#lost harbor au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allforhee · 4 months ago

Text

— 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (ONESHOT) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secretary-general!lee heeseung x delegate!fem!reader

synopsis: decelis high's academic weapon, future valedictorian, model un prodigy especially in the crisis council, and top-notch secretary-general of the mun club, lee heeseung has it all. from earning constant "best delegate-s" left and right, no one dared to go against his stances in any debate. until a student like you transfers into decelis high. as a soon graduating senior, you were a newbie to press. but with your endless love for writing, you'd managed to steal the hearts of your peers. it was your first mun, and you didn't expect much. but when heeseung finds out about an article you've wrote about his arrogant performance in a recent committee session, he is set to strike you down.

୨୧ genre — kinda angsty but with happy ending, high school au, secgen/crisis delegate!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, a brief moment of rivals in public but lovers in secret, one sided rivalry

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms (hope you guys can understand), cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung highkey hates reader, reader is a bit feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, aespa's winter aka minjeong, txt's yeonjun and beomgyu, stray kids’ i.n, gidle's shuhua, and ive's wonyoung, one bed trope, forced proximity

୨୧ word count — 13.3k (not proofread, but will slowly edit/make changes to tiny minor mistakes found)

୨୧ author's note — dear readers, i'm back from a long overdue hiatus with a new layout and theme! this fic is long as HELL i didn't expect it to reach this long omg. i also changed up a couple details so it will be quite different from the teaser! i’m so sorry for the long overdue wait, senior year of high school has been so hectic, and i’ve been finally able to finish this so enjoy :) omg holy shit y’all are finally reading my full length fic i’ve been harboring since what? february?

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

the walls of his room were littered with delegate lanyards from conferences across the globe, "best delegate" certificates framed all over his house (and a couple crumpled up inside his desk to fit the space), and a collection of trophies stood in every nook and cranny.

no one at decelis high dared to go against his stance. whenever it was, whether it was a moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

there was no doubt that no one had ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general, and those who chose to go against him either got crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

park jongseong or jay, most known for his cold stares in the debate room, ready to make a delegate tremble, would always chair crisis. he was decelis high's deputy secretary-general alongside heeseung. and although being heeseung's best mate, he never favored him when it came to awarding. it's just that he was naturally talented.

sim jaeyun, known for his popular slogan around the school; "jake it till you make it!", was the strongest when it came to knowing what a country or character believed in. his research skills were like a pirate on the hunt for lost treasure, he had all the facts, the data, and the proof to back up any stance. whatever heeseung needed to know, jake already had his back.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal to any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

you were quiet at first. everyone just saw you as the new girl who transferred for her senior year. nobody cared. until decelis high's annual mun conference, which happened to take place a couple weeks after the first day of school.

students from all over the country gathered at decelis high once a year to join in on the fun. various councils were presented at decelis mun, from heeseung's favorite council, crisis, and multiple others like unhrc, who, unsc, disec, unicef, and your favorite, press.

without a doubt, you registered yourself for press, opting that you didn't have the guts to join any other council. you feared you'd tremble listening to another delegate question your stances and ideologies.

your parents would always encourage your writing. as a child, you loved to write little imaginary stories about your life as a princess. writing stories about the love you've seen in your parents, you were set to write a book. but when your mom passed away a few weeks before your senior year of high school, and your dad constantly traveling for work, you had resorted yourself to watching the news all summer long, spiking your interest in being a journalist, where all you had to do was report whatever was going on, spit out what had to be said, and done. you didn't need to think long and hard on what your character was supposed to do next to support the storyline, no opinions, no biases.

as you stepped into your assigned council's room, you felt a gush of wind. the nervousness had gotten to you more, seeing all the socially bright journalists with their laptops open and chatting amongst each other happily.

"hi! you're a new face! oh and you're cnn! me and you will be best buddies! bbc here!" a girl squeals, she has a bright smile and a oh-so friendly demeanor. no doubt a popular trait amongst the press council.

"minjeong! don't scare her off. we're so sorry, she sometimes comes off a bit too much to new people. i'm wonyoung, the co-chair for press." she introduces herself.

"oh, hello. i'm y/n. i just transferred to decelis this year. it's my first time at press." you smile. you lost all your socialite cheerfulness over the summer, but meeting minjeong and wonyoung felt like you've been recharged. "oh and i'm the journalist for cnn?"

the girls take a glance at your nametag, examining you, before wonyoung cuts, "first time? don't worry sweetheart, we'll tell you all about it! right hoonie?"

a tall figure walks up to the three of you, no doubt a intimidating face. "y/n right? i'm sunghoon, the chair for press." he asks.

"yes yes this is her! oh we've got to tell her all about press! first timer alert!" wonyoung beams, before entangling her hand with sunghoon's. there was no doubt that the two were a couple.

"ugh, okay you two cut it off! we're journalists, we gotta be professional!" minjeong argues, playfully slapping wonyoung's arm, causing her to let go of sunghoon's.

at first, you had no idea what you were stepping into. but when chair sunghoon welcomed you to press with his icy-blue eyes and quiet demeanor, the other journalists supporting each other when it came to writing their articles, you felt right at home.

it didn't feel like it, but two days of endless debates went on, countries arguing left and right, and articles written on the current hot topic. the tension was surely rising, and your fingers were tired.

you were glad it was all over.

at every post-conference social, before awards were handed out, the articles the journalists from press wrote would be released to the conference for the other delegates to read. besides their usual gossip box, the articles the press wrote were always the fuel to the fire.

one article stuck up to heeseung. it read; "secretary-general heeseung's love for crisis interferes chair jongseong's chairing process, now who's really chairing crisis?"

heeseung swore to himself that he's never seen a girl like you. so quiet yet so powerful in her writing. hearing rumors that you've only just recently transferred to decelis high. even sunghoon himself was surprised to meet a talented journalist like you, a first-timer at press.

"it was her first time?" heeseung protested, "i mean- she's so quiet and reserved, if she had been doing press for years, i wouldn't be surprised. but this is her first time?!"

"what do you mean she's quiet? look at hoon, he never says a word in comses, but look at him chairing press. and i would never mind you tagging along in crisis, you always give out good insights." jay interrupts his thoughts.

heeseung complains, "i understand that, but her innocent face says nothing to what she wrote about me!"

"her articles were critical. they were precise and to the point. there was never a single weak spot in her articles. i think she's gonna make a run for my position." sunghoon defends.

"it's just one article hee, it won't affect your entire track record anyways." jake compliments, giving him a pat on the back.

heeseung believed what jake said was true. he did have an outstanding track record. "best delegate"s here and there, one silly little article wouldn't ruin his entire reputation.

as the clock strikes seven, social night was slowly coming to a close. decelis high's third annual mun was coming to an end. all that was left was to hand out the awards.

heeseung made his secretary-general speech as usual, a couple thank you-s here and there, before he handed it over to the chairs to announce the awards.

as he was walking down the stage, he felt a couple stares from mostly the press council linger. fixing his tie, he shook it off before taking a seat in the front row.

awards were handed, from best position papers, verbal commendations, honorable mentions, most outstanding delegates, and of course, best delegates.

the press council was saved for last. sunghoon asked heeseung if he could be given more time to rethink his options for the awards, and as his best mate, he let him. in reality, sunghoon didn't need time to rethink his options. he and wonyoung knew who was going to win best journalist. sunghoon just wanted to save the best for last.

when heeseung hears sunghoon's announcement for best journalist, it clicks.

"and the press council's best journalist award goes to none other than... l/n y/n!"

cheers could be heard from across the conference room. minjeong practically jumping on you when they heard your name mentioned. you rushed to the stage with a red face and a still shocked reaction, receiving the certificate along with the medal. wonyoung gave you the biggest bear hug known to man, whilst sunghoon gave you a firm handshake.

you felt the cameras flashing at you, taking pictures from what felt like every single angle. unbeknownst to you, heeseung was glaring at you from the front row.

best journalist. best journalist? his mind was running all over the place. how could he? how could sunghoon, his best friend, let such a writer like you, who wrote a devious article about him, win best delegate?

a single glance at the other delegates of the press council only angered him more. amongst them were laughs and snickers. he swore he heard a journalist say; "looks like mister secgen is upseeet!" but decelis mun only happened once a year. he wouldn't have the need to care about you every other day.

or so he thought.

heeseung felt like you were everywhere. at every lunch break, you were always sitting across his and the boys' table, laughing at nonsense with yunjin and wonyoung. during free periods, you'd be at the library, hunched over your laptop or head deep in a book. and at mun club, you just had to be there.

he hated that you were gifted like him. he hated that his friends favored you. he hated that sunghoon would always send you to their rival school's muns to participate in their press councils. he hated that you always won. he hated that you were clouding his mind every single day.

you hadn't but uttered a single "thank you," to lee heeseung. as decelis high's secretary-general, you didn't think he'd care about you. you were just a writer. you had no strength in the debate field, no reason for lee heeseung to care. but why was he being so cold?

it started when you applied for the harvard model congress. you were ecstatic to find out you'd be attending the conference. obviously, you told minjeong and wonyoung all about it. even striking up small talk with sunghoon.

