucking leaving. And I wasn’t even a passing thought on the way to the decision.”

You look at him, softer now, but not in the way he needs, not with the urgency he craves, not like he’s the thing you miss when you’re gone.

“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” you say finally.

And that is what kills him.

Because he has never cared about anything more.

Mattheo swallows it down, lets it burn on the way to his stomach like the firewhisky still warm in his veins. He nods slowly, then stands up without a word and disappears down the hall

You call after him once, quietly, but he doesn’t answer. He’s already in the kitchen, filling the cat’s bowl, hands shaking slightly as he listens to the soft mewling by his feet. And it’s that — the goddamn cat — that triggers it.

Because last winter, you brought her home shivering and tiny, wrapped in a scarf you’d stolen from Mattheo’s drawer. You’d fed her with an eyedropper every three hours like she was a child. He remembers you laughing when she curled up in the crook of his elbow for the first time.

“See?” you’d whispered, like it was some profound truth. “She knows you’re safe.”

He stares at the cat now, blinking hard. She nudges against his leg like nothing’s changed.

But everything has. Everything is.

You come after him a few moments later — he hears the soft tread of your feet against the wood floor, the tentative way you stop at the doorway like you’re not sure if you’re supposed to enter.

He doesn’t look at you, just crouches down beside the cat, scratching gently behind her ears while she eats, her tiny pink tongue darting rhythmically into the bowl like she’s unaware that the air is thick enough to choke on.

“Mattheo,” you say, quiet. “Can we talk about this?”

He lets out a breath that feels like it deflates something inside him as he stands back up, deliberately keeping his eyes off yours. His voice, when it comes, is low and tight. “Sure. Let’s talk. Now that the ticket’s booked and your bags are already half-packed.”

You cross the threshold slowly, arms folded like you’re trying to shield yourself from something. “Mattheo, please.”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, not because they need drying, but because he needs something to do before he turns around and sees your face. Because he knows the moment he looks at you, he’s going to feel it all over again. The ache, the hope, the slow realization that maybe he’s been more alone in this relationship than he ever wanted to admit.

Still, he turns. And when he sees you — eyes wide, arms crossed over your chest like you’re cold or nervous or both — it hits him like it always does. That gut-deep devotion that refuses to die, even when it’s being starved.

“You didn’t even think about me,” he says again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just… hurt. Bone-deep hurt. “That’s what kills me.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “That’s not fair. It’s not like I’m moving to Spain forever. It’s one semester. Five months. It’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” he repeats, and there’s a bitter edge to the laugh that leaves his throat. He tilts his head slightly. “You didn’t think about what it would do to me. Not once. You didn’t think about how I’d feel waking up in a bed that smells like you, in a flat that echoes without your footsteps in it. You didn’t think about how I’d spend the next four months pretending I’m fine while you’re off drinking sangria and forgetting I exist.”

“I’m not forgetting you,” you say, voice a little sharper now, defensive. “You’re being dramatic.”

He laughs again, harsher this time. “Yeah. I guess I am. Must be all the fucking firewhisky.”

You glance at the half-empty glass on the counter. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”

“Maybe you should’ve told me you were leaving before you already packed your goddamn suitcase.”

That silences you. He watches the way you flinch, just barely, and it makes him hate himself a little more, because he never wanted to be cruel to you; he just wanted to matter.

You take another step toward him, arms still folded, like you’re bracing yourself. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am happy for you,” he says, voice breaking around the edges. “But I’m also fucking heartbroken. Do you get that? Can you even hold both of those things at once, or is it just easier to pretend I’ll be fine no matter what you do?”

He can feel the frustration building under his skin like pressure in a pipe, threatening to burst. But underneath it, worse than all of it, is the fear. The slow, creeping terror that this is just the beginning of the end.

“You didn’t talk to me,” he continues, hands flexing at his sides. “You didn’t even ask if I’d be okay with it. You just… made the choice.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you say, voice rising a little now. “You’ve never made me feel like I couldn’t do things on my own. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he bites out, because of course he is. That’s the sick part. That even now, even as he’s drowning in the weight of being left behind, he still wants you to fly. “But I’m not made of fucking stone, alright? I’m not some goddamn statue you keep on your shelf to cheer you on from the sidelines. I’m your boyfriend. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to matter enough to be part of the decision.”

You look down, suddenly quiet. He swallows hard.

Silence stretches again. The cat meows softly, as if trying to bridge the void.

You stare at him. He can see the tears swimming in your eyes now, but it doesn’t undo what’s already been said.

He shakes his head and leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “You used to tell me everything. Now I’m lucky if I get leftovers. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve been trying to not be that guy. The clingy, jealous boyfriend who can’t handle his girl having her own life.”

His eyes meet yours, bloodshot and bright. “But fuck, love. I didn’t think I was completely disposable.”

“Mattheo, you’re not—”

“Then why do I feel like I am?” he cuts in, and it’s louder than he meant, harsher. “You didn’t even consider what it’d mean for us. What it’d do to me. You didn’t think, ‘Oh, maybe I should talk to the person I come home to every night before I decide to vanish across a continent.’ You just decided. Like I’m some guy you’re dating, not... not me.”

You look down, and for a moment he thinks you might apologize. That maybe you’ll reach for him, finally. That maybe he’ll feel like yours again, instead of some antique you pass by daily without noticing the dust collecting.

But instead, you say, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And maybe that’s what wrecks him most. Because you didn’t mean to. You just did. Like it was easy, like hurting him was just a side effect you forgot to list on the bottle of whatever freedom you’ve been chasing lately.

“I know,” he says, voice barely holding together. “You just didn’t think about me at all. And I don’t know which is worse.”

“I just thought—” you pause, struggling to find the right spin, the safe angle. “You never say much when things are bothering you. I figured if there was something going on, you’d have said something before.”

“I don’t say things,” he repeats, letting the words echo in the space between you. “Right. And what, that means I don’t feel them?”

You flinch, ever so slightly.

Mattheo’s hands come to grip the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles going pale. He’s trying not to let it spill, but it’s close. He’s spent so long swallowing every sharp edge that his throat feels permanently bruised from it. And now, there’s blood on his tongue and no way to pretend he can’t taste it.

“I don’t say things,” he says again, quieter now. “Because every time I’ve opened my mouth to ask someone to stay, they’ve left anyway. Because I learned a long fucking time ago that needing someone is a liability. So yeah, I didn’t say anything. But don’t mistake that for not caring. Don’t twist my silence into apathy. You’re not the only one who matters here.”

He watches the way you absorb that. The way your eyes dart, the way your mouth opens, then closes again, like maybe you didn’t realize how far he’s been falling.

The cat hops up onto the counter and purrs by his back, utterly unaware of the storm between the two of you. Mattheo reaches around and scratches her behind the ears, the movement grounding, automatic.

Mattheo’s voice is quieter now, but there’s no softness in it, just weariness. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

You flinch. You weren’t expecting that.

His laugh is bitter. “Guess you didn’t think I’d want to.”

“Would you?” you whisper, barely audible.

He meets your eyes, and there’s something hollow in him now, some void that’s widened and finally swallowed the last of his hope. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re still everything to him. That he still waits for your messages like a schoolboy, still sleeps on his side of the bed even when you don’t come home from hours. That he notices the way you’ve stopped wearing his hoodies. That he’s counted the times you’ve kissed him in the last week and still has fingers left over. That he finds your name engraved into every mundane object he sees.

That he’s got ways to find you any and everywhere.

The silence returns, heavy and absolute. You take a step forward, like you might close the gap between you, but Mattheo steps back.

It’s not out of anger, not meant to punish you. Just... self-preservation. What little of it he has left, anyway.

He swallows hard, voice rough. “You’re gonna do what you want anyway. I just wish, for once, you’d wanted me enough to factor me in. You used to want me. I’m not even a priority anymore.”

You’re still, eyes shining with something you don’t say.

But he’s not waiting anymore. Not tonight.

He turns from you, opens the cabinet to pull down another glass. “You want a drink?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Mattheo,” you murmur. “I love you.”

He gulps down what’s remaining in his cup, then lifts his gaze and stares at you for a long moment. Your words should be enough; for most people, they would be enough.

But love without presence, without consideration; it’s like flowers growing in a room with no light. They bloom for a while, but they always die in the end.

“I know,” he says.

And he does. You love him in the way people love things they’re used to. Love the old songs they don't play anymore, love the sweater that sits untouched in the closet. It’s love, but not the kind that stays.

Eventually, he hears your footsteps retreat. The door to the bedroom clicks shut a moment later, soft and final.

Mattheo stays in the kitchen long after that, staring at nothing, the cat curling up by his feet like a cruel reminder of what used to be.

He pours the drink, slow and steady. Not because he wants to forget.

But because remembering is killing him.

reminder that reblogs, feedback, and comments are very appreciated and make me smile :)

a/n: completely unintentional but a line somewhere in here also reminded me of the song scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo so there’s that too </3 this is not fully edited and i’m tired so i’m sorry if it’s kinda shitty :’)

#— ; 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 🎨 ྀི #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle oneshot #benjamin wadsworth #slytherin #angst #mattheo x you

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levisjinchuriki · 8 months ago

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open arms

summary - after finding out your boyfriend cheated on you, you run to nanami for comfort. he welcomes you with open arms, but there's only one problem - you're pregnant.

warning - angst, mentions of cheating, pregnant reader, crying, nanami comforting you, pregnant reader

a/n - this is the first chapter of my new series. i hope you enjoy!!

you’ve always imagined the day you'd find out you were pregnant would be one of pure joy—a moment filled with excitement and maybe even happy tears. you picture yourself holding the test in disbelief, then planning the perfect way to surprise your boyfriend with the news. it’s supposed to be magical, a moment that changes everything for the better.

but when you see the positive result, your world doesn’t fill with joy. instead, it crumbles.

the bright lines on the test feel like they mock you, a cruel contrast to the reality you’re living in. the excitement you expected never comes, replaced by a heavy knot of dread in your stomach. the moment that should have been filled with happiness turns into a nightmare.

everything falls apart before you can share the news. your boyfriend, someone you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, cheated on you.

it echoes in your mind, a brutal reminder of the reality you never thought you'd face. the betrayal stings so deeply, it feels like a physical wound—sharp, raw, and relentless. it’s not just the fact that he was unfaithful; it’s that you trusted him with everything, believed in him, and now, in the most vulnerable moment of your life, he’s torn you apart.

shock hits first. it wraps around you, numbing your senses, making it hard to process what’s happened. you feel frozen, suspended in disbelief, as if the truth hasn’t fully settled in yet. this can’t be real. he couldn’t have done this to you— not when you’re carrying his child. the weight of that thought crashes down on you, amplifying the pain until it becomes unbearable.

you never imagined he was capable of hurting you like this. you had always seen him as your partner, someone who would stand by you no matter what. but now, it’s clear that the future you thought you were building together has been ripped away. and the worst part? you didn’t just lose him—you lost the man you believed he was. the man you thought would be excited to hear about your pregnancy, who you thought would want to build a family with you.

now, the idea of facing him, of trying to confront the truth, feels impossible. how do you even begin to talk about the future when everything you trusted has crumbled? how do you tell him about the baby now that he's shattered your heart?

you can’t. the thought of looking him in the eye and seeing the face of the man who betrayed you makes you sick to your stomach. the pain is too fresh, too raw. you feel trapped in the chaos of your emotions, unsure of how to navigate the storm that’s taken over your life.

so, you do the only thing you can think of. you leave.

with trembling hands, you gather your things—clothes, phone, keys… everything you can fit into your bags. your mind races as you move through the apartment, each step heavy with the weight of what you’re leaving behind. the home that once felt warm and safe now feels suffocating, every corner tainted by his lies.

you can’t breathe in this space anymore, not with the weight of betrayal pressing down on your chest. so, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, you pack a bag. you need distance, space to think, to process everything that’s crumbled around you. one person comes to mind as you shove the last of your belongings into your bag—nanami.

he’s always been there for you, a steady anchor in the chaos of your life. reliable, calm, and kind. someone who never judged, never hesitated to offer a listening ear when you needed to vent or cry or simply talk through your feelings. nanami is the one person you can trust completely, the only one who might be able to help you make sense of the whirlwind in your mind.

you don’t know what you’ll say to him, or even if you’ll be able to speak when you see him. but you know you need to go to him. he’s always been a grounding presence, and right now, that’s exactly what you need.

as you step outside your apartment, the night air hits you, cool and crisp against your tear-stained face. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to push down the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. you aren’t sure how nanami will react when he sees you, but there’s a small part of you that knows he’ll understand, that he’ll be there, just like he always has been.

when you arrive at nanami’s place, your heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst. you hadn’t even told him you were coming—hadn’t thought that far ahead, really. all you knew was that you needed to see him, needed someone to help you breathe through the pain.

you raise your hand and knock on the door. the sound feels deafening in the silence, and every second you wait feels like an eternity. each passing moment feels like it stretches on forever, amplifying your fear that maybe you’ve made a mistake, that maybe you should’ve prepared something to say or that he might not be there at all.

but after what feels like ages, you hear the lock turn. as the door opens, you catch a glimpse of nanami’s face—he stands in the doorway with that familiar, calm presence. his eyes instantly shift from neutral to concerned as he takes in the sight of you standing there, tear-streaked and fragile.

“y/n” he says softly, voice is gentle. his brow furrows, and without a second thought, he steps forward. “what’s wrong? what happened?”.

without a word, you collapse into his arms, the floodgates finally breaking as the tears you’d been holding back spill over. the weight of everything—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the overwhelming uncertainty—comes crashing down all at once. nanami’s arms wrap around you, strong and reassuring, pulling you close as you bury your face in his chest. his embrace feels safe, a refuge from the storm inside you.

without a word, he guides you inside, gently closing the door behind you. he doesn’t press for details, just simply holds you, silently offering you the space to release all the pain and frustration that’s been building inside. his hand gently rubs your back in soothing circles, a steady, calming rhythm that lets you know he’s there for you, no matter what.

the tears seem endless, each sob pulling you deeper into the grief of what you’ve lost, what’s been broken beyond repair. but nanami never shifts away. he stays with you through the waves of emotions.

as the sobs begin to subside, your body feels exhausted from the outpour of emotions. you pull back slightly, your hands trembling as you wipe at your swollen eyes, trying to catch your breath. nanami looks at you with nothing but kindness and concern, his gaze never wavering.

the familiar warmth of his apartment is comforting, a sharp contrast to the coldness of the world you’ve just left behind. he leads you to the couch, and after a few moments of silence, he speaks softly.

“what did he do?” nanami asks softly, breaking the silence. his voice is filled with quiet concern. you can feel the tension in the question —an unspoken protectiveness that nanami always seems to carry when it comes to you. his gaze remains locked on you, watching your every movement.

you hesitate, the words heavy on your tongue. saying it out loud will make it real, and part of you is still clinging to the hope that maybe it isn’t. but the look in nanami’s eyes is patient and kind, and somehow you know he can handle whatever you’re about to say.

“he… cheated on me” you whisper, the words tasting bitter as they leave your mouth. your voice cracks, and tears well up in your eyes again, but you don’t turn away. nanami’s expression hardens for a moment—his jaw tightens, and his brow furrows in silent anger. he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself before responding.

“i’m sorry” his voice filled with quiet empathy. the simplicity of his words cuts through you. there’s no judgment, no questioning of how or why. just a soft acknowledgment of the pain you’re in.

nanami has never been the biggest fan of your—now ex—boyfriend, but he’s always been respectful and supportive of your choices. you remember the few times he voiced subtle concerns, but he never once forced his opinions onto you. he’s always been like that, putting your feelings first, offering quiet advice but trusting you to navigate your own life. even now, as you sit together, you can sense the flicker of frustration beneath his calm exterior, the way his jaw tightens at the mention of your ex. but nanami’s respect for you remains at the forefront.

“you’ve always deserved better than him” he finally says, voice low but firm. but there’s no malice, just quiet truth.

you glance up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze. his eyes are filled with quiet conviction, and you can see the anger simmering just beneath the surface—not at you, but at the man who shattered your trust.

“i should have listened to you” you admit, the tears threatening to fall again. “you were always so careful with what you said, but i could tell…”.

nanami sighs softly. “i didn’t want to influence your decisions. i know you cared about him.” he pauses, searching for the right words. “but that doesn’t mean you should blame yourself for his actions. you loved him, and that’s not something to regret”.

the room falls quiet, the weight of his words settling between you. there’s no rush for you to speak, no pressure for you to explain any more than you’re ready to. nanami doesn’t need you to. his presence alone is enough to tell you that whatever comes next, you won’t have to face it alone.

“i don’t know what to do now” you confess, the words barely more than a whisper. it feels like your world has been flipped upside down, and the future you thought you had planned is now a fog of uncertainty.

“you don’t have to figure it all out right now” he says quietly. “take it one step at a time. and if you need someone, i’ll be here”. there’s something in the way he says it, in the quiet promise behind those words, that makes the ache in your chest grow.

you shake your head, fresh tears welling up in your eyes as the enormity of it all crashes down on you again. “no… nanami. i-”.

the words catch in your throat, your mind racing as you hesitate to tell him the truth, unsure of how he’ll react. the weight of the secret presses heavily on your chest. part of you wants to get it out, to confide in him because nanami has always been the one person you could trust, but this feels different. bigger. more complicated.

he watches you closely, sensing your hesitation, his brow furrowing slightly. “you can tell me. whatever it is” he encourages softly. you shake your head.

“i’m pregnant” you blurt out. the moment the words hang in the air, the weight of it seems to multiply. nanami’s expression doesn’t change immediately. your heart hammers in your chest as you search his face, terrified of what he might say, of how he might react. you hadn’t planned on telling him—hadn’t planned on telling anyone so soon—but now it’s out there, and there’s no taking it back.

there’s a beat of silence, and it feels like the air in the room shifts. as you wait for his reaction, a mix of fear and uncertainty tightening your stomach. what if this changes everything? what if he thinks differently of you now?

nanami's brows knit together, concern deepening in his gaze, but it’s not the kind of panic or shock you were dreading. he’s silent for a moment and you can see the wheels turning behind his calm exterior. he takes a deep breath, processing the weight of what you’ve just shared.

nanami nods slowly, his eyes darkening with emotion as he absorbs the full gravity of your situation. you wonder if you’ve just burdened him with too much, if it was fair to drop this on him.

“does he know?” nanami asks quietly, his voice laced with concern, but not for the man who betrayed you. his focus is entirely on you, on how you’re feeling, on what you need right now.

you shake your head. “i didn’t get a chance to tell him… before i found out about… everything”. the silence that follows feels heavy, but not uncomfortable. nanami doesn’t rush to fill it, or react with shock or panic like you feared. instead, he sits there, absorbing it all, his gaze never leaving yours. he’s processing.

finally, he speaks, his voice soft and measured.

"you did the right thing by leaving" nanami says firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "you don’t owe him anything, especially not after what he did. your priority now is taking care of yourself and your baby".

your brows furrow. "but how?" you whisper, your voice barely audible. "i can’t do this alone, nanami”. your confession hangs in the air, raw and vulnerable. it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud—how truly terrified you are. the future feels like an impossible mountain to climb, and you don’t even know where to begin.

nanami’s gaze softens as he watches the fear ripple across your face. “you’re not alone” he says, his voice quiet but full of conviction. “we’ll take it one step at a time together… if you want”.

his words hang in the air, and for a moment, you're stunned into silence. you blink, trying to process what he just said. his offer is staggering, something you hadn’t expected. you know nanami is always there for you, always supportive, but this feels like more than you could have ever asked for.

“i can’t ask you to do that” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

nanami’s expression remains steady, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “you’re not asking” he says. “i’m offering”. his words are assertive, but true. the fact that he’s willing to stand by you, to support you through this painful time, makes the path ahead seem a bit more manageable.

“you… you’re serious?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. your mind races, a mix of disbelief and cautious hope swirling together. nanami’s expression doesn’t waver. his steady gaze meets yours, full of quiet determination.

“of course i��m serious” he says softly, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed. “i wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t”. you search his face for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. he’s genuine, his offer coming from a place of deep care. the realization makes your chest tighten with emotion.

you look up at him, feeling the tears welling up again, but this time they’re different. there’s something in his words, in the way he looks at you with such steady resolve, that lifts some of the weight off your shoulders. he’s not just saying it—he means it.

“this is too much, nanami… i don’t even know what’s coming next” you admit, your voice shaky as you try to hold back the fresh wave of tears. “i don’t want to be a burden”.

he frowns. “you’re not a burden” he says, his tone firm but gentle. “you’re important to me. and i want to help you because i care about you”. nanami’s presence, his unshakeable support, is something you hadn’t realized how much you needed until now. the thought of having someone so steadfast and compassionate by your side brings a small, but significant sense of hope. nanami’s offer of help, his willingness to be there for you, makes the future feel a little less daunting.

“i don’t know what to say” your voice barely above a whisper but full of heartfelt gratitude.

nanami gives a reassuring smile. “you don’t have to say anything. just know that i’m here for you. whatever you need, however you need it”.

the promise in his words and the kindness in his eyes offer a fragile yet comforting sense of security. it’s a start, a small but vital lifeline, and for now, it’s enough.

“okay” you reply. a bit of the tension eases from your shoulders, the simple act of accepting his offer giving you a small measure of peace. nanami’s presence is a comforting constant, and knowing that you have someone to lean on makes the uncertainty ahead feel just a little more bearable.

you’re still overwhelmed, still scared, but you’re not alone anymore. with nanami by your side, you have a place to begin navigating the path ahead, one step at a time.

“you’ve had a long day. you should get some rest” nanami says, his voice steady but filled with quiet care.

there’s no judgment in his tone, no impatience—only concern. the enormity of the day’s events is catching up to you, and your body aches with exhaustion. you’ve been running on adrenaline, on heartbreak, but now that you’re here, safe with him, the exhaustion hits you all at once.

nanami stands and gently guides you toward the guest room, his hand briefly resting on your shoulder—a grounding touch that keeps you tethered to the present. you don’t resist. you trust him, and right now, trusting anyone feels like a monumental feat. he walks beside you, his movements calm and deliberate, as if to assure you that there’s no rush, no urgency anymore. you don’t have to run from the pain here.

when you reach the guest room, it’s quiet, a comforting kind of quiet that lets you breathe. the room is simple, but the calmness of it wraps around you, offering a small but much-needed relief from the storm in your head.

nanami sets the bag you packed down before making the bed for you. he smooths out the sheets with the same attention to detail he’s shown you all night—precise, thoughtful, gentle. the way he moves through the small space is unhurried, as though he understands that what you need most right now is comfort, not words. his actions speak louder than anything he could say.

once the bed is made, he turns to you, his eyes meeting yours with that same reassurance. "you can stay here as long as you want” he offers quietly, his sincerity evident in every word. the weight of his kindness, his unspoken promise to be there, nearly overwhelms you. you smile at him gratefully and thank him for everything.

nanami lingers for a moment, watching you with a careful gaze, before he steps toward the door. “i’ll be in my room if you need anything” he says, his tone soft but reassuring, like a promise that no matter how broken you feel, he’s not going anywhere.

as the door closes gently behind him, the silence of the room feels different—not empty, but safe. nanami’s presence, even though he’s no longer in the room, lingers like a protective shield. you take a slow breath, your shoulders sagging as the tension in your body begins to release. you allow yourself to collapse onto the bed, the softness of the mattress cradling you.

the exhaustion tugs at your eyelids, and it’s not long before sleep pulls you under. nanami’s steady presence, his unwavering support, gives you a sense of hope that you’ll be able to face what’s coming. with him by your side, the impossible doesn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

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devotedfem · 6 months ago

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∞ Virus

Synopsis: The pandemic made people turn feral, like savage beasts. The news said that the virus was spread by a mysterious and wild being. And you were unlucky enough to be the target of infatuation of said being.