"that's amazing y/n. i mean, harvard model congress? that's big!" his tooth-rotting smile bringing a cheerful mood.

"you went from winning best journalist in schools across the state to varsity level in just a few months!" minjeong squeals, as she hugs you. you were really lucky to have such caring best friends.

laughing along in the mun club room, you could feel heeseung's glare from his desk. headphones on and focused onto his laptop screen, you felt a strange feeling resonating off of him.

heeseung was fuming. the entire club applied for harvard model congress. heeseung got in. his mates did. and of course, you also did.

it was supposed to be a three day long weekend with his mates full of debate, laughter, awards, and getting drunk on social nights. but no. you and your friends would be there too.

heeseung didn't understand why everyone was so trusting of you so easily.

even jay, was friendly with you. "well y/n, i think you're going to make a run for hee's job!"

wonyoung rolls her eyes at jay. "he should be scared. you've rose up through the ranks like jake's receeding hairline."

"hey! my hair is perfectly fine, thank you!" jake cuts, huffing at the ridiculous comment about his hair.

"yo hee! we gotta work out the letter to the school so we can get a few days off. come over here, you look like you're burning holes into your laptop!" jay chuckles, receiving a smack on the arm from jake.

a quick but surprising slam! from heeseung's laptop emitted a low echo throughout the room. followed by a ruffling of him throwing his decelis almameter over his shoulder, and another loud slam! of the mun club room's door. lee heeseung just stormed out.

"oof, what's got into him?" minjeong asks, her face contorting into an anxious look.

"i don't fucking know, he's been at it since decelis' annual mun. throwing temper tantrums left and right." jay sighs, concerned for his best friend.

"well i guess that temper is living up to my article." you suggest, letting out a huff and a subtle eyeroll.

sunghoon takes a deep breath before realization hits. "now that i think of it, he's been at it since you've joined our core team." while he points at you.

"what does that have to do with me? i didn't do shit. all i do is sit, join muns, write, and win awards for us. would he rather i'd be getting verbal commendations instead?" you sigh. you've done nothing but bring pride to decelis high's reputation.

wonyoung laughs, patting you on the back. "it's not about winning verbcom or bestdel, it's about heeseung finally finding his match."

"exactly! he's gone on and on about constantly winning at every mun. he's always complained about needing more of a challenge. and no shit he's been jealous of your achievements." minjeong pipes in.

"that's ridiculous. i don't understand crisis as much as he does, i'm just a journalist on the press council! he's basically just being an ass to me, that's all." you confessed, you and heeseung were basically on different levels. he was secgen and lover of crisis councils, whilst you were just one of the head journalists and co-editors of the press division.

"maybe he likes you? i don't know!" jake squeals, lifting his shoulders in question. jay and sunghoon gives him a slap on the shoulder each, a glaring stare between the three.

"no no, lee heeseung is a cold-hearted son of a bitch with an ego to feed every other day, there's no way he can feel shit." minjeong debates, a hint of anger in her voice.

"woah girl, what's got you mad? i get you two grew up together but that's a lot to say about heeseung." wonyoung asks her.

"i know it's a long story, but y/n deserves to know. right?" minjeong asks, waiting for you to nod to continue. "every single day of my life, i was my parents' star girl. i love my parents for supporting me. but ever since heeseung moved in next door, i was demoted from best girl in the neighborhood to second best to heeseung. ever since we were eight, heeseung didn't like to lose. to a boy he'd be a good sport. but when he lost to me in a mere storytelling competition, he'd throw a tantrum. that's heeseung to me. he's nothing but an egotistical ass who has to win everything."

you sigh, hearing minjeong’s words. "and you know what y/n?" she continues, "he's never lost it since we were 13. and you, y/n, have officially made him lose his mind. again."

this year's harvard model congress was held at seoul national university, the dream university of many korean students. the seven of you stayed at a hotel nearby, settling in.

sunghoon picks up the keycards at the check-in counter, "okay so there's three rooms in total, the girls are sharing, me and jake are in one room, which leaves heeseung and jay—"

"i'm sorry sir," the hotel staff interrupts him, "but the rooms are already divided by the hotel and cannot be changed. it says here, room 745 is for miss kim and miss yang, room 746 is for mister park, mister sim, and the other mister park— mister jongseong, and room 777 is for—"

"great. thank you. alright, let's settle in and get ready for opening night." heeseung sighs, grabbing his suitcase and your shared room's keycards before heading to the elevators. you gave the rest of the group a shaky smile before following heeseung.

the moment you two entered the lift, and as heeseung tapped the keycard and pressing the button for the seventh floor, you could feel the tension.

as the lift begins to move upwards, heeseung lets out a sigh. "look, l/n. we're sharing a room by casuality, so don't make it a big deal."

you huff shakily, "a big deal? you're the one who's been avoiding me all year! i barely disturb you and all i do is win awards for decelis. what else do you want from me?" your voice slowly getting angrier.

as heeseung opens his mouth to answer, the lift comes to a halt as its doors open, signaling that they've reached the seventh floor.

heeseung holds the lift doors open, so you can exit it with ease. you were surprised with this gesture. coming from him who could care less about your presence, you were baffled.

as you both reach at your hotel room, heeseung gave you one of the three keycards given before tapping his at the hotel room's door.

and as if your romance stories came to life, you spotted an oh-so familiar trope sitting in the middle of your hotel room. there was only one king-sized bed.

"shut the front door." you sighed, looking at the clear situation in front of you.

heeseung entered behind you, "i clearly have, what are you talking abou—"

"no dumbass, it was a metaphor. i'm talking about this." you exclaimed, pointing your finger at the bed.

"great. i'll call up room service and get this sorted—"

"no it's fine, it'll be too much of a hassle and social night is in two hours. besides, we're civil adults, and we're here for only two nights. we can bear 72 hours living through this stupid one bed trope."

"fine. just so you know i'm taking the left side."

heeseung dropped his bag near his side, as he was trying his best to keep his composure. sharing a room with you was bad enough (that's what he keeps telling himself), but a bed as well? he'd rather win verbal commendation than share a bed with you.

you were unpacking your necessities before you decided to break the ice. "heeseung just so you know—"

but before you could finish, heeseung was already out the door. before the door closed, you could hear a mere; "i'll go down for social night. you do you." and a click! of the door.

you scanned the room that was once filled with such tension, spotting your room keycard on the bedside table.

you took off your sweater and switched to something a bit classier for social night, changing to a blood red dress you had packed to match harvard's colors. minjeong and wonyoung had helped you choose it a couple days prior, the conversation reappearing in your mind.

"harvard's got nothing on you with that dress! watch out best journalist!" minjeong hypes you up as you're trying it on in the changing room.

"are you sure it's not a bit too much?" you questioned, feeling insecure in the dress.

"too much? my guess is heeseung would drop dead seeing you in that dress. after all, he is in love with you." wonyoung giggles, which earns her a slap on her arm from winter.

"just own it y/n. maybe layer it with a leather jacket if you get cold?" minjeong suggests. you look at yourself in the mirror once more. maybe this would be the turning point between you and heeseung's rivalry. maybe he'd look at you and decide that he no longer hated you and instead loved y— no. enough of those thoughts.

as you touched up your makeup from earlier this morning, you headed out to find wonyoung and minjeong waiting at the lobby.

"there you are— oh that dress looks, damn!" minjeong exclaims, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the utter shock.