J. Hoseok x f. reader

Genre: zombie/virus au | yander-ish.

Tags: Monster Hoseok, virus, apocalypse au, Hoseok is the cause and bearer of the virus, bites, primal fear, predator/prey, fear play, obsession, infatuation, uncanny Hoseok, strong reader.

Patreon for extra content

From the series; otherworldly.

Navigation Masterlist.

Your hands trembled frantically, and the primal deep fear squeeze your chest in a piton grip, making you stand still on your spot. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to run.

The news from the tv on your back served as white noise, making chills run your body.

“STAY IN YOUR HOME! I REPEAT IT, STAY IN YOUR HOME. DON’T GO OUT BY ANY MEANS!”

The wail from the reporter made you feel numb.

“DON’T TRY TO HELP YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS IF THEY GOT BITTEN, THEY’RE GONE! THE VIRUS TOOK THEM AWAY! SAVE YOURSELF!”

You agree on that, they weren’t just the same anymore. They were gone.

“EVERYTHING IS LOST! DON’T WENT OUT! I’M BEGGING YOU, IT’S DANGEROUS OUT HERE! EVERYONE IS INFECTED!”

You kept standing still, numb from head to toe. Wrapped by the white noise from the tv on your back.

“HE WILL CATCH YOU! HE’S EVEN MORE DANGEROUS THAN THE OTHERS, BECAUSE HE SPREAD IT! HE’S THE FIRST VIRUS CARRIER, A MONSTER, BUT A SMART ONE!”

Numb. You stand numb.

“He’s… we don’t know where he came from, or why did he spread this deadly virus, but he knows what he’s doing, and he’s using the corpse of your beloved ones to hurt us, to overpower humans…”

The reporter’s voice weakened, turning into a whisper. Almost as if he gave up.

And then you heard him screaming again, but this time in horror and pain. Other screams sounded from the people around the reporter. He got bitten, you supposed.

Then your tv went completely silent. Ending the live.

It was indeed a monster that spread this virus, but one that looked and acted human. He was evil, he wanted an army of corpses to run the world under his command.

It was the second week since the pandemic, everyday escalated into a worse one. Until everyone got bitten, all of the tv channels were off air, except the one from minutes ago, but like the others, it's gone.

The city was taken by the virus, every second you heard a wail and a scream, every person got bitten. The corpses were fast, extremely and inhumanly fast. And the virus was very easy to spread, just a tiny bit of infected saliva in a little wound was enough to turn you into a feral and deadly corpse.

It is just impossible to not get bitten, your building was just full of them. The city was also on flames, burning. Leaving nothing behind, taking all kind of resources away.

And you knew it was his doing. He knew that if he burned away resources, the chances of surviving will decrease, letting survivors no choice but to succumb to the virus, to end their suffering.

Everyone got infected.

Except you.

And, you’d thought that it’d be a matter of time until you got the virus too.

After all, there was no chances for you to run, your building was surrounded by so many of them. All the supermarkets and houses were turned into ashes from the fire.

You have nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

You lowered your head then, watching the red bite marks all around your forearm, some were fresh, others were old. But they were there.

You got bitten, the first day of this pandemic to be more specific.

And he knows it.

That’s why he’s watching you like a hawk, with vicious and piercing maroon eyes fixated on your forearm, and then on your face.

He never dared to broke into your home, he let his minions of corpses to do the dirty job, but he watched with fascination how even though you got bitten, you killed all of them, never turning.

You were always killing them, they were kind of weak after all, the only problem was that if they infected you, you were fucked. But that never happened because you were immune to the virus.

He always laughs with disbelief, intrigue and anger. For a monster and carrier of this feral virus, he was very level headed and calm.

He was impressive, and something tell you that he thinks the same of you.

He never broke into your apartment, until now. He broke down your door, with a calm expression. Walking into your living room, facing you. The dinning table was the only thing separating the both of you.

He grinned, like a predator ready to pounce its prey.

You faltered, like a lamb to its slaughter.

“Did you got tired of waiting to turn me into one of your brainless minions,” you mocked, bitter. Trying to sound unfazed, but he saw right through your act, grinning widely.

“I’m never tired of you.” His voice was raspy and too low to sound human, making you feel chills on your body. He was so uncanny.

“Then what the fuck are you here for? What do you want from me? I’ll kill myself before letting you turn me into one of you,” you spat with clenched fists.

He frowned, throwing the dinning table away from his path with an inhuman force. Standing inches from your body, making you tremble with panic. He gripped your chin to make you look up at him.

“I’m here to take my pet, I’m tired of just watching you.”

“I’m not a pet,” you whispered with hatred in your tone.

He smirked, like the devil.

“But you’re mine.”

And after that, nothing was the same.

#bangtan fanfic #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #hoseok x reader #yandere x reader #hoseok fic #bangtan fic #hoseok imagine #hobi #j hope

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unabashegirl · 10 months ago

Text

The Cover — sneak peak

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: hello, the cover has already been posted on Patreon, but I wanted to give you a sneak peak to it. Just in case you want to give it a read on my Patreon. It's a four part story. The final part will get posted tonight.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots and much more :)

masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------

Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.

He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.

Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.

Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.

She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.

But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.

And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure...

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shizuturnspages · 6 months ago

Note

Just yandere ayato and diluc with reader who has been through a lot. Like war, abuse, losing friends and death? You name it

And yet reader remain gentle and kind through it all.

I like this one because we all know diluc turns cold after his father's death, meanwhile ayato had to put up a face and gets crueler in order to keep the peace around his clan,

Been Through It All

Synopsis: Yandere Ayato and Diluc with a darling who's been through it all Pairings: Yan! Ayato x Reader, Yan! Diluc x Reader

Yandere Ayato

The Facade Falls for You

❥ Ayato is a master manipulator, wearing a calm, collected mask to navigate the storm of Inazuma’s politics. Yet, with you, it crumbles. Your gentleness is disarming in a way that terrifies him; he feels like you’re the only person who truly sees him beyond his strategic facade.

❥ He becomes obsessively protective, not just of your safety but of your kindness. He sees the world as something cruel, unworthy of you, and he’s determined to shield you from anything that could tarnish your purity.

Fixated on Your Strength

❥ Ayato admires your resilience, though he’d never outright say it. To him, your ability to endure so much and still remain gentle is nothing short of miraculous—and it feeds his obsession.

❥ However, he also hates the world for what it’s done to you. While you forgive and move forward, he quietly seethes, plotting ways to punish anyone who’s hurt you. They won’t even know it’s him pulling the strings until it’s far too late.

Subtle Possessiveness

❥ Ayato’s control over you is subtle but firm. He makes it impossible for you to leave his side by weaving himself into every aspect of your life—offering you comfort, opportunities, and protection under the guise of kindness.

❥ “You’ve done so much on your own,” he murmurs, taking your hand. “Let me carry some of that burden for you. You deserve to rest.”

A Calculated Protector

❥ Ayato will eliminate threats to your happiness without a second thought. Whether it’s someone from your past or a current obstacle, he’ll handle it quietly and efficiently. You’ll never have to lift a finger—or even know.

❥ But if you insist on staying connected to anyone he deems harmful? His tone sharpens, his smile a little too tight. “You trust me, don’t you? Then let me decide what’s best for you.”

Scenario:

You were sitting in the gardens of the Kamisato Estate, the sun casting a soft glow over the flowers. Ayato watched you from a distance, his heart twisting. How could someone who’d faced so much still look at the world with such warmth?

He approached, offering you a cup of tea. “You seem lost in thought,” he said, his voice gentle.

You smiled, though the melancholy in your eyes was impossible to miss. “Just thinking about the past. It’s strange, isn’t it? How the world can be so cruel yet still so beautiful?”

Ayato’s jaw tightened. He hated hearing you speak of the pain you’d endured, even if you did so with such grace. “You shouldn’t have to carry those memories alone,” he said, his tone firm. “Let me share them with you.”

“You’ve done so much for me already,” you replied, your smile soft but hesitant.

“And I’ll continue to do so,” Ayato said, his hand brushing yours. “Because you deserve more than what this world has given you. And I’ll ensure you have it—even if it means bending the world itself.”

Yandere Diluc

A Mirror to His Own Pain

❥ Your ability to remain kind despite your suffering resonates deeply with Diluc, who turned cold and distant after his father’s death. He sees in you the person he wishes he could have been, and that admiration quickly turns into obsession.

❥ He clings to you like a lifeline, desperate to keep your warmth in his otherwise dark and lonely world.

Overbearing Protection

❥ Diluc’s protective streak is intense. He knows first-hand how cruel the world can be, and he refuses to let it harm you any further. Whether it’s sheltering you at Dawn Winery or accompanying you everywhere, he’s always there.

❥ “You’ve suffered enough,” he says, his voice low and serious. “Let me take care of you now.”

Anger at Your Past

❥ While you forgive those who’ve hurt you, Diluc cannot. His anger burns hot and relentless, and he channels it into ensuring no one from your past ever gets close to you again.

❥ If he finds out someone who hurt you is still alive? Well, the Darknight Hero has another mission.

Struggling with Your Independence

❥ Diluc struggles with the fact that you can stand on your own after everything you’ve been through. While he respects your strength, it also feeds his insecurities—he wants you to need him.

❥ This can lead to moments of conflict, where his overprotectiveness clashes with your desire to handle things yourself.

Scenario:

The crackling of the fireplace filled the quiet room at Dawn Winery. You sat curled up on the couch, staring into the flames. Diluc watched you from across the room, his expression unreadable.

“You’re too quiet,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it—an undercurrent of worry.

“The past,” you admitted. “It’s strange. I’ve been through so much, but I’m still here. Sometimes I wonder why.”

Diluc crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling in front of you. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re here because you’re strong,” he said, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. “Because you’ve endured more than anyone should have to. And I swear, as long as I’m alive, I won’t let you suffer anymore.”

You shook your head. “Diluc, you can’t protect me from everything.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can try. And I will. Because I can’t lose you—not to this world, not to anything.”

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s1ut-4-rafe · 3 months ago

Text

CASUAL | Rafe Cameron | Final Part

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Summary - Tensions between you and Rafe hit a boiling point. What begins as another seemingly ordinary dinner with his family turns into a moment of raw vulnerability and undeniable desire. As the night unfolds, you’re forced to confront the painful truth about your place in Rafe's world.

Word Count - 2307

Content - Based on the song "Casual" by Chappell Roan! 18+, smut, heavy angst, toxic relationship, manipulation.

Navigation - Part Two | Final Part

The night of the dinner arrives, and you're standing in front of your mirror, feeling a strange mix of excitement and uncertainty. You pull out a few dresses from your closet, not one really catching your eye.