"i just know heeseung's going to gape at that dre—" before wonyoung could finish her sentence, she earns a smack on her arm from minjeong. "ow minie! i don't want my arm to be black and blue at social night! which starts in... thirty minutes. we should get to campus and fill in our registrations so we're set."

opening night was a blast. harvard model congress knew how to throw a goddamn banger of a opening night.

there were so many things to see. a karaoke booth, a photobooth station, a merch station, even a snack booth filled to the brim with various snacks and drinks.

after receiving your lanyards and a couple papers where you'd find your assigned councils for the next day, you, wonyoung, and minjeong, were set to let lose one last time before you were head deep into your laptops, writing articles for the next three days.

entering the room littered with decorations and other delegates, you and the girls entered the ballroom hand in hand, in awe with the decor.

wonyoung spotted the boys immediately, already saving a table for the seven of you. the three of you walked to the table, which had name plates for all your names. wonyoung next to sunghoon, jay next to jake, minjeong on your right next to you, and heeseung on your left.

sitting at the assigned seats and listening to the opening remarks by harvard model congress' secretary-general, the food was served and you all dug in.

although this was only the first of two social nights, you and the girls had to make the best of it. from abusing the “free photobooths!” booth, and filling the room with echoes of musical ballads, your first night at harvard model congress was deemed memorable.

before you knew it, you were dragged to the back of the room, as wonyoung pulled out a small paper bag—which turns out to hold a couple bottles of liquor, you grabbed your glasses and started pouring.

you could see out of the corner of your eye—the girls downing shots of tequila (in secret, cause you didn't want to get caught), and the guys coming along to take a shot or two. but heeseung looked, tense.

jake slapped him on the back, giggling, “come on man, loosen up a bit! mun isn’t all about the awards and the roles, it’s about the memories!”

“and the friends we make along the way, am i right?” jay chimed in, with a teasing tone.

before you knew it, heeseung grabbed an entire bottle and downed what was equivalent to maybe 4 shots, wonyoung squealed, arguing the fact that it was a very expensive bottle of liquor.

“dude! that’s from my dad’s cabinet, it’s at least 500.000 won!” she argued, grabbing the bottle out of his hands.

as you tried to ignore his gaze, minjeong gave you your first shot—which you downed immediately, but it only made you feel like heeseung’s gaze was burning holes into you more.

heeseung sighed, “give me another one.” holding his hand out for someone to pour him a shot. “come on, i don’t got all day.” before sunghoon poured him another shot—which he downed immediately.

you hated the feeling of his stare. it felt, uncomfortable, but you liked it? the more he stared, the more you downed more shots. before you knew it, opening night came to a close, and you were stumbling your way down the hallway with wonyoung and minjeong, before finally finding your room. and in your drunken state, you passed out.

burning pain. your eyes couldn’t handle the bright light emitting from what seemed to be all around you. as you open your eyes, head spinning, you flopped back down onto your bed, exhausted, and with the hotel room ac, you felt frozen.

but as you get comfortable onto the bed once more, you feel a sense of warmth engulf your body. it felt welcoming. comfortable. maybe a bit too comfortable for your sake. but the warmth was soothing. it was, moving?

you shot back out of the bed, trying to rub your eyes to focus back onto the warmth, but that warmth pulled you back into its embrace. as if it needed you to survive.

as you try to recollect the events of last night, your usual 7am alarm rung. what a great way to ruin the moment.

a groan echoed from that warmth you once clung to, a familiar sound, a familiar… voice?

“l/n, what time is it?” it asked.

fuck.

"chill y/n, you'll be fine." you whisper to yourself, walking to your assigned council's room. from the rest of the journalists in your gang, you had been assigned to report on different councils. while wonyoung and winter were assigned to report on the ASEAN council, sunghoon to report on the UNHRC council, you were unfortunately assigned to the crisis council. just to your luck. your mind was still stuck in what happened this morning. you met your chairs, shuhua and beomgyu, role call was held, and your first committee session began.

while you were typing away a starting paragraph for an article, a bright face comes to greet you. "oh hello, l/n y/n right? i'm jungwon, the journalist for KBS! i sit right next to you in our council room."

"oh hello! i'm y/n, reporting for the new york times, it's nice to meet you." you smile, offering a hand out for him to shake, which he accepts.

"so, you got assigned to crisis too huh?" jungwon asks as you nod, "honestly it's one of the worse councils to report on because everything is moving... too fast." he sighs.

"i don't mind the speed, it gives me inspiration to write. but everyone has their capacities right?" you try to reason, whilst jungwon gives an agreeing nod.

not long after some small talk before you could enter crisis' council room, another boy tags along. his bright smile clearly infectious as you and jungwon couldn't help but smile at his bright appearance.

"annyeong! nice to meet you i'm sunoo!" he smiles, his blonde hair reflecting the lights in the room.

you shake his hand as a boy with blonde hair and black streaks tags along behind him before slapping the blonde’s arm, "i'm nishimura riki, you can call me riki. can’t believe i flew all the way from tokyo for this."

“yah! your writing is fine riki, your good shots will steal the show.” sunoo assures him, before looking back at you, and smiling.

riki sighs, before turning on his camera “i wanna get the redhead over there, heard he’s super good at mun or something..”

you blink as you realize riki was talking about none other than—heeseung.

"oh him? yeah he's my secgen." you tell him, the sentence floating out of your mouth. jungwon and sunoo turn to you with gaping mouths.

"wait- what? he's YOUR secgen? THE lee heeseung?" jungwon exclaims.

you furrow your eyebrows, "um, yeah? what's the big deal about him?"

sunoo's face lights up, as he prepares his words. "girl, he's the most highest ranking student in the high school mun circuit! his countless awards and times he's chaired makes him a legend. he's a literal model un weapon, even delegates with the veto powers are scared of him." he explains.

as you open your mouth to respond to his comment about heeseung, one of the chairs of the crisis council exits the room to greet you.

"ah hello journalists, you're here. i'm yeonjun, the head chair for crisis. we currently have unmod going on right now so you're just in time. we'll give you guys a couple opportunities to interview the delegates, but please be mindful." he explains.

you and the three boys smile back at him, before he opens the council room door and lets you in.

"delegates! i'd like to introduce to you all the journalists from the international press institute council, who will be observing our committee session. we have yang jungwon from KBS, kim sunoo from associated press, nishimura riki from NHK, and y/n l/n from the new york times. please treat them with the upmost respect.

a couple delegates say their greetings, and even explaining the current debate going on, as the four of you smile back at them. the crisis council was a popular council, and you can tell that from the amount of delegates in the room.

as you return your laptop back into your messenger bag and pulling out a notepad, a pen, and some sticky notes, you look back up only to lock eyes with heeseung. his gaze was deadly. you give him a slight smile, which he responds with an eyeroll.

the only thing you hated about being a journalist was the interviews. you needed to research, but having to interact with people you don't know? you'd rather kill yourself. it just happened that heeseung's stance was interesting enough for you to pass a post-it note to him, which he threw away.

so you were surprised to see him walk towards you during break, as you had thought he had rejected your interview offer.

"l/n, you wanted to interview me?" he'd asked you, no bad tone in his voice.

you looked at him surprised, kinda shocked, "umm, yeah? are you okay with that."

"i'm good. just, make it quick."

you open your notes to find your question you wanted to ask him, "um, do you mind if i record?" you asked, which he nodded. "okay, so as the delegate of colombia, what steps would you take to face the ongoing drug trade happening in your country? as a journalist, we have not seen you speak up much lately, so i'd like to know your thoughts."

"um, thank you for the interesting question, well i think—"

it was unlike him to treat you like this. unlikely for him to keep his cool. as you try to remember the words he was saying as you hold out your phone to record him, nothing was catching on. it was as if words went in one ear and out the other.

he was so professional. the way he walks, and the way he talks—the way his lips move when he talks, the way he explains his stance—the way he’s saying the words—the way his lips move to pronounce it, oh and the way he-

“l/n? are you done? i’m wasting my precious break time here.” heeseung asks you, breaking you out of that trance.

you compose yourself, hitting the stop button on the voice recorder app, “oh yeah, sorry, i was thinking of another question to ask you—got carried away…”

heeseung rolls his eyes at you, before thanking you and scurrying away.

what had gotten into you? you’ve never seen heeseung in that way before. he’s always been just a secretary-general to you. who also happens to hate you. you think.

but as the unmoderated caucus comes to a close, you return back to your council room, ready to write an article on heeseung’s stance. after all, you still had a day’s left worth of committee sessions, as well as a press conference held at the crisis council.

the press council room was chiming with the clicks and clacks of keyboards, journalists writing articles left and right. you were in the middle of writing once again another filler article, as you had no idea what to write for your mandatory article. as you look through your gallery, observing pictures you took earlier for your articles, you can't help but notice heeseung in his element.

as you're typing a possible title for your mandatory article, you hear from beside you, "hey, what's going on with you and heeseung?" sunoo asks, as you turn to him in shock, as you were in the middle of writing an article.

you laughed nervously, "what? nothing's going on between us. he practically hates me." you sigh.

jungwon pulls his chair over to you, placing his laptop on your table in the process, "i don't think so. not from what i saw last night."

you gasped at what he said, "and what i saw this morning! i could practically feel the tension emitting off the two of you as you were interviewing him. i've never seen a man so intrigued before." riki chimes in.

"this morning? nothing happened, i was interviewing him on his stances and whatsoever for a possible article! that's all to it!" you defend yourself, trying to get back into your article.

"y/nie, sweetie, i've seen way too many kdramas to tell that the way he's looking at you, is a look of love~" sunoo teases, smiling as if he knew something more.

jungwon and riki laughes at your expression, which seemed to resemble a disgusting look, but underneath that, you felt a sting in your heart. not a bad sting, a good sting.

"but hey you two seemed pretty cozy last night, i wonder what that was for?" jungwon asked.

riki gasps, "hey i took a picture! wait let me find it..." as he pulled out his camera, going through the camera roll. "here! you guys were dancing together a lot, and he basically was carrying you back to your room. what, did you guys get drunk or something?"

you choked on your water, as the events of last night start piecing together. "i remember taking a couple shots, he did too, but all i remember after that is falling asleep on my bed... i assumed my friends helped me to get back but now that i think of it... they were pretty drunk too."

taking another closer look at the pictures riki happened to capture, you saw two beaming smiles, and from the looks of it, it looked like you two were having fun. you've never seen him smile this much, let alone around you. the other picture resembled like a married couple. it was as if heeseung was trying to pick you up, but by the looks of your drunken states, it wasn't really working.

"wouldn't it be really funny if you guys accidentally fucked or something? that would explain the tension!" jungwon jokes.

you shake your head, before putting your face in your hands, "no way, not in a million years. our tension is, well, our tension! it's what happens normally!" you try to defend.

"no you're right won, they totally fucked. i mean the floor you guys are on? most of the rooms have king or queen sized beds. what would you guys be doing other than that? snuggling into each other till the sunrise?" riki assumes, scoffing afterwards.

your eyes widened in shock, as if jungwon cut your brain opened and took out the events of what happened this morning. you put your head in your hands once more before beginning to cry.

riki saw your reaction, "hey i didn't mean it that way! i mean it's- um... great? if you fucked? but if not then that's like, totally okay! i mean sex isn't for everyone—"

sunoo cut him off, shooing him away, "stop making it worse, ki-yah! y/nie? will you tell us what happened?"

you sniffed, not knowing why you suddenly burst into tears, maybe it was the frustration? you grabbed a tissue to compose yourself, "i don't know... all i remember is i woke up this morning, in his arms, and i just jumped out and got ready. we didn't even talk about it. all of a sudden he's back to his old self and he's being mean to me again."

you take a deep breath, sunoo rubbing you on the back, trying to calm you down. "he's been like this ever since i transferred. i was just the new girl who was a press prodigy, that's what they called me back at decelis, and i don't know, he's hated me every since. no reason whatsoever. i've tried to win his attention by winning muns and stuff but, it doesn't matter. he looks at me as if i disappoint him."

jungwon and riki both comfort you as well, before jungwon has a strike of realization. "you know, it's not that i wanna stir up delusion in your mind, but it's quite common for guys to hate someone because they like them. what if he has a crush on you?"

riki realizes as well, "yeah what if? what if all this time he's been trying so hard to hate you because he actually likes you?"

hearing the words likes you come out of their mouths makes you shudder in fear. no way he likes you. right?

before you knew it, your chair returns to announce that press conferences are due to start soon. and up first? was the crisis council.

stepping foot into the crisis room, with the information in mind, you start to notice the tiny little characteristics that match with the fact. the fact that the lee heeseung might as well have a crush on you. as you, sunoo, and two other journalists were guided to the front of the room, your chair explaining to the crisis delegates how the press conference was going to work, before giving the floor to the journalists.

you keep your head hung, distracting yourself by re-reading the questions you’ve written on your notepad, peeking through your hair, trying to take a glimpse of heeseung.

heeseung was in his element as always, head deep in his laptop, a couple volunteers passing by to give him a post-it note, filled with scribbles of other delegates wishing to be on his side. but as per usual, his critical self crumples the notes and puts it aside to his pile of other crumpled notes.

sunoo, on your left, nudges you in the arm, trying to snap you out of it. the moment you lift your head to look at the delegates and compose yourself, you catch heeseung looking at you.

with your bloodshot eyes, your usual smile fading, heeseung can’t help but notice what happened. you were fine last break. your eyes which used to be sparkling with curiosity had been traded for puffy eyes and a fake smile.

he wanted to come up to you, wanted to ask what’s wrong. but as your chair introduced the journalists, he’d wonder if it was just an impulsive thought.

each journalist had to share 10 minutes worth of press conference time to ask questions, a tight amount of time. as the journalist on your far left begins, the clock begins to tick. being the last journalist to ask, you begin to feel worried.

but as the mic is passed to you, and mere two minutes left on the clock, you scramble to compose yourself and your questions. “this journalist would like to open the question to the floor, with the excessive drug trade impacting the economy of your countries, what is an effective solution you’d have to decrease the drug circulation, but at the same time, would not damage your economy?”

placards were raised, and amongst them, were heeseung’s. you could see the colombian flag on his placard raised high, but as the journalist of the new york times, your work came first. therefore, you chose someone else. “yes, delegate of the united states?”

the delegate of the united states stood up, and you finally saw the name on his nametag. yang jeongin. he smirked at you, sending a wink. “thank you madam journalist for the intriguing question, as the drug trade across our country begins to increase…”

as you held your hand forward holding your phone out to record his answer, continuing to talk for the next minute. it felt like a lifetime. but in the corner of your eye, you could feel his gaze burning holes. heeseung held his placard high, glaring dead straight at jeongin even if he was still speaking. but as you thank jeongin for his answer, you open the question once more to the floor.

you hear a screech of the chair as heeseung, the only one holding his placard up, stands up to answer. but you don’t discern anything he says. you just stare at him. before you knew it, the clock rang, signaling that time was up.

sunoo nudged your arm once more, trying to snap you out of it. “you okay?” he asked, worry written all over his face. you nodded to tell him you were okay.

as you were escorted out of the room to head to the hotel restaurant for lunch break, you couldn't help but feel the same feeling of heeseung's gaze at the back of your head. you ignored him, walking out with sunoo by your side.

but you were stopped briefly by someone, none other than the delegate of the united states. "hey, that was a very interesting question you asked earlier at press conference. i was wondering if you need my insight on anything? given as i'm usa and you're the new york times." jeongin suggests, his usual smirk returning from before. sunoo winked at you, before leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

you blink at him, "oh! yeah, i was thinking about gaining insight from, well our country's side of the story. so what can you tell me?"

your notepad flips open along the click of your pen, ready to jot down his words, before out of the corner of your eye, that sharp gaze returns. the burning stare heeseung emitted was back. you gulped and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "hey, um jeongin? could we find somewhere a bit more quiet so i can record the interview? i need to make sure everything is clear because i need to submit the questions to my chairs."

jeongin smiled, "of course sweetheart, i know just the place." before he took your hand and led you away. unbeknownst to you, heeseung was fuming.

as the two of you walked away, heeseung couldn't help but wonder. what's so great about yang jeongin anyways? compared to himself, his track record was not all that. yeah he may have won most outstanding or honorable mention a couple times, but never best delegate. consecutively.

heeseung felt a tap on his shoulder, before briefly turning around. jay was standing there with a cup of coffee. he grabbed it out of his hands before immediately drinking out of it.

"that's! hot coffee..." jay protested. but to heeseung, his rage burned hotter. "what's got your panties in a twist?" jay asked, sipping his own cup of coffee.

"nothing, just pissed at a delegate. per usual." heeseung lied. as the two begun to make their way to restaurant to eat lunch.

jay chuckled, seeing his pissed face, "dude, i've known you for over eight years, you don't get pissed at a delegate for no reason. this is harvard model congress for god's sake, everyone here? they're basically professionals. mun legends. i wouldn't have afford this shit if i wasn't good at it. the awards and prizes helped fund this hobby."

heeseung sighed, "it's not just a delegate. it's someone else."

"it's y/n, isn't it?" heeseung snapped his head to glare at jay, as if he grew three heads. "chill dude, i can tell. you're painfully in love with her."

"no no no, you don't get it, she's a menace to my track record. do you remember back at decelis mun before she transferred? her article basically ruined my record the next five muns? i basically had to avoid chairing so the rumors wouldn't be deemed true." heeseung argued, reminiscing the times.

"but you'd argue she's a damn good writer, isn't she?" jay defended, "i mean no one from decelis has won consecutively aside from you. and she comes in to make the decelis name proud. aren't you glad? you're secgen after all. you're just in denial."

heeseung sighed, looking at his cup of coffee, once full, now empty. "i'm not in denial! i'm just stressed with a couple delegates in committee session, unmoderated caucus was, stressful."

entering the restaurant, their eyes landed to the corner booth, where you sat face to face with jeongin. jay turned his head to look at heeseung staring deadset at the two. "well, whatever floats your boat man, i'm gonna get some lunch. unsc might as well go to crisis next comses." jay pats him on the back, joining sunghoon, jake, wonyoung, and minjeong.

heeseung stood still. he couldn't help but wonder. is this what love feels like?