Finally, you settle on a dress, a stunning black mini that effortlessly blends elegance with a hint of edginess. The mini length is perfect for showcasing your legs, but is still parent-appropriate, balancing stylish and tasteful.

But then doubt creeps in. You look at your reflection again. What if I’m overthinking this?

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. This is just dinner. Just another night. Just another night where you’re Rafe’s accessory, where you’ll sit at the table, looking pretty, and he’ll carry on like he always does, detached, cool, and effortlessly untouchable.

As you finish getting ready, you try to push those thoughts aside. You take one last glance in the mirror before grabbing your purse and heading out the door.

When you arrive at the restaurant, Rafe is waiting outside in front of the valet, looking impossibly handsome in his well-tailored suit. The sight of him makes your heart skip a beat, but as he sees you, there’s nothing in his gaze that suggests this is anything more than another night.

There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, take his hand, and make some kind of connection, but you stop yourself. He doesn’t seem interested.

Inside, the restaurant is upscale, the kind of place where the soft hum of quiet conversation and clinking glasses fills the air. Rafe’s parents are already seated at the table, and they greet you warmly. His mom is kind, smiling at you with an almost maternal warmth, but you can’t help but notice that Rafe barely acknowledges your presence.

Dinner starts, and the conversation is polite but distant. His mom asks about your life once again, what you’re up to, and how things have been for you. It’s the usual small talk, but you’re trying to put yourself at ease, trying to make the most of the situation. You can’t help but feel a bit out of place, though.

Rafe, on the other hand, is hardly participating. He’s distracted, his phone buzzing with notifications every few minutes. He answers his parents’ questions with short, monosyllabic responses, clearly uninterested. It’s like he’s here physically, but mentally, he’s somewhere else entirely. You try not to let it bother you, but it stings in a way you didn’t expect.

The moment the dessert course arrives, you feel it. The weight of being invisible. The fact that, in his eyes, you’re just another girl at the table. Just another face he’s tolerating because it’s expected of him.

After dessert, Rafe stands up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor. He mutters something about stepping outside for a minute, his eyes glancing over at you.

“You coming?”

You’re confused, but you stand up, following him into the hallway. He doesn’t even look back as you walk behind him, just continuing on, like you’re trailing after him because you have no choice. The hallway feels long, cold, and suddenly, you’re reminded of how little of his world you truly understand.

He reaches the bathroom door first and pushes it open without a second thought. Without saying anything, he steps inside, and you follow him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, Rafe locks eyes with you, and without a word, he presses you against the cool tile wall. His lips crash onto yours, and for a moment, it feels like everything, the coldness of the dinner, the distance between you disappears.

His hands are everywhere, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as if he can’t stop himself. It’s the same passion he’s shown before, but this time, it’s different. It’s rushed, like he’s trying to make up for something. His touch is rough, possessive, but you can’t help but get lost in it for a second.

But then, reality snaps back into focus. You pull away, breathless, trying to steady yourself.

“Rafe stop, what are we doing in here? You barely said a word to me tonight at dinner, and now you’re trying to—”

Rafe leaned in closer, his voice low and husky. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to sit next to you all night, knowing what’s underneath that dress. Every time you moved, every time you laughed, I could barely keep my hands to myself.”

“We can’t do this right now. Your parents are going to wonder where the hell we are if they sit in there too long.” You tried to reason with him. Also, not wanting to get caught in a public bathroom.

You saw the desire burning in his eyes, looking you up and down. “Fuck it, let them wonder,” he growled, spinning you around and pinning you face-first against the bathroom counter.

You felt yourself losing all control. You hike up your dress, his hands were rough as he grabbed your hips. He leaned down, kissing your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

You wanted to stop, or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself. You couldn’t believe you were letting this happen, risking getting caught by anyone in the restaurant.

Rafe wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him with a smirk, knowing your hesitation. “You like the risk, don’t you, princess?”

You freeze for a second, feeling the weight of his words hanging in the air. The rush of adrenaline surges through you, and you try to suppress it, but you can’t deny it.

You hated the way he made you feel, yet you couldn’t pull yourself away. His touch was magnetic, like he knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to keep you on edge.

His lips press against your skin again, this time more urgently, as if he can’t get enough of you. You could hear the faint sounds of people laughing and talking from the restaurant just beyond the bathroom door, and it made your heart race even faster.

"Don’t act like you don’t want this as much as I do," he murmurs into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

You try to push the thoughts of the public setting away, but the risk, the danger, is too intoxicating. "Rafe," you whisper, unsure of what you’re trying to say. Are you asking him to stop? Or begging him to continue? You don’t even know anymore.

He chuckles softly, his hands slipping lower, his touch sending jolts of electricity through you. "That’s what I thought."

He chuckled softly, and you could feel how hard he was against your entrance, teasing you mercilessly, sliding in and pulling back out, making you whimper with need. He repeats this a few times, enjoying your reactions.

“You’re so fucking hot, a mess for me like this,” he whispers, sliding in slightly further this time, then pulling out again.

“Stop teasing…” You murmur breathlessly, pressing back against him, completely letting go and wanting more.

He smirks at your eager whimper and slides in a bit deeper this time, making you gasp.

“More…” you plead softly, trying to push back onto him. His hands grip your hips tightly, maintaining control as he thrusts into you, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips.

“Shh…” he murmured urgently, glancing toward the door before grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back. “Keep quiet for me, baby.”

Rafe slams into you harder, his hand still firmly gripping your hair, “Fuck, you feel so good. Too good.” His breaths become ragged, and you’re just as close to losing full control.

“Is this what you wanted? Me fucking you in the bathroom?” he said roughly, each thrust getting deeper and harder.

“Fuck, yes!” you answered him in an instant and then it happened. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming as you felt your walls clench around him.

Rafe groaned deeply, his hips moving faster and more erratically now. “Fuck, there it is…” he moaned.

Rafe’s release hits him like a freight train, spilling into you as he buried his face into your neck.

You quickly got cleaned up and Rafe helped you wiggle back into your underwear. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to regain some composure.

As the final moment passes, the silence that falls between the two of you is deafening. Your chest heaves, heart still racing from the chaos of what just transpired.

Rafe leans back against the counter, adjusting his clothes with a nonchalance that makes your stomach churn. He catches your eye, his gaze steady but unreadable.

You start to fix your hair, your hands trembling slightly as you try to pull yourself together, but he stops you with a flick of his hand.

“Act like nothing happened,” he says, his tone flat, almost dismissive. He smirks like he’s done something normal. “We go back out there. We sit. You’re fine. Got it?”

Your chest tightens, the sting of his words sinking deeper than you’d like to admit. You don’t reply, what’s the point? Instead, you simply nod, feeling the heaviness of the moment press against you as you step toward the door, Rafe following behind.

You both walk out of the bathroom, as if nothing has shifted, as if you didn’t just share something that felt like an electric shock to your entire body. "So, you’ll fuck me like that, but you won’t hold my hand at the table?"

The words slip out before you can stop them, and as soon as they leave your lips, you wish you could take them back. You didn’t mean for it to sound like that, but it’s too late.

Rafe pulls back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looks almost amused, as if he’s too good to be fazed by what you just said.

"You know how it is, baby."

He brushes your hair back from your face with tenderness that feels more like an afterthought than genuine care. And that’s when it hits you. The reality of it.

This—whatever it is between you two isn’t what you thought.

You try to breathe through the ache in your chest, but it’s hard to ignore. The sting of knowing you’re not special to him. You never were.

After the check was paid and the goodbyes were exchanged, you forced a smile as you shook hands with his parents, offering polite words of thanks for dinner.

Rafe’s mom kissed you on the cheek, asking when she could see you again, but the smile on your face felt brittle, like it might shatter at any moment. Rafe didn’t offer more than a distracted wave, barely meeting his parents’ eyes.

Once the door to the restaurant closed behind you, the cool night air hit you, but you still felt suffocated by the weight of everything. You walked beside Rafe as he led you toward his truck, your heels clicking on the pavement, but the tension in your chest was too much to ignore now.

You’re in his truck now, the engine rumbling softly, and you snap. Without thinking, the words spill out before you can stop them.

"I hate this. I hate that I let you do this shit to me," your voice wavers, a mix of frustration and raw emotion. "I hate that I let you keep me on a leash, keeping me around when it’s convenient for you.”

Rafe's eyes flicker to you, the way he always does when he’s caught off guard. He doesn’t say anything at first, like he's trying to process the sudden intensity in your voice.

Then he scoffs, trying to brush it off, but there's something behind his gaze, something you can't quite put your finger on. Maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s just the frustration of being caught in a lie that he doesn’t want to admit.

"You knew what this was," Rafe says, his voice low, trying to sound dismissive, but there’s an edge to it. It’s too rehearsed, too defensive. You can feel it now. You can feel the wall he’s built between you, as if he’s incapable of letting anyone close enough to matter.

This was never about you. It was about him. It was about him not giving a damn whether you were broken by it all.

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of being treated like this,” you said, your voice steadying as anger replaced the pain. “I can’t believe I let that happen in there… I hate that I let you use me.”

Without another word, you threw open the truck door. The cold air hit your skin, making your heart race, but you didn’t care. You were done.

Rafe didn’t immediately follow. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, as if he expected you to back down. You didn’t.

You slammed the door shut behind you with a force that made the sound echo through the empty parking lot. You started walking away, every step taking you further from the mess he had dragged you into. Your heels clicked against the pavement, sharp and final.

“Y/N, wait!” Rafe’s voice was suddenly sharp, a little more desperate than usual. You didn’t turn around.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice low but firm. “I’m done, you can go to hell, Rafe.”

You didn’t wait for a response, didn’t give him the chance to reel you back in. You kept walking, each step further solidifying your decision.

You took a breath, you didn’t need him to admit anything. Not anymore. You were done being that girl. The one who would chase after him. The one who would let herself get swept away by his charm.

You didn’t look back, not even once.

And that’s a wrap on Casual!

Thank you to everyone who followed this series, writing this was a wild ride, and I loved every messy, angsty, and steamy moment of it. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the ending! Did it break you? Did it heal you? Did you scream into a pillow? Let me know! 😂

TAGLIST FOR CASUAL: @niyalovests / @sweetstrawberrianne / @ihrthatcha / @kravitzwhore / @saviorcomplexrry

#rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe outer banks #obx #rafe imagine #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe fic #rafe cameron imagine

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nylqnder · 1 year ago

Text

ALONE | ADAM FANTILLI

summary: after feeling isolated by the lack of support from your own family and friends during your pregnancy, you found a sense of belonging among adam's friends

warnings: pregnancy, technically teen pregnancy, use of made up people who do not exist irl

word count: 1.33k

You had never felt so alone.

When you found out you and Adam were expecting, you were over the moon. It wasn’t in your plans as a couple, but the two of you were more than ready to begin your family. The initial shock quickly turned into joy as you imagined the future together, holding your little one in your arms, and sharing the excitement of each new milestone.

However, when you told those close to you, your friends and family, their reactions were not what you had hoped for. Your parents had been disappointed, worried about what those in the community would think about them now that their daughter was a teenage mom. Their choice of words left you feeling like a failure. Your mother’s disapproving gaze and your father’s silence were more hurtful than any words could be. They seemed more concerned about their reputation than the new life you were bringing into the world.

When you turned to your friends, hoping that their reactions would be supportive and at least slightly better than those of your parents, you were left hurt and alone. They either distanced themselves or openly criticized your decision to keep the baby. The whispers behind your back, the judgmental glances, and the sudden exclusion from social gatherings cut deeper than you could have imagined. It felt like you were being punished for your happiness.

It seemed like everyone had an opinion, and none of them were supportive. The isolation was overwhelming, and each day felt heavier than the last. The weight of their disappointment and judgment bore down on you, making the already challenging journey of pregnancy feel even more daunting.

Now, at seven months pregnant, you had been navigating the rocky path of motherhood almost completely alone. Adam had been a rock throughout the entire thing, his unwavering love and support providing you with some solace in the storm of criticism. He held you through the nights of tears and doubt, whispering reassurances that you were strong. His family, although from a distance, were also supportive, sending messages of encouragement and little gifts for the baby.

However, even their unwavering support felt like it wasn’t enough. The absence of your own family’s acceptance left a void that was impossible to fill. You longed for your mother’s comforting words, your father’s steady presence, and the camaraderie of your friends. Instead, you faced a future that seemed more uncertain and isolated than you had ever imagined.

The journey of impending motherhood, which should have been filled with joy and anticipation, was overshadowed by the loneliness that engulfed you. Each day was a struggle to stay positive and to believe that you could be the mother your child deserved. As the due date approached, the fear of the unknown mixed with the pain of rejection, making you wonder if you could ever truly overcome the loneliness that had become your constant companion.

So when Adam suggested you go to brunch with his friends, your anxiety skyrocketed. You didn’t know these people well, and the thought of facing more judgment was almost too much to bear. Yet, Adam had assured you they were kind, understanding people, so you trusted him.

As you arrived at the quaint restaurant, your heart pounded in your chest. This morning had been a better one in terms of morning sickness and pain, which gave you a sense of ease that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, but still, your anxiety loomed.

Adam gave your hand a quick squeeze as you approached the table, most of his friends already seated. You were greeted by a melodic chorus of friendly voices and warm smiles. Adam’s friends and their partners welcomed them eagerly, pulling out chairs and making space for them at the crowded table.

“Y/n, right?” the girl next to you asked.

“Yes, hi,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly as you took a seat.

“Adam’s told me so much about you, it’s so nice to finally put a face to a name!” she said sweetly. “I’m Lilly.”

Her warmth and genuine smile were a stark contrast to the reactions you had grown accustomed to. You felt a small spark of hope flicker within you, and you mustered a polite smile in return. "It's nice to meet you, Lilly."

As the conversation flowed around you, you found yourself slowly relaxing. The group was vibrant and welcoming, chatting animatedly about their lives, sharing jokes, and asking you questions that made you feel included rather than judged. Lilly in particular seemed to take you under her wing, engaging you in conversation and making sure you felt comfortable.

"So, how are you feeling?" Lilly asked gently, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "I know it must be tough sometimes."

You hesitated, unused to such kindness, but her sincerity made it easier to open up. "It's been challenging," you admitted, feeling a lump in your throat. You glanced at Adam, who gave you an encouraging nod. He’d kept an eye on you the entire evening, making sure you were staying comfortable and making sure you didn’t want to leave. He’d truly been amazing through everything. "But Adam has been wonderful, and I'm trying to stay positive."

“When are you due?” Tyler asked.

“Early August,” you replied, your voice steadier now.

“That's so exciting! Have you thought about names yet?” Sarah asked, her enthusiasm contagious.

You and Adam exchanged a glance, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face. “We have a few ideas, but nothing set in stone yet.”

The weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, as you felt that there was a developing support system that you hadn’t expected. As the brunch continued, the questions kept coming, but they were all filled with kindness and genuine interest. They asked about your cravings, your experience with morning sickness, and even shared funny stories from their own lives. You felt yourself relaxing, your earlier fears melting away.

“We're all here for you, you know," Lilly said at one point, her eyes sincere. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. We’d love to help now and after the baby arrives.”

You didn’t know if it was the overwhelming gratitude you were experiencing, or simply pregnancy hormones, but you found yourself getting emotional, tears brimming in your eyes. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”

Lilly gave you a sweet smile, reaching over and giving your hand that rested on the table a supportive squeeze. The meals came and went, stories were told, and Adam kindly paid for the tab. After you said your goodbyes and well-wishes, you walked to the car with Adam's arm around your shoulders.

“So…” Adam said hesitantly. “How was that?”

You let out a deep breath, a smile appearing on your lips. “They were amazing, Adam,” you said. “They’re so nice.”

You felt the pregnancy hormones coming back again, the tears now spilling over. Your emotions had been on a rollercoaster, with the highs and lows often blending into a confusing blur. After being abandoned by your friends and family, feeling like you were practically alone in this journey, the isolation weighed heavily on you. Each day had been a struggle, each moment a reminder of the support you lacked. The once-familiar faces that should have been by your side had turned away, leaving you to navigate this overwhelming experience in solitude.

But now, a shift was happening. You now finally felt like there were people on your side, people you could lean on and fill the void that had been left by those who had abandoned you.

Over the next few weeks, you began to see more of Adam’s friends. They checked in on you, invited you to small gatherings, and even helped you prepare for the baby. Lilly became a close friend, always there with a listening ear and helpful advice. Slowly but surely, the loneliness that had once seemed insurmountable began to ebb away.

#˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ nylqnder #adam fantilli #adam fantilli x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #columbus blue jackets

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zeroseuniverse · 3 months ago

Text

Final_Cut: You

Word Count: 1.6K Summary: But the camera wasn’t your webcam. It was handheld. Moving. Breathing. Someone had been there. Close enough to count your lashes. Close enough to brush hair from your forehead if they’d wanted to. Pairing: DK X Reader

Taglist: @haaruki @agaha127 @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120 @ltfirecracker

Navigation

You never really knew your editor. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. You’d never shaken his hand or looked into his eyes. Never heard him laugh, or seen his name written down anywhere but in one sleek, unassuming corner of your shared folder. He went by DK. That was all he gave you, and in your line of work—where people overshared by default—that kind of anonymity almost felt charming. Clean. Professional.

He came recommended by another content creator you trusted. “Quiet. Fast. Reliable. Creepy good at catching your good side,” they’d said, half-laughing, not knowing how literal that would feel later.

So, you hired him. DK became the name behind the edits, the ghost in your machine. Every video you posted passed through his hands before the world ever saw it. He cleaned up the mess behind the illusion: removed your awkward pauses, trimmed your half-hearted brand plugs, warmed the lighting when your eyes looked too tired, softened your voice when it trembled.

You’d always found it eerie, in a way. How he seemed to know which frame made you look strongest. How he lingered just a moment longer on your real smile—the one you didn’t even know you gave. It was like he knew you better than you knew yourself.

At first, you chalked it up to talent. Intuition. Maybe a touch of luck.

But talent doesn’t explain how he caught the moment your expression faltered during a livestream, just before the screen glitched. It doesn’t explain how he managed to isolate your voice from a noisy café mic and leave only the breathy laugh you made when you spotted someone you liked. And it certainly doesn’t explain how, when you asked him for a behind-the-scenes edit—something raw, something real—he delivered something so intimate it made your skin crawl and your chest ache at the same time.

You watched that draft alone at midnight, curled into your blanket, half-expecting it to be a highlight reel of giggles and bloopers. But it wasn’t that. It was… you. Not the version you curated. Not the persona you wore like perfume.

No, this was you when the camera had slipped, when you forgot to mute, when your face settled into something hollow between takes. It was the moment you stared into your mirror, saying nothing. The way you brushed your fingers over a half-empty mug like you were waiting for it to fill. The sound of your breath after you ended a call and didn’t smile afterward.

And somehow, impossibly, he had footage you didn’t remember filming. A glimpse of you through a rain-streaked window. A shaky shot of you lit only by your laptop, eyes red but not crying. You blinked and replayed the segment four times, then stared at your drive.

You never recorded that.

But it was in your folder. Neatly named. Edited. Color-corrected. Yours.

You posted the video anyway. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because it felt real. Or maybe because the way he saw you was flattering in its honesty. Painful, yes—but gentle. Careful. Tender. Like someone memorizing the cracks of porcelain instead of fixing them.

The internet loved it. Flooded you with praise. “So raw.” “So real.” “So you.”

You messaged him afterward:

“That was beautiful. I felt like you saw the parts of me I never show anyone.”

He didn’t respond in words. Just a single file the next day, titled: “Final Cut_You”

You didn’t open it at first. Something about the name unsettled you, though you couldn’t explain why. It sat in your drive like a whisper behind a door you weren’t sure you wanted to open.

Meanwhile, you tried to think more about the DK you thought you knew. Tried to recall any calls, any photos, any trace of who he was beyond the edits. There were none. You hadn’t even spoken to him directly in months—just emails, maybe the occasional voice note on your end. He never replied in voice. His presence was always silent. Always watching.

You started to wonder if it had always been this way—if there had been clues you ignored. Your camera turning on by itself. Footage from a different angle. Files moved in your drive when you knew you hadn’t touched them.

Sometimes you felt him in your apartment, even when you were alone. That strange sixth sense, the weight of eyes in the walls. But when you turned, there was no one there. Just your webcam. Your blinking cursor. Your reflection, almost unfamiliar in the quiet.

Still, you didn’t stop sending him content. Maybe a part of you wanted to be seen like that. Honestly. Lovingly. Obsessively.

You opened the file one night. The “Final Cut.”

And there you were.

Not a montage. Not a highlight reel.

Just you, asleep.

The camera slowly panned closer. The room was dark, lit only by a streetlamp outside your window. You could see the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle shift of your hand against your pillow. The timestamp matched a night weeks ago. You’d fallen asleep editing late and hadn’t remembered hitting record.

But the camera wasn’t your webcam. It was handheld. Moving. Breathing.

Someone had been there. Close enough to count your lashes. Close enough to brush hair from your forehead if they’d wanted to.

The final frame held on your face for a full minute, unflinching. Then, softly, almost imperceptibly, the whisper of a voice you’d never heard before.

“You belong in every frame.”

That was the last thing on the video.

You didn’t report it. You didn’t fire him. You didn’t even change your passwords.

Instead, you stared at the screen, heart quiet in your chest, the room so still you could hear the silence breathe.

Because deep down, you already knew—

He’d been watching long before you ever hit record.

And maybe, just maybe, you were okay with that.

You didn’t speak of the video. Didn’t message him about it. Didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t tell a soul.

You simply watched.

Once. Twice. Then five times more. Each viewing slower, more deliberate, like your silence was a ritual and this was your offering. You examined the shadows for a silhouette. Counted your breaths. Noted how steady the camera was—how intentional.

Someone had filmed you. Someone had been there.

He had been there.

But what unsettled you most wasn’t the invasion. It was how gentle it all was. The way the camera never violated. Never touched. Just witnessed. It wasn’t lewd. It wasn’t violent. It was reverent.

Like love, in its rawest, most unhinged form.

That was the first night you left your window open.

The second night, you wore the sweater you knew he liked—because he always lingered just a second longer in the edits when you wore it. You knew he noticed. DK noticed everything. It was in the way he paused on your fingertips brushing your jaw, or the way he let your inhale echo longer when you were talking about things you loved.

It was devotion. Warped, but careful. It made you feel chosen.

And when you left the camera running overnight, you didn’t label the file. You didn’t need to. By the next morning, it had already been moved. Already edited.

When you opened it, you found yourself sleeping again—same room, same soft rise and fall of your chest—but this time, something had changed.

The footage was warmer. Closer. Your hand had moved in the night, and the lens had followed. A shift in the light revealed the faintest blur of movement in the corner. Not a face. Just the impression of someone sitting near your bed. Waiting.

At the end of the video, he’d added music. A soft, looping instrumental you’d used once in an old vlog. You’d said it made you feel safe. He remembered.

And then—his voice.

“You see me now, don’t you?”

Not a question. A fact.