"so, yang jeongin, what can you tell me about the united states' stance on the current illegal drug trade? i assume that the country is fully aware of it happening?" you ask, pressing record on your voicenotes app.

jeongin looked around, before reaching over and pressing the stop recording button on your phone. before you could protest, "okay cut the crap, what's going on between you and lee heeseung?"

you looked at him strangely, not expecting the sudden confrontation. "well, nothing? i don't know what you want me to say, this isn't part of the interview."

jeongin dug into his food, "screw that shit, i wanna know why your secgen is all on my ass. i mean i looked at you once at comses earlier, and he looked at me like i lit an orphanage on fire."

you almost choked on your pasta, "what the hell, dude. he's just like that. he hates my guts so much he has to make me feel uncomfortable everywhere i go. i literally bring home decelis as many awards as he has in the past two years. i don't get him."

"nah, i don't think that's hate. he looked at me as if he was clyde and i was trying to steal away his bonnie. that's a look of love."

you sighed, "the thing is jeongin, he doesn't care. i've done everything to pique his attention, best journalist awards left and right, i was supposed to run for deputy secgen but he didn't let me. he said i wasn't a true decelis muner yet. i mean 8 muns in the span of a couple months? and i've never lost a single one? he probably hates me because i chose the lamest council."

jeongin swallows his food before he comes to realization, "hey weren't you the journalist who wrote on heeseung back at decelis' mun? i remember felix-hyung, my friend, that he went feral over it. he was chairing unicef, and in the chairs' room, he overheard heeseung talking about your article. how it was going to ruin his track record, or something."

"i mean, i do remember briefly. wonyoung, my chair, said i was allowed to write about the chairs or staff, even if they were filler articles. i wrote about heeseung and jay out of interest, i didn't know their history." you confessed, feeling quite bad about the outcome. "i didn't want my article to end up being gossip or shit talk, i just wrote what i wanted to."

"freedom of the press, am i right?" jeongin laughed, "speaking of the devil." signaling heeseung heading towards your table.

heeseung stood at your table. "yang. l/n." before scooting next to jeongin's side of the booth. you couldn't help but move your eyes between the two. after what sunoo and the boys told you earlier, and jeongin's confirmation that basically people could tell, you sit there in silence.

heeseung clears his throat, "well i'm not seeing much interviewing going on, delegates."

you scoffed at him, "it's none of your business heeseung. we're all delegates, it's lunch break. you don't have to boss around all the time."

"our decelis guidebook strictly confers to not confide in the enemy. and here you are, with the enemy. you know if you spill precious information regarding us we'd be dead?" he scolded you.

a laugh escaped your throat, "the enemy? jeongin is far from the enemy to me. matter of fact, heeseung, you've been more of an enemy to me rather than a secgen."

jeongin whispered, "keep it down y/n, it's okay."

you stood up in anger, "no it's not okay! i've been trying my hardest to do everything i can, i've won consecutively since my first mun at decelis, i've done everything you ask for. i've done nothing but make the decelis name proud, but i just can't happen to make you proud. what do i have to do next? i do everything and all i do is fall at second best. if you hate me so much then kick me off the goddamn team! wouldn't want me tarnishing your precious track record by having a traitor on the team, would you? all this over a stupid article i wrote months ago." you walk away from the table, returning to your room.

heeseung was speechless, the rest of the room was in awe, normally delegates would be able to stay professional. even if there was a break up or something. even wonyoung and minjeong looked at heeseung in anger, meanwhile jake, jay, and sunghoon looked at him in disappointment. jeongin stood up and left the booth, avoiding any more anger out of heeseung. "if i were you, i'd apologize. that girl has done nothing but try to please you and make you proud. start there." jeongin added before leaving.

out of habit, heeseung hung his head low in embarrassment. this was worse than the time you wrote that article about him. as he stood up to confide in the boys for advice, he spots a small leather notepad in the corner of the booth. it was yours. he'd have to find you, face you and give it back. it wouldn't hurt to read a bit of what's inside, right?

running back to your room, you couldn't dare return till next comses. the fact that an entire room full of delegates and chairs had heard you scream at heeseung's face. and returning back to the bed you woke up from this morning, limbs tangled with heeseung, didn't really help.

hiding your face in your bedsheets, tears flowing freely, you couldn't help but smell the familiar cologne he had left behind. the smell stung your nose, and made your eyes water more. the scent that once plagued you, now had lulled you to sleep.

a blurry facade appeared, the sound of heavy noise music remained muffled. your feet were cold on the hotel floor, destination? room 777. you were swaying side to side, but thankfully you were able to hold on to a pillar, which was moving with you.

"we shouldn't have drunk this much, right l/n? i'm not even sure i'm prepped for comses tomorrow morning." the pillar said.

"you have it easy, lee. you don't have to write 4 pieces worth of mandatory articles and observe other council's committee sessions." you replied, a clear slur in your voice.

it, who turned out to be heeseung, laughed, and it was like music to your ears. "i thought you journalists just copy-pasted shit off google or something, didn't get why you'd have to sit in the back of council rooms."

you scoffed at him, "well, as secretary-general, you should've known better. if only you noticed what i've been doing all this time to get your attention, maybe you would've understood."

"you think i haven't been paying attention? i've had my eyes on you ever since you wrote that silly article about me back at decelis mun. 'who's really chairing crisis?' you do know me and jay have been friends since primary, right?" he argued.

"that i know know, lee. the fact that you caused all the fuss over an article that was purely for mun, and had no ill intention is just stupid. i just wanted to be able to express myself." you confessed, feeling underestimated.

he sighed, pressing the up button on the lift, "it's not that i fussed over an article, it's that you wrote about me. i don't see many people brave enough to write about a secretary-general." before he could continue, the doors to the lift dinged and opened, allowing the two of you to walk in.

"i mean," he stuttered, clicking the number seven on the lift's buttons, "you amazed me. i've never met a person who could express themselves so much through their writing. no one paid attention to me enough to write such a critical piece about me."

you smiled at him, "so i'm special? i was the first to write about you, right?" he chuckled at your cheeky comment, "yes you're a first. i wouldn't mind if you kept writing about me."

"but why'd you hate me? i've done so much for decelis to make you proud, but you still have a way to butcher me. i just wanted to impress you." you'd sighed into his chest, the world beginning to spin.

luckily, heeseung had caught you before you fell, right on time as the lift reached the seventh floor. he basically carried you out, trying not to drop you.

"if i hated you so much, i wouldn't be helping you get back to our room, nor would i be making sure you get back safely." he assured you, holding you in his arms.

you groaned in protest, "but you do, don't you? i'm never enough for you, after everything i've done. all the things i did—"

you were shut up by his lips on yours. out of the blue, with no warning signs, he had kissed you. out of habit you kissed him back, lips molding against each other as if you had been waiting for years, as if you couldn't live without each other. all hatred you held against him dissipated. your arms crawling towards the back of his neck to pull him closer, his own pulling on your waist.

he pulled away to take a breath, but you couldn't breathe. he was your oxygen. you connected the two of you together, chasing his lips, his touch, his presence. it was the sweetness, the flavor of love and lust hanging. you’ve been craving his attention, hell, even his touch for months.

but your lungs craved oxygen, forcing you to pull away, hiding your face in his chest. as you were taking in the moment, he chuckled, "i wouldn't have done that if i hated you, would i?"

waking up with a jolt, the memories of last night came rushing in. you thanked yourself that the two of you hadn't fucked, but the idea of kissing him and liking it gave yourself insight. you wondered if heeseung remembered too.

opening your phone and seeing the time, you rushed out of your room as you were late to your next editorial meeting. it being the last committee session of the day, all you had to do was submit your mandatory articles of the day, and you'd be done. running back to your council room, knocking slightly on the door, you rushed back to your seat.