And you did. In the absence. In the edits. In the invisible fingerprints across your life. You felt him everywhere. You knew his rhythm, his restraint, his fascination with your solitude. And part of you—maybe the part you’d never dared to speak aloud—wanted it.

The next video you sent him was different.

You didn’t speak. You simply stood before the camera, holding eye contact. Still. Unmoving. Like you were letting him look. Really look.

You stayed like that for two minutes.

And when the final edit came back, it was exactly the same. No cuts. No filters. No manipulation.

Just you. Just him. Staring back.

The next file you received wasn’t in the usual folder. It arrived on a flash drive, taped inside a nondescript envelope, no return address.

You found it in your mailbox.

Your name printed in block letters.

Your real name.

The video was darker than the others. Titled only “Home.”

It opened with your front door.

From outside.

Rain dripped down the lens. Your window glowed dimly. Shadows moved inside.

The camera lingered. Patient. Unhurried.

And then the footage changed.

It was your hallway. The inside of your home. The familiar creak of the floorboards, the low hum of your fridge. Footsteps—soft, deliberate, a lover’s cadence.

Then your bedroom.

Your silhouette in bed. Sleeping.

Closer now.

And then—

Your eyes opening.

Not in fear. Not in surprise.

Just… open. As if you’d been expecting this.

The video cut to black.

And in your lap—real, physical, not digital—a note had been tucked inside the envelope.

You unfolded it slowly. Handwriting careful, almost elegant.

I’ll come when you’re ready. But I’m already yours.

You could’ve run.

You could’ve blocked him. Called the police. Changed your locks. Burned your hard drives.

But instead, that night, you lit a candle on your windowsill and left the door unlocked.

And in the quiet that followed, you laid in bed and whispered into the dark—

“…I see you.”

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shuavez · 2 months ago

Text

litany 𓄧 k.mg

iii. dizzy.

summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into one of the city’s most illicit vampire clubs, two detectives must navigate the delicate balance between duty and desire — and survive the consequences when pretending stops feeling like pretending.

and some hungers, once fed, are impossible to starve.

tags 𓄧 detective!au, vampire!mingyu x human!reader. slow-ish burn. fake dating. friends/coworkers to lovers. various svt members/idols.

warnings 𓄧 mentions of blood, death, threats. wc. 6.7k.

previous chapter ↜ ii. evidence of absence.

The drive to Velvet Eden unfolds in silence, thick and unbroken. It isn’t the tense kind, not quite—it’s something heavier, something weightier. The kind of quiet that feels occupied, like both of you are holding thoughts too dense to speak aloud. The city glides past outside the windows, a blur of sodium lights and neon halos smeared across the glass, refracted and reshaped by the rain still clinging to the windshield in tired streaks.

Beneath your clothes, the wires itch—not from pain, but awareness. Their presence is a phantom touch now, a constant whisper at your ribs, a reminder with every movement that you’re not just dressed for seduction, you’re dressed for surveillance. Tape and plastic, tension and trust. They ground you. They haunt you.

You shift in your seat and catch the flicker of Mingyu’s profile in the dim blue glow of the dash. Steady hands on the wheel. Jaw tight with quiet thought. He hasn’t spoken since you left the precinct, but his presence doesn’t feel distant—it feels intentional. Controlled. You recognize it. It’s the version of him that slips in like water when the stakes rise. Not aloof. Just focused. Measured. Watching everything, including you.

When the car rolls to a stop outside the club, the doorman doesn’t even pause. One glance is enough. No ID check. No questions. Just a nod and a gesture toward the velvet-lined entryway, like the place has already memorized your face. Like it’s decided you belong.

The moment you step through the doors, the world tilts.

The scent hits you first—thick, opulent, and dizzyingly layered. Perfume cloying and sweet, sweat clinging to bare skin, and underneath it all, the metallic tang of blood, subtle but unmistakable. It rides the air like incense, curling into your lungs, settling in your throat. The smell of hunger, ritualized.

The lighting is different tonight. Lower. Dimmed to the edge of decadence, casting every surface in a deeper, richer palette of crimson and gold. Shadows pool in the corners, thick and soft as oil. The music is slower too—less rhythmic, more sinuous. A beat you feel in your chest before you hear it in your ears. The kind of pulse meant to seduce you into forgetting how long you’ve been standing still.

Mingyu stays just behind you, close enough that the heat of him curls at your lower back, even though he doesn’t touch you. It’s not possessive—it’s protective. A presence that says: I’m here. A presence you feel like gravity.

You move as one through the main floor, cutting a path that’s half confidence, half careful choreography. The energy in the room shifts to accommodate you—heads turning, conversations dipping in volume as eyes slide over the two of you with measured curiosity. You don’t react. You let them look. You let them wonder.

At the bar, you rest your hand lightly on the polished surface, the lacquered wood cool beneath your palm. The bartender—a familiar face now—nods once and takes your order without ceremony. You keep it simple: a tall glass of something citrus and sharp, a fizzy bite of lime and tonic that wakes your tongue. It tastes clean in a room that isn’t.

Mingyu orders something red. The kind of drink that sticks to the glass on its way down. You don’t ask what’s in it. He doesn’t offer.

You lean into the counter with practiced ease, legs crossed at the ankles, your posture open but languid—detached just enough to be believable. A woman comfortable in her skin, in her company. You laugh once at something Mingyu says under his breath, your lips curling around the sound like it’s second nature. You’re playing the part. But the part is starting to feel like skin.

Then you see them.

Two men, a handful of stools down—just far enough to be inconspicuous, just close enough to be dangerous. Their suits are too clean, too fitted. Their bodies too still. They don’t lean. They don’t drink. They don’t smile. Their eyes track the room like predators choosing not to chase—yet.

You tilt your chin slightly, angling your body so your left ear picks up their voices more cleanly—just enough for the transmitter nestled beneath your knit to catch the drift of their conversation.

“…next shipment… high-grade stock… auction scheduled…”

Your heart doesn’t stutter, doesn’t race. But it does narrow.

Mingyu’s fingers skim your back, a featherlight brush that looks affectionate to anyone watching, but you know better. It’s a signal. Not yet. Eyes on. Ears open.

You laugh again—something breathy, meaningless—and sip your drink slowly, letting your gaze wander as if you’re simply admiring the crowd. Beside you, Mingyu shifts his weight, one elbow propped on the bar, his body turned slightly toward yours. Casual. Close. Your shield in a silk shirt and subtle cologne.

The men’s voices dip again, obscured by the swell of the bass as the song changes. Whatever they came to say, they’ve said it. One of them downs his drink. The other checks his watch.

The conversation dies on the vine.

Mingyu murmurs something again—something low and deliberately forgettable—and you nod like you’re agreeing to plans for later, slipping off your stool in one smooth motion as he places a hand at the small of your back, leading you away from the bar like he’s ushering you into something far more decadent than surveillance.

You let him guide you deeper into the club’s heart, the sound thickening around you, the air turning heavier with sweat and velvet and light. You can feel the hum of the floor beneath your heels now—something slow and sultry, stitched into the beat of the music like a second pulse.

The dancers are out tonight, and the stage glows like a sin you haven’t confessed to yet.

She moves like molten lava—slow, deliberate, unbothered by gravity. Dark skin lacquered in gold dust and oil, not much else. Her limbs catch the spotlight like polished obsidian, fluid and gleaming, as if she’s been carved from heat itself. She slides around the pole with the kind of control that makes your breath catch, like the air around her bends in deference.

At the apex of a spin, she fixes you with a gaze that lands like a brand. It drags over you first, then Mingyu behind you—pauses there. Her lips quirk, barely, in something like approval. Or recognition.

You don’t blink. Neither does he.

The crowd swells around you, soft fabrics brushing against bare arms, conversations murmured into collarbones, the thrum of bodies orbiting each other with lazy hunger. You let it swallow you whole, this curated decadence, and for a moment, you forget the wires. The lies. The job.

Just enough.

His chest is a solid wall of heat against your back, his breath a soft whisper at your hairline. You feel the reassuring weight of him everywhere—around you, over you, in the way his fingers toy idly with the hem of your sweater, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You sway together slowly, drinking in the atmosphere with half-lidded eyes, letting yourselves blend into the velvet haze. There’s something perversely sensual about the way you’re both watching her—entranced, complicit.

You know what’s buried beneath all this polish and perfume. You know what she’s dancing over.

And still—you look.

For a moment—just a moment—you forget why you’re here.

You forget everything but the soft pressure of his arms, the pressure of his chest steady against your back, the kind of weight that keeps you tethered.

The moment ends quickly.

You and Mingyu have only just slipped from the weight of those whispered conversations at the bar, the nerves still cooling beneath your skin, when a voice lifts above the music—smooth, polished, with the lilt of genuine amusement threading through it.

“I was beginning to think she wasn’t real.”

You turn, startled at first, until Mingyu’s posture shifts beside you—uncoiling just slightly, like a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying has just ebbed away. He steps forward half a pace, his hand brushing the small of your back as he turns to face the man now approaching.

The man is tall—not quite Mingyu’s height, but cut from the same clean lines. He wears his blazer undone, shirt collar open at the throat, no tie. Casual elegance. His dark hair is swept back in a way that suggests artful disarray, but you know it takes precision to look that effortless. There’s a glass in his hand—something pale and gold, swirling lazily—and his smile is warm in a way that doesn’t feel sharpened for show.

Mingyu exhales softly, his voice dipping into something easy. Familiar. “You’re late.”

“I’m deliberate,” The man corrects, one brow lifting. His eyes turn to you then, and unlike so many others in this place, they don’t linger on your throat. They don’t scan you like you’re meat walking on two legs. Instead, they rest at your face, observant but not dissecting. “You must be the infamous girlfriend.”

You blink. “Infamous?”

“Oh, he’s been muttering about you for weeks,” The man says with a wave of his glass, like that explains everything. “Wouldn’t shut up about how smart you are. How you don’t scare easy. I thought maybe you were a metaphor.”

You glance sideways at Mingyu, surprised. He only smiles faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “I don’t do metaphors,” he murmurs.

He chuckles. “No. You do pining. Badly.”

The jab is gentle. Old-friend ribbing. You feel it in the way Mingyu doesn’t bristle, doesn’t deflect. Just breathes through it and lets you step forward on your own terms.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” He says, extending a hand. “Han Sanghoon. I throw the Saturday salons upstairs. Art, music, vintage cinema. The only part of this place with halfway decent conversation.”

You take his hand, surprised by the cool smoothness of it. He doesn’t grip too tightly. Doesn’t leer. Just meets your gaze squarely and nods once, as if to say: You’ve been seen, and not like prey.

Mingyu offers up the story you rehearsed with a smoothness that almost fools you too. “She’s a writer. We met through work. I didn’t think she’d take to a place like this but… she’s handling herself.”

Sanghoon hums, studying you again—but not rudely. Not like a threat. More like someone taking in a detail-rich painting and trying to decide what the artist meant. “Well. You’ve got more poise than most of the mortals here. That’s saying something.”

You let yourself smile, small and measured. “I was told Eden wasn’t for the faint of heart.”

“It isn’t,” he replies. Then, more quietly, “But the faint of heart rarely make it past the front door.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just… full. The music throbs faintly underfoot, heavy and slow. All around you, the room continues its hungry waltz—eyes and mouths and flickering glances—but here, within this small pocket of space carved out by Sanghoon’s presence, you feel oddly untargeted. Like being watched, but not hunted.

Sanghoon drains the rest of his drink and sets the glass on the lip of a passing server’s tray without looking. “They’ll be watching you now,” he says, almost to himself. “Word spreads quickly. Mingyu never brings anyone.”

Your brow furrows slightly, almost amused. “Should I be worried?”

“Not yet,” he says lightly. “But maybe wear flats next time. Just in case.”

Mingyu chuckles under his breath, the sound low and rare. You feel it at your back more than you hear it.

Sanghoon flashes you one last glance, something knowing in it now. Not lewd. Not possessive. Just… knowing. “Good luck, darling. And if you get bored of the wolves, come upstairs. I’ve got Criterion films and real whiskey.”

He nods once more, turns, and vanishes into the crowd as seamlessly as he’d arrived.

You watch him go, strangely affected. You hadn’t realized how much weight you were carrying in your posture until it eases now—shoulders uncoiling, lungs drawing a full breath again.

Mingyu’s hand finds yours in the low light, curling loosely around your fingers. “You okay?”

You nod once, eyes still on the crowd. “That was… not what I expected.”

“Sanghoon is a rare breed,” he says softly. “He’s old as shit. He doesn’t feed here. Doesn’t need to. He’s got his own world upstairs. He comes down when he’s curious. That’s all.”

You nod again, quieter this time. You can feel it now, the shift in the room’s energy. People saw you. Saw him with you. And maybe more importantly—someone like Sanghoon had acknowledged you.

You’re no longer just another human on a leash.

You’re someone worth noticing.

And that, in this place, is power.

You murmur something about needing the bathroom—code to disengage—and Mingyu presses a fleeting kiss to your temple. It lingers there longer than it should, warm and grounding, like he knows exactly how much you don’t want to be apart. “I’ll wait by the bar,” he says, voice pitched low enough to brush only your skin.

It’s almost too easy, slipping away from him like that. But harder still is the distance—the way his presence seems to recede with every step you take, like warmth retreating from your bones.

The corridor is narrow, walled with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that catch your reflection at every angle. The lights are dim, tinted gold, casting everything in a soft, surreal haze. Each step sinks into the plush carpet beneath your boots, the velvet hush of it swallowing your footfalls whole. You pass doors with silver handles and no names, each one humming with a low, electric tension. The scent here is different from the club floor—less sweat, more cologne, a dry hint of cedar, and the underlying trace of blood that never quite fades.

You round the final bend of the hallway, one hand gliding idly along the brass-lined wall, your other brushing your hip—checking, without thinking, for the reassuring press of your transmitter beneath your sweater. You’re already anticipating the comfort of returning to Mingyu’s side, to the sanctuary of his presence, his voice in your ear, the unspoken tension between you both that somehow makes you feel steadier in your skin.

But something shifts.

Subtle, like the temperature dropping just a fraction. The air stills. Thickens. You feel it before you see it—a presence waiting in the shadows, just out of reach of the last warm bulb overhead.

He leans there, half-swathed in low amber light, one shoulder resting lazily against the mirrored wall. The same vampire from earlier. The one with the sharp suit and eyes that didn’t track movement so much as assess value.

You take a measured breath, slowing your pace just slightly. Not too much. Not enough to signal alarm.

He steps forward. Not quickly. Not aggressively. But there’s purpose in the way his leather shoes whisper over the carpet, in the way the shadows seem to follow him like they know he belongs to them.

“Alone,” he says, his voice warm and smooth like a fine cognac. “I wondered if you’d stray far from your handler.”

You blink, keeping your expression open and curious, schooling your features into the soft mask of someone too new to know better. “Just needed the bathroom,” you murmur, letting a small, slightly sheepish smile tug at your lips. “Didn’t know there’d be a welcome committee.”

He chuckles, a dry, knowing sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I just happen to enjoy making introductions.”

Another step forward. He smells like smoked wood and something sharp underneath—expensive cologne layered over something darker, something instinctual. There’s no immediate danger in his posture, no overt threat. But the tension humming beneath your skin tells a different story.

He circles slowly, not quite closing the space, but carving around you in a way that feels strategic. Curious.

Predatory.

“You’re rare,” he says, eyes flicking down your frame, pausing—not on your body, but something deeper. “It’s in your scent. Richer than most. Clean.” He breathes in, like he’s savoring it. “Fresh.”

Your stomach knots, but your smile doesn’t falter. “I showered.”

That earns a slow grin. Not amused—appreciative. “Clever,” he says. “But don’t play coy. You know what I mean.”

You angle your chin, still feigning curiosity, a tilt of your head that could read as flirtation or confusion. “I’m not sure I do.”

He leans in slightly, voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. “There are vampires in this building who’ve lived a century and never tasted anything close to you. Never even smelled it. You walk in, and they smell it before they see your face. You don’t belong here—but not for the reasons you think.”

Your pulse kicks behind your ribs. You work to keep your expression neutral, even a little disoriented, like a human too green to read the subtext.

But then he steps closer.

The space narrows, walls inching in around you like they’ve always intended to trap you here. His eyes flash—not with hunger, but with something colder. Cunning.

“They’ll dress you up in silk and pour champagne down your throat,” he murmurs. “They’ll call you a guest. Pretend you’re special. But when the time comes?” His gaze drops, sharp and gleaming. “They’ll bleed you out like an animal and call it ceremony.”

The silence that follows is thick. Not dramatic—just final.

The words settle in your chest like lead. You don’t recoil. You don’t flinch. But your mouth tightens at the corners, your spine straightens half an inch, and your fingers curl faintly at your sides. There’s something hollow curling in your gut, but it isn’t fear. Not entirely. It’s a different kind of knowledge. A terrible, clinical understanding of exactly what you’ve walked into.

Of what you’ve agreed to become.

He steps back half a pace, as if admiring the effect of his words. As if amused by your quiet composure. Like he thought you’d cry, or run, or beg—but all you give him is silence. A polite blink. The slightest tilt of your head.

And then—you feel it.

Before you see him. Before he speaks.

The hallway bends around a presence that wasn’t there a second ago. Soundless, seamless, so familiar you don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. The way the space behind you fills out. He doesn’t move fast. Doesn’t speak immediately. But the sense of him curls around your back like a shield, and your whole body exhales at once, tension unspooling from your shoulders in a way that feels both involuntary and inevitable.

His hand starts between your shoulders, sliding up to squeeze gently at the base of your neck, like anchoring you to the spot. It’s not a possessive touch. It’s strategic. Quietly commanding. The kind of physical reassurance that says a lot, without needing to be spoken aloud. The kind that centers you in a moment that’s trying very hard to spin off its axis.

“You wandered off,” he says, smooth and level, like he’s stepping into a dinner party and not a low-simmering threat. His tone is polite, maybe even casual to the untrained ear—but you hear the weight behind it. The warning stitched into silk.

Across from you, the vampire doesn’t flinch. If anything, his smile grows. But there’s a flicker behind his eyes—calculation. Recalibration. Mingyu is taller, broader, colder in the way that matters. The kind of cold that doesn’t need to raise its voice to chill the blood in your throat.

“We were chatting,” the vampire says, with that same smirk, like it’s all a game. “She’s… unique.”

“Mm.” Mingyu’s hum is noncommittal, almost amused. But you feel the flex of muscle beneath his shirt, the subtle tension threading up his arm into the hand at your nape. “It didn’t sound like small talk.”

“She’s fascinating,” the man continues, undeterred. “I can see why you’re so protective. Blood like hers? You should be.”

That gets him a flicker of reaction—not from Mingyu’s face, which remains unreadable, but in the slow way his thumb brushes once along your skin. Anchoring. It’s for you. A signal. I’ve got you.

Mingyu angles his head slightly, just enough to shift the balance of the moment. “If there’s something you want to say,” he says, quieter now, colder, “say it.”

The vampire holds his gaze. There’s a tension in the air now, fine and crackling, like the seconds before lightning splits a summer sky.

But then—he smiles again, wider this time. And steps back.

It’s not a submission. It's a smug retreat. He knows he’s been pushed, but he leaves like he’s already gotten what he came for. He slides past you with a predator’s grace, and the air trails after him like silk slipping through fingers.

But you don’t move.

Not right away.

Because you know what he expects: a flinch, a recoil, the hurried retreat of a frightened little thing who’s gotten too close to a sharper set of teeth.

So you stay.

Still. Upright. Calm.

Mingyu doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t urge you forward, doesn’t press you to go. He stands behind you like a monument, all quiet strength and steady heat, his hand still a quiet pressure at your side.

“You didn’t use the word.”

His voice is low, quiet enough that it slips in under the club’s bass-thrum and clings to the space between you like smoke. It isn’t an accusation. Just an observation.

You shake your head slowly, smoothing your palms down the front of your skirt more out of instinct than necessity. The fabric is already flawless, but your hands need something to do. “Didn’t need to.”

But then, after a beat, the question slips out—softer, smaller than you mean it to be.

“How did you know? You were still at the bar.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t press. He walks beside you, a quiet shadow of control, his movements fluid but purposeful, like he’s still shedding the tension from before. His hand twitches once at his side, as if his body hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that the moment has passed.

Finally, he speaks—measured, matter-of-fact, but not without care.

“Your heartbeat changed.”

You blink, eyes tracking across the dim hallway ahead of you, suddenly more aware of the blood drumming steady in your ears. It’s a strange thing—to be known that intimately. To have the secrets of your body translated so effortlessly by someone else. He hadn’t needed a code word. Hadn’t needed you to falter or call for help. He’d just known.

“Right,” you murmur, not really as a reply, more to fill the space that’s opened up between the revelation and the quiet hush that follows it.

When you reach the threshold where the hallway bleeds back into the main floor, you pause, your heel catching slightly on the plush carpet as your eyes scan the club again. The lights seem harsher now, more performative, casting everything in theatrical shades of crimson and gold. The dancers are still moving, slow and serpentine, the music thick with lust and intention. Everything is exactly the same—but you aren’t.

You feel the weight of the encounter still clinging to you like second skin. Not panic—no, that’s not it—but a shift. A click in your bones that hasn’t settled back into place.

Beside you, Mingyu doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. His eyes are already moving, cataloging every exit, every line of sight, every vampire whose gaze lingers too long. His body hums with restraint, with readiness, like he hasn’t quite stopped moving even though his feet are still.

You draw a breath—slow, deep, as much to steel yourself as to taste the air again—and then shake your head once, decisively. “I don’t even know how long we’ve been here, but that’s enough for one night.”

Mingyu’s gaze flicks down to you, then out toward the floor again, assessing, weighing, confirming. He nods once. Sharp. Agreement without protest.

“I’ll call it in.”

There’s no announcement as you turn and make your way back toward the front of the club, no grand performance of departure. You walk like you belong there, like you’re ending the night on your own terms—which, in a way, you are. You’ve been seen. Felt. Assessed. And if nothing else, that was the mission.

The doorman offers a nod as you pass through the threshold into the night, the heavy door hissing shut behind you and sealing off the velvet-dark decadence of Eden like a dream you’re only half-awake from.

Outside, the air is crisp. Not quite cold, but clear enough to cut through the fog that had gathered in your lungs. The city lights blur through the mist that clings to the pavement, neon bouncing off puddles like oil slicks. It’s quieter out here. Realer. The thrum of the club still vibrates faintly behind you, but it already feels distant. Like something that happened hours ago.

You don’t speak as you cross the sidewalk toward the car. You don’t have to. The silence between you isn’t heavy. It isn’t awkward. It just is. Present. Shared.

When Mingyu opens the passenger door for you, you hesitate for just a second before slipping inside, the warmth of the vehicle seeping slowly into your limbs. He rounds the hood without a word, slipping into the driver’s seat and pulling the door shut behind him. The engine starts with a low purr, headlights cutting clean lines through the fog ahead.

They’re barely a block away when Mingyu finally speaks, his voice low but solid, carving through the quiet like something warm and certain.