"journalist, you're late. why is that?" shuhua asked, beomgyu beside her, taking notes.

you sat down and composed yourself, "i'm sorry chairs, i slept in during break. it won't happen again."

the chairs nodded at you, letting it pass. the room discussed about how press conferences was, reminding the journalists of the upcoming deadline, but your mind was in the gutter.

you touch your lips, and you feel the lingering taste on your tongue. you were shocked out of your trance with the knocks of the chairs' gavel hitting the sound block. with only an hour left to finish your mandatory article, you begin to type.

social night was an mun tradition. after a full day of committee sessions, all councils, no matter what their council was, it gave a chance for all the delegates to mingle amongst each other.

free from the deadline of your first mandatory article, you had the whole night to party it out before tomorrow, where you had to finish your final mandatory article.

social nights usually had themes, and tonight, harvard model congress' was inspired by bridgerton, along with masquerade masks were in array. you had packed a a black dress, which belonged to your mother. she’d always tell you to save it for a special occasion, a moment you wouldn’t want to forget. and for tonight, as you miss your mom's touch, you wear your dress with pride.

walking to the venue, and right before you could even enter, you’re immediately greeted by wonyoung and minjeong. "oh my god sweets are you okay?" wonyoung asked, holding your face, clear worry in her eyes. "we heard and saw what happened at lunch, good for you to finally confront the bitch." minjeong commented, which earned her, once again, another slap on the arm by wonyoung.

you nodded at the two, holding their hands, "i'm fine, don't worry. i just needed to get it out of my system, that's all."

"to think of it, i haven't seen him since. normally when you pass by the crisis room, you'd hear his voice bouncing off the walls..." wonyoung confessed, "that's very unlike of him."

minjeong scoffs at her comment, "who cares? he's been downplaying y/n's achievements for the past couple months, i wouldn't be able to stay quiet if i were you."

you sighed at the two bickering in front of you, "guys, i just want tonight to be about us. this is harvard model congress for god's sake, i want to make the best out of it. so can we stop the heeseung talk and have some fun? please?"

the two nodded at your request, not pestering you any further. you all walk into the venue, being handed masquerade masks. the venue was decorated to the nines, and it felt like a ball straight out of bridgerton. the three of you were guided to your delegation table, which seated you, the girls, jake, and sunghoon. but heeseung? he was no where to be found.

"where's heeseung? it's not like him to miss out on social night." jake asked you.

you sat down on your assigned seat, and the seat on your right, which was supposed to occupy heeseung, was cold and empty. "why are you asking me? he hates me, remember?"

jake shrugged, "i don't know, i just reckoned that since the two of you are sharing a room, you'd know where he is."

minjeong scoffs, "who cares? y/n got ready at me and wony's room anyways, so no, we don't know where he is."

"jay said earlier today that he's been looking for him. wonder where he went. and if he found him..." sunghoon tells the table, sipping on his glass of water.

stuck in your trance, you were snapped out of it by a screeching of a chair, one, being jay, and the other was right next to you. heeseung. he was in his usual suit and tie, a couple buttons on the top were unbuttoned. you glanced at his tired eyes, hidden underneath the masquerade mask.

"dude? where've you been?" jake asked jay, slapping him on the shoulder.

jay sighed and drank a gulp of his water, "looking for this asshole over here." while pointing at heeseung, "took me a while to find him literally on the rooftop. i swear seoul uni has the most crazy hideouts. i'm not even sure i can even find my way back."

"how'd you find your way there anyways?" sunghoon asked heeseung.

he sighed, "don't know. just, found it." his demeanor slipping away as you begin to see the raw brokenness. you didn't hurt his ego that much, right?

as the clock struck seven, waiters all around the room began laying out the meals. you took a glimpse of the dinner courses in front of you, not really having an appetite for anything. but you still tried to eat, tried not to waste your food, tried to seem okay in front of him.

heeseung, on the other hand, was trying his best not to combust. sitting next to you was hard enough, but the fact you were wearing such a beautiful dress had him awestruck. he also lost his appetite. he couldn't help but stare at you.

after dinner, your friends stood up and ran over to the dance floor, and you were unfortunately dragged along. a remix of many famous hits were played, before you sang your hearts out to iris, by the goo goo dolls. you felt someone tap you on your shoulder, which to your surprise you see jeongin.

"could i have this dance?" he asked, hand out for you to grab, iris still playing in the background.

you nodded and grabbed his hand before you two danced foolishly to iris, heels discarded, his suit as well, just dancing your hearts out. but you had your limits, you were tired and excused yourself to grab some water. before you felt a nudge on your right, as heeseung leaned towards your ear. "can we talk later? don't say no just yet, just follow the green post its."

he walks away, as you look at him in confusion. feeling bad for what you said at lunch, you decide to meet him and see what he has to say.

following the pins of green post-its he left behind, you find yourself at the hidden rooftop jay was talking about at dinner. you open the door to be shocked at the view. the stars twinkling in the night sky. and stood there near the edge, was heeseung.

you broke the silence, clearing your throat, "you wanted to speak to me?"

heeseung looked at you and your dress, his mind going places. "yeah. i did. i'm not expecting an apology. i deserve it."

"but why'd you hate me so much, heeseung?" you whined at him, sick of his jokes.

"the thing is l/n, i don't!" he shouts, walking towards you, "it's not that i hate you, it's that i hate the way you make me feel. i hate the way you're so good at writing, i hate the way you win everything to make me proud, i hate the way you know my weaknesses, i hate the way you never gave up. you're on my mind every fucking day."

you walk up towards him, pulling his suit to pull him down, and him not expecting anything, you slap him across his face.

heeseung immediately pulled back, "ow! what was that for?"

"that was for not telling me about how you felt. you didn't have to bottle it up, you know?" you scoffed.

"and you didn't have to either!" he protested back, pulling out a familiar journal. your journal.

you grabbed it from his hands, "how'd you find this? i didn't even realize it was missing..."

heeseung sighed, "you know for a smart writer like you, you're very forgetful." a smile beginning to emerge.

"what did you read, heeseung? tell me." you asked, afraid that your secrets would spill out.

heeseung walked towards you, "enough to know that you're too stubborn to even tell me the truth. if you'd been feeling this way for months then you should have told me."

you gasped at him, "i would have told you about it if you weren't such a dick all the time? and then you kissing me last night just added more fuel to the fire." not realizing what you said, heeseung cupped your face, which was full of confusion.

"you remember last night?"

you blinked. "everything."

he laughed, "then you'd know i wouldn't hate you as much if i was doing this, would i?"

the familiar taste of his lips returned as he kissed you. you held onto his hands as he caressed your face. the oxygen you once craved had been fulfilled. you strung your arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life. you could feel the burst of sparks just surrounding the two of you, a moment you both craved.

the wavering facade between the two finally faded, unleashing the raw desire the two of you had, rushing through your veins.

you pulled away, heeseung leaning his forehead onto yours, before he gave you his best smile. you blushed out of nervousness and proximity the two of you held, not used to this view.

"you still hate me now?" you joked, smiling at him. his eyes softened, before he laughed, and kissing you once more, not wanting to let go. and as the stars glimmered under the night sky, you forgot time ever existed. forget the committee sessions due tomorrow, it was the two of you against the world.

surely, waking up on the final day of the conference would give you a sense of peace, right? wrong. you had spent so much time last night making out and talking with heeseung that you forgot your final mandatory article was due soon. waking up from the bed the two shared, limbs tangled once more, this time, you weren't ashamed.

you kissed heeseung's forehead to wake him up, and despite heeseung's wishes to stay in and make out some more, you declined and got ready.

"can't you just stay? a bit late to the first comses of the day won't hurt your awards." heeseung groaned, asking you to return.

"i was late at yesterday's comses post-lunch, so i think i'm going to be a good girl and come early to this one." you replied, fixing your tie.

heeseung basically stood up and tried to pull you back to bed, "come on, just be my good girl. i promise you will be awarded with all of my kisses in the world."

you shook your head, "missing out on a couple kisses won't be the death of me. come on, you need to prep for comses too."

heeseung moaned in complaint, "no, i'd break my streak for you, i don't care. i just want to stay in with you, away from everybody."

you were able to crawl your way out of his touch, "nope! i'm not letting you lose your streak just over me. come on, get ready. i'm going down for breakfast."

"can i at least have a goodbye kiss before you go?" he pouted, and the way his eyes resembled bambi, you gave in.

you tried to just give him a quick peck, but his touch was so fragile and welcoming, that if you didn't stand your ground, you'd probably be pinned down till the rest of the day. but you didn't want that, so you let go of his touch, assuring him that you'd spend more time with him after the conference.

now, here you were, back in your conference room with a giddy look on your face. you couldn't help but dream of last night. even sunoo, riki, jungwon, along with wonyoung, minjeong, and sunghoon, were even surprised to see you better all of a sudden.

"okay is this some weird process girls do the cope with sadness, cause if so how do we fix her?" sunoo asked, concerned.

wonyoung was staring at you like you were beaming, "it looks like pregnancy glow."

riki basically spit out his coffee, "wait so they actually fucked?"

minjeong snapped at riki, "who fucked?"