“You good?”

You glance at him, eyes catching the blur of passing streetlights across the clean lines of his profile. He’s watching the road, hands steady on the wheel, but there’s something behind the question—more than protocol, more than concern. Something a little quieter. A little closer.

“I’m alright,” you answer, and it’s mostly true. “Just… piecing things together.”

He hums once under his breath, a sound of acknowledgment, then taps the steering wheel lightly with his thumb. The radio crackles softly to life—secure line—and with a practiced flick of his fingers, he thumbs the switch and leans toward it just enough.

“Agent Kim. We’re clear. Exiting Eden now. En route back to base. ETA fifteen.”

Jeonghan’s voice cuts through a moment later, tinny with static but unmistakably him: “Copy that. Don’t speed, bloodsucker. And bring me a warm drink next time, you selfish bastards.”

Soojin’s voice trails in behind his, much closer to the mic and full of sleep-deprived sarcasm. “Tell your girlfriend her wire held up beautifully. Crystal clear. Not even a squeal.”

You raise your brows slightly, mouthing girlfriend? toward Mingyu with a wry little tilt of your head. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the subtle tug at the corner of his mouth—almost a smile.

“We’ll debrief when we’re in,” he says into the mic, flicking it off without another word.

The car lapses into silence again, but not the same kind as before. It’s looser now, filled with something lighter. The kind of quiet that doesn’t demand anything but offers room, if you want to fill it.

You lean back into the seat, letting your eyes flutter shut for a second, just long enough to feel the gentle hum of the road beneath the tires, the residual adrenaline melting slowly out of your limbs. Your mind is still ticking, of course—turning over the words from the vampire in the hallway, the look in his eyes, the prose they’ll bleed you out like an animal and call it ceremony. You can still hear the way he said it. How amused he’d been. Detached. Like he was talking about livestock.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to unclench your jaw.

Mingyu’s hands stay steady on the wheel, knuckles loose against the leather, eyes fixed on the wet ribbon of road ahead. But you can feel him watching you in the quiet—more of a pulse than a glance. That subtle kind of awareness only he seems to have. A radar tuned specifically to you.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, voice soft. Careful.

You already asked me that. You nod, then hesitate.

He waits, like he always does.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just… coming down.”

A pause.

Then, “You sure? You looked ready to shank him with your heels back there.”

You let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. “I considered it.”

“Good instincts,” he says, nodding sagely. “But for the record, I had it handled. I’ve been rehearsing my Big Scary Vampire Boyfriend lines.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Have you.”

“Oh yeah.” His voice drops into an absurdly gravelly register, one hand gesturing broadly. “‘Step away from my girl, bloodsucker.’ That one’s a classic. Or—‘Touch her again and I’ll rip your fangs out and use them as cufflinks.’”

You burst out laughing—actual, full-body laughter, the kind that pulls loose from your chest before you even try to stop it. You press a hand to your mouth but it doesn’t help. He glances over, clearly proud of himself.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “Please tell me you didn’t say that last one out loud.”

“No, but I was close,” he says, grinning now. “It was locked and loaded. You should’ve seen my face—I looked terrifying.”

You shake your head, still laughing, the tension bleeding out of your spine with every breath.

There’s a beat where neither of you says anything. He lets you sit in it, that little pocket of safety he’s carved just for you. No pressure. No questions.

Then you speak, quieter this time.

“Thanks, Mingyu.”

He looks over. Just once. But it’s soft.

“For what?”

You glance out the windshield, watching headlights flicker across the windshield like fireflies. “For having my back. Always.”

And just like that, he’s smiling again—not the cocky grin, not the performance. Just something warm and real and a little bit shy.

Without a word, he lifts his right hand from the gearshift and offers it toward you, pinky extended.

You stare at it for a second, then loop yours through it without hesitation.

He gives it the smallest squeeze.

“Always,” he says.

And you believe him. Down to the bone.

When you and Mingyu step back into the precinct, the shift in atmosphere is immediate.

Gone is the heat of velvet and blood, the haze of perfume and red light. In its place: the hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the stale tang of burnt coffee drifting from a pot that’s been sitting too long, and the soft clatter of keys and chairs and rustling paper—home, in its most bureaucratic form.

Soojin spots you first.

She’s sitting cross-legged in a chair just off to the left of the bullpen, headphones pushed half-off her ears, posture loose but alert. Her eyes catch yours instantly. She takes one look at your face—at the faint smear of tension behind your eyes, the new lines creasing the corners of your mouth—and quietly tugs her headphones down.

“No wires blown. Good audio. And you’re in one piece,” she murmurs, like it’s a checklist she didn’t want to have to use.

You give her a small nod. “More or less.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything, just drops into a nearby chair with a sigh that rolls slow and heavy from his chest. His fingers run briefly through his hair, pushing it back, and you notice the way his shoulders fall when they’re finally out of sight—when he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything but tired.

Jeonghan appears a second later, still in his button-down from earlier, sleeves shoved past his elbows and tie pulled loose. “Nice of you to drop in,” he says, not quite sarcastic, but not gentle either. “Thought we were gonna have to fish you out of some private VIP altar room.”

You flash him a tired look, but it’s Soojin who cuts in, eyeing you with narrowed concern. “You look like you haven’t blinked since you left. Go home. Sleep.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically.

“You’re not,” she says, just as quick. “Don’t make me get Seungcheol.”

You almost smile. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

Jeonghan comes up behind the desk, fingers drumming idly on the surface near the monitor. “Come on. No one’s questioning your stamina, ace. But we’ve got hours before TARU finishes the second pass on tonight’s data dump. You won’t miss anything.”

He means well. You know he does. But the tension in your limbs hasn’t uncoiled yet, and the thought of going home—to the silence of your apartment, to the echo of Mingyu’s voice still somewhere near your collarbone—feels more daunting than any overtime.

“I just want to skim the logs,” you murmur. “Flag some timestamps.”

Mingyu looks at you then. Not hard. Not persuasive. Just steady. There’s no challenge in his eyes, just quiet understanding, the kind that makes your chest ache a little more than you’re ready to admit.

The others don’t push it.

Soojin mutters something about ordering dinner for the rest of them, and Jeonghan claps Mingyu once on the shoulder before heading off toward the conference room. The bullpen slowly clears, the noise softening into background hum.

You stay behind.

You settle into your desk chair, the leather worn and familiar beneath you, and start pulling up logs on your screen. Your reflection catches in the monitor’s black edge for a moment—eyes darker than usual, shadows like bruises under your lashes. You don’t look away.

The first time you met Mingyu was four years ago.

It was a precinct mixer—one of those awkward, semi-obligatory networking things with bad catering and even worse turnout. You’d arrived late, half-drenched from the rain, makeup smudged at the corners of your eyes and patience already worn thin. Mingyu had been the only person you didn’t recognize in the room, tall and quiet in the corner, nursing a beer he looked like he didn’t even want.

You made a joke about his tie—it was too perfect, too crisp, clearly a man trying to dress down without knowing how. He’d looked up, startled, then smiled. Wide, sheepish. The kind of smile that cracked something warm open in your ribs even then.

That was the first time.

The second was a shared case file. A suspect you’d both flagged on separate assignments. He emailed you first. Polite. Curious. Efficient. But it was the PS at the end—“Nice tie, right?”—that made you laugh aloud in the middle of evidence review.

After that, you kept finding each other.

Crossover court dates. Shared witness lists. Nights where your cases would intersect just long enough for you to pull him aside and compare timelines. You’d run into him near the vending machines, both of you reaching for the same terrible room temperature soda, and end up standing there for ten minutes longer than you meant to—talking about nothing important, just catching your breath between the harder parts of the day.

You started to look forward to the overlaps. You’d note his name on internal memos and feel something settle, something a little lighter. Like, okay. Mingyu’s on this one. It won’t be so bad.

When you got promoted to Detective Lieutenant, the crossovers became more frequent. You found yourself in meetings with him, passing case files back and forth, sitting beside him in briefings just because it felt natural. He was easy in a way most people weren’t. He listened more than he talked. And when he did speak, it was careful. Considered. Rarely about himself, but always with a kind of grounded clarity that steadied you too.

He became someone you texted when you needed a second pair of eyes on a lead. When you wanted to scream at a wall but weren’t ready to talk to Jeonghan about it. When you just wanted someone who would get it.

Outside of your unit, outside of TARU, he was the one constant.

Not loud. Not clingy. Just… present.

Once, after a particularly frustrating week, you’d called him from your car after midnight. You didn’t mean to vent—you didn’t mean to call at all, really—but you were too tired to talk to anyone who didn’t already understand. He’d answered on the second ring, voice low and rough with sleep, and hadn’t complained once. Just listened. Asked the right questions. Said exactly one thing that made you laugh.

You didn’t talk about it after that. But you’d both remembered it.

That’s the thing about Mingyu—he never demanded your trust. He just made space for it, until you realized you’d already given it to him.

You press the tip of your pen to the corner of a case file without writing anything, just letting the weight of it sit beneath your fingers as the soft hum of the precinct carries on around you. A distant door clicks shut. The heater groans low behind you. The tea in your cup has gone tepid, long forgotten, but you don’t reach for it again.

Your eyes are on the words in front of you—names, timestamps, gaps in data that beg to be closed—but none of it is sinking in. None of it matters right now, not with the way your mind keeps returning to the heat of a mouth at your throat. His mouth.

You hadn’t been prepared for the way it felt. You’d told yourself you were—it was part of the job, it was the plan—but nothing in your training accounted for the way your breath had hitched, your pulse had quickened, the way his hand had braced your thigh with instinct more than intention. It had been careful, yes. Controlled. But not clinical. Never clinical. Not with him.

You remember the press of his body—solid, unyielding, all taut muscle honed from years in the gym and something older, something inhuman resting just beneath the surface of it. A kind of power that didn’t need to speak itself aloud. You felt it through your skin like pressure, like gravity. The feeling of him had soaked through your clothes and into your bones, and somehow, you hadn’t wanted to pull away.

And now—now he’s everywhere.

In your space. In your thoughts. In your periphery.

He sits across from you at your shared desk, sifting through member logs and surveillance files like he belongs there. He lingers at your side during briefings, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, like there’s nothing strange about this new orbit you’re both slowly falling into. He’s in your routines now—coffee breaks, late nights, the hum of his laughter low in his throat when Jeonghan makes a particularly stupid joke. He’s in the silence too, and somehow that’s worse. Or better. You’re not sure anymore.

Because something is shifting.

Not loudly, not sharply. But undeniably. Quiet as breath and steady as blood.

You feel it when he stands a little too close. When your knees brush under the desk and neither of you moves away. When he looks at you—not just sees you, but looks at you—and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. Something that didn’t used to be there.

You used to know exactly who he was to you.

Friend. Colleague. Ally.

Now, the lines are blurred by proximity and blood and the memory of how his voice had curled around the word baby like it wasn’t just a performance. Like it meant something. Like it already belonged to you.

You shift in your chair, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting in this fugue. The room feels heavier than it should, thick with something you can’t quite name. You draw a slow breath and release it just as quietly, steadying yourself. There’s still work to be done. Still answers to be found.

But the facts on the page feel flat now, distant—stripped of urgency by the fact that something else has taken root under your skin. Something that hums low in your chest whenever he’s near, something that unfurls behind your ribs when you think about the way he looked at you tonight—like he would’ve torn the world apart to get to you.

This operation is changing both of you. Not just in how you work, or how you move through the club. But in who you are to each other.

You’re not sure what it is yet.

But you’re starting to want to find out.

next chapter ↝ iv. parlay.

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