"we had speculation that, y/n and heeseung fucked the first night, hence why she was out of it the next day..." jungwon explained to the rest.

sunghoon, the only person out of the group who happened to know heeseung the best, commented that; "no there's no way he fucked her. if they fucked, they wouldn't have been here."

"could you stop speculating that me and heeseung fucked?" you snapped at the group. not out of anger, but annoyed that you couldn't concentrate.

"sorry, but did you?" riki enquired, earning him a riki! from the group around him. "what? i just wanna know."

you sighed, standing up and packing a couple things, "who cares if we fucked or not? just leave us alone." as you head out of the council room, heading to the crisis room for some final details.

contrary to how you first felt when you walked into the room, your heart felt full of hope. that this time, heeseung wouldn't be staring at you with hatred, instead of love. you hoped you wouldn't distract him.

as you walked into the council room, you nodded at chair yeonjun, before taking a seat at the prepared seats for the journalists. you sit down, open your laptop as you're typing your final mandatory article. you tried to glimpse towards heeseung, but you were returned with the same feeling as yesterday. the sharp gaze was back. maybe it's because he's in is element? mun is important to him... you thought, and busied yourself to writing your article. since it was your final committee session, you just had to submit your article and return for the closing editorial meeting. quickly clicking submit, and the chairs deeming the final committee session over, you wanted to sneak a quick kiss before returning for your meeting.

you stood up from your seat and walked towards heeseung. he stood up and saw you, walking your way. instead of being greeted by a hug or a kiss, he brushed past you to talk to his fellow delegates. you felt a pang in your chest, the way heeseung ignored you like that. you thought everything was okay. the kisses you shared, the conversations you had. you looked back at heeseung only to see him busy talking with the other delegates, barely sparing you a glance. you left the room quickly, not looking back.

unbeknownst to you, heeseung saw you leaving, his heart barely surviving after treating you like that. you deserved better than him. he couldn't have it all.

the final editorial meeting of press councils should be a joy to you. no more deadlines, no more press conferences. but you were stuck in your head. repeating the interaction over and over in your head, you didn't understand a single thing.

after the comments and input from both the chairs and the journalists, chair shuhua decided to pull out the gossip box. you'd been informed prior about the gossip box filling at social night, but since you ran off with heeseung to make out the night away, you didn't have time to fill it in.

as shuhua and beomgyu begin to read the entries, earning laughter all around the room, a certain entry snaps you out of your trance.

"oh this is a good one! new york times from press and colombia from crisis actually fit really good together! hope the enemies finally turn into lovers! wait is this about y/n and heeseung?" chair shuhua asks, causing the whole room to look at you.

you looked at everyone strangely, "what? there's nothing."

chair beomgyu shook his head, "no no no, i don't think there's nothing. come on spill the tea, something must've happened the past three days."

everybody was waiting on your response. waiting for you to tell everyone what happened. you just wanted them to shut up. "okay well. we kissed."

the group of six who were pestering you earlier, gasped loudly. earning you a rumble of no shit's, wait actually's, and a loud jinjja?!

you couldn't help but sink back into your seat, still upset about the way he treated you earlier. "yeah, but he's treating me like shit again today, so. that's that."

the entire room aww'ed in disappointment, before the chairs read out a couple more entries, and adjourns the final editorial. you stand up to clean your table, taking out a pen to begin signing each others' placards. signing everybody else's, photo sessions were in array, and after you were finally allowed to have some free time before awarding ceremony.

awarding ceremony was one of those moments where you have hope, but at the same time you don't. you start rethinking choices you made during the conference, wondering if you made the right option. you headed your way to where the press council was sat at, where you met a couple other delegates, even bumping into jeongin, wishing each other a good luck!

you sit down between wonyoung and minjeong, which earned you an endearing hug from the two, assuring your problems with heeseung didn't matter. stuck in your head, you didn't notice the boys' absence in the room. and awarding had begun. the secretary-general of harvard model congress came up and made their speech, thanking all the delegates for participating and giving their best. chairs from other councils begin to come up to give their awards.

meanwhile, outside of the room, was heeseung cornered by jay, jake, and sunghoon.

heeseung, not caught up with the situation, looked at the three with confusion. "what did i do?"

jay scoffed, "what did you do? you managed to fuck it up again? what did i tell you?!" shaking the life out of him.

heeseung shook his head in confusion, not knowing what to do, when sunghoon came up to him, "look man, your little feud with y/n has to stop. i don't get you anymore. i thought you'd be good at this after helping me and wonyoung get together..."

"nah dude you're in denial. what do you mean you two basically confessed to not hating each other and then made out a bunch of times, only for you to leave her and ignore her like so? that's crazy." jake protested. that was the truth.

"i don't know what to tell you, but me and jake have got to get back for unsc awarding, but please think about it? i know you feel scared of this whole love thing, but i assure you, it's okay to feel this way." jay says, leaving with jake, which left sunghoon with heeseung alone.

heeseung didn't know what to do. for the first time in his life, everything was out of his control. he craved you and needed you, but he felt like he didn't deserve you. it was as if a crisis was happening in his own mind.

as he hears the cheers of the room with every award that is given out, his heart races. he hears the announcement where jay and jake both won best delegates, which they had been double delegating in.

sunghoon kept trying to comfort heeseung, not knowing what to say to him. "look, i may not understand the way your mind works, but i assure you that you deserve her. you've put yourself through it all for decelis, and the track record that we have wouldn't have been what it is now if it wasn't for you. i don't know what plan you're cooking up, but whatever it is, win her back." heeseung looks at sunghoon with sheer nervousness in his eyes. "press and crisis are left, so whatever you want to do? do it now. before its too late."

leaving heeseung alone outside the room, sunghoon walks back in, returning to where the press journalists sat. he saw you picking on your nails out of habit, nervous for the next awards. as your chairs walk up to the podium, sunghoon just hopes heeseung would do something.

as names begin getting called out, sunoo winning best pre-conference video, then riki and jungwon winning verbal commendations, wonyoung and minjeong winning honorable mentions, you held on tight to the tiny string of hope left. it was probably between you and sunghoon left. as you look around the room, heeseung is still nowhere to be found. you had hoped that maybe with this win, you'd make him proud once and for all.

"the final two journalists were a tight match. these two shown impeccable talent in their articles and presence the past three days." shuhua announces. "it is with our great pleasure that the most outstanding journalist goes to, park sunghoon!"

wonyoung, who was on the stage prior, basically screams in joy. you high five sunghoon before he winks at you, knowing you'd win best journalist. but a part of you still thinks you won't.

beomgyu gives sunghoon his award, before adjusting his mic. "this final journalist has pure talent in her writing, and have awestruck the both of us with her work. without further ado, we would like to present that the best journalist award goes to none other than... l/n y/n!"

relief. that's all what washes towards you. yes you've heard your name and the words best journalist go along too often, but every time it happens, it always feels euphoric. as you walk up the stage to receive your award, earning smiles from the other awardees, you couldn't help but look to the crowd.

you see jay and jake basically jumping up and down in joy, but heeseung was still nowhere to be found. a pang of disappointment burns in your chest as you walk down the podium with your certificate in hand. an array of congratulations! are heard, as you sit back down for the final awarding. crisis.

zoning out, after feeling the euphoria of your win, your mind drifts off to heeseung. how would he feel? was he proud?

as chair yeonjun announces the awardees, you are cut out of your trance with every round of applause. you see jeongin win most outstanding, and you cheer for him.

as yeonjun clears his throat for the final award, he begins his speech. "this final award goes to a delegate who really deserves it all. although this mun may have not been his best run, he deserves so much more than the title: prodigy. i'd like to present this best delegate award to none other than... you know what? lee heeseung get up here, get your award, and get your girl!"

with pure shock, you watch as heeseung bursts through the doors, run up to the podium, quickly shake his chairs' hands, grabs his certificate, and runs down. and he's running to you.

he drops his certificate on the floor, before engulfing you in the biggest hug he's ever given in his life. spinning you around, you squeal in excitement. he whispers in your ear an array of i'm so proud of you's, before putting you down, and kissing you in front of everyone.

you cling onto him, parting your lips allowing him to kiss you deeper and deeper, and the feeling of sparks flying around you made it feel like it would last forever. your ears muffle all the cheers surrounding you, only focusing on heeseung, and heeseung only.

he puts you down and rests his forehead on yours, exactly like how he did on the rooftop the night before. "how'd you pull this off?" you ask him, still on cloud nine.

"eh, had some help from chair yeonjun. didn't expect the bestdel though." heeseung laughs, holding you by the waist, tighter, and tighter.

you held his face closer, wanting to feel his touch, "why'd you do that? why'd you run?"

"y/n. i love you. i never knew how to say it all this time, because it's a feeling unlike any other. to the point it made me feel as if my life was in crisis. but that's when i realized i never had it all. not until i found you."

taglist; @riekiss @sesameoil721 @desistay @capri-cuntz @beomluvrr @shawnyle @tya0 @heexoolio @sunghoonsgff @spiderhanzzz (crossed out = i can't tag you)

back to my masterlist?

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction.

702 notes · View notes

merakiui · 10 months ago

Text

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea.

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.”

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: oviposition

1K notes · View notes

sunderwight · 11 months ago

Text

Crack SVSSS Mpreg AU where when Shen Yuan transmigrates in, the system impregnates him with the displaced soul of the original Shen Qingqiu.

For the purposes of this AU, we'll say that male pregnancies or trans men being pregnant in the PIDW universe are uncommon but not especially noteworthy concepts.

So now not only does he have to deal with recovering from his qi deviation and of course being pressed into the role of the scum villain from the novel he was just reading, he's also mysteriously knocked up, can't explain it, and doesn't even know for sure if the baby will recollect being Shen Jiu when its born -- and of course hate him for stealing the Shen Qingqiu life.

What's more, Shen Yuan can't bring himself to get rid of it, because he does have mixed feelings about stealing Shen Jiu's life as well. Even though he knows it's probably the best tactical move, and he doesn't even like Shen Jiu, and the system has said there wouldn't be any penalties because it wouldn't impact the major important plot milestones, he opts to just... keep it. And not think too hard about it.

Luckily(?) cultivators have a lot of control over their bodies, which means a pregnancy can last however long they want it to, so Shen Yuan doesn't have to worry about giving birth in a hurry. SJ seems fine in utero, stalling his development doesn't have adverse effects, so Shen Yuan just swears Mu Qingfang to secrecy and figures out how to keep his pregnancy at the early stages for as long as possible while he hashes everything else out. So apart from internal freak-outs, most of the early plot proceeds as usual.

Unluckily(?), this state of affairs changes when Shen Qingqiu gets infected with Without-a-Cure, as that makes it so that putting off the inevitable is no longer a viable course of action. He can't spare the extra energy and doesn't have the stability of cultivation required to mess around with his pregnancy anymore, so things have to proceed at a more normal rate.

Which means the other peak lords and the disciples on Qing Jing find out that Shen Qingqiu has been harboring a secret pregnancy for an undetermined length of time. Shen Yuan has to bite the bullet and use the amnesia excuse to explain his lack of insight to the existence of any other parents (he's surprised it works so well, because he doesn't know that the rest of the sect has already figured out he doesn't remember some things after his fever), which inspires a lot of behind-the-scenes chaos because everyone has ALSO figured out that Shen Qingqiu's amnesia seems to pertain to things that must have traumatized him in the past.

So if he's pregnant, and he lost his memories of how he got that way...

Well. Cang Qiong is now on the hunt for an attacker who might already be dead and doesn't actually exist.

But everyone agrees that Shen Qingqiu doesn't need to be troubled by these details, so if he's okay with not remembering, then they're okay with letting him not remember. The only one who tries to bring it up is Liu Qingge, and that's mostly in the context of wanting clues so he can track down the culprit and stab them until they are dead.

Luo Binghe supports the quest to find the persona responsible and violently murder them, but as a disciple he has no resources to actually go on some wild goose chase for a mystery rapist. Besides, he has more important things to do on the peak, like making Shizun's meals, keeping Shizun's house, and preparing to help raise Shizun's baby. Luo Binghe is not going to be the stepdad, he is going to be the dad who stepped up! (Binghe please cool your jets you're like fifteen you're going to give your future shizun whole new inner turmoil about whether it's possible to accidentally babytrap your own teenage disciple via immaculate conception reincarnation pregnancy...)

Anyway eventually baby SJ arrives, and Shen Yuan immediately decides to block all recollections of the childbirth process and never dwell on it again. Something happened, he's no longer going to think about it, oh look a baby! A potentially evil villain baby. With cute widdle toes and tiny fingers and a squished, grumpy baby face that gets all red when he cries...

Yeah. Despite his reservations, there's no way he's not getting attached.

He gets Binghe to help him pick out a name for the baby, partly because he feels terribly presumptuous when he actually knows this kid's real name (but he can hardly call his son "Shen Jiu"), partly to encourage Luo Binghe to have some fondness for the kid so that if he someday hates his old shizun, he might still spare his "son" from his revenge. Even though it's actually SJ's fault. Well, he's a baby now. He probably doesn't even remember anything! He sure does cry a lot! Would the OG villain cry and fuss and settle down only after being sufficiently cuddled?

Turns out, yes. Shen Jiu remembers everything from before his fatal qi deviation. He's just also still an infant. So what can he do but cry? And maybe pee on the beast and that body-stealing creature that has reduced him to this. He spends most of his early infancy waiting for someone to come smother him with a pillow, but the conspirators must want to keep him alive for some reason, because it doesn't happen. Instead he gets looked after and soothed and taken care of in a way he never has been. Also, his stupid baby instincts keep insisting that the creature which stole his body is actually the safest person in the whole world.

It's like a cruel joke. SJ finally gets the childhood he always wanted deep down inside, but the one giving it to him is some kind of monster.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #bingqiu #mpreg #long post #sj's gonna be a toddler by the time the abyss arc rolls around #that's gonna be a whole entire mess

1K notes · View notes

brucewaynehater101 · 4 months ago

Note

I had a Batman AU thought that I wanted to share involving eldritch?sentient!Gotham. Gotham is alive, old and deeply rooted magic of ??? origin (that doesn't appreciate being poked and prodded so attempts to discern what she is have ended badly), and she is... mercurial, to put it diplomatically. She can favor or sabotage people on a sliding scale of intensity - basically good or bad luck on the lower side of the scale (finding a $20 bill vs stepping in a gross puddle kinda thing), and on the higher side it's things like a bullet missing when it shouldn't or a piece of building falling onto someone. She also has boons, things she grants certain people - primarily Bats, but there are a few Rogues that have their own boons because again, mercurial. Boons bind someone to Gotham, make them always find their way back and eventually need to come back, but if you're close enough to Gotham for her to offer a boon, it's probably your home.

Batman is her... warlock? Paladin? He's pledged his life to protect Gotham and is in tune with her, and he protects the city and keeps it in balance, and she grants him her favor constantly and has given him a powerful boon (able to hide in whatever shadows there are, even slight ones, and virtually disappear in them even if you're watching him). When he takes Dick in and Dick creates the Robin mantle, Gotham loves it, and Dick gets his own boon (able to land where he intends to, can't be killed/seriously hurt from a fall).

Jason though is her absolute favorite son, her pride and joy. He's born of Gotham, steeped in the city, of it and for it, and he loves Gotham and when he becomes Robin he fights to make her better and bring light to her. She gives him the boon that he knows every part of the city instinctively. He can move through it easily, knows the streets and buildings by heart, knows on some level what's happening in different places (not always exact, usually gut feelings), and he can always hide in it when he chooses.

Then he dies. (Away from Gotham, because if he'd been in Gotham she never would have let it happen.) Gotham and Batman are a wreck together, they're angry and grieving and losing it, everything is coming apart and it's Bad. (The Joker had a boon from Gotham, because he's also of Gotham, and she's not good or evil but simply is. However when he killed HER favorite son, she tore the boon and her favor from him and wrecked what was left of his mind. He still feels chained to Gotham and Batman, but this is no longer a city that loves him.)

This is when Tim pushes to become Robin, and both Gotham and Batman hate it. They both want to lose themselves in the rage and grief, but Tim won't let them. Batman/Bruce comes around first, but Gotham is still seething, and she sabotages Tim at every turn: things that should hold his weight break or creak loudly, shadows never seem to hide him, evidence gets lost or trails go cold when he tries to follow them, buildings constantly crumble around him, goons always seem to get hits on him that he should be able to dodge or avoid, he gets pitched into the harbor CONSTANTLY.

It gets to a point that Bruce is seriously considering firing Tim purely because it's notably more dangerous for him as Robin than it ever was for Dick and Jason (even though he and Dick both try to convince Gotham to calm down and lay off). Tim eventually tracks down the best place to communicate with Gotham directly (much as she tries to deter him) and they get into a fight (reminiscent of Tim getting into fights with Bruce to make him get his shit together).

Tim argues that if he hadn't stepped in, Bruce would have either gotten himself killed or crossed a line he couldn't come back from, and it would have destroyed him AND the hope left in Gotham. He would have been considered a criminal and likely would have become a Rogue, with no 'Batman' to step up and stop him. He argues that Batman needs a Robin to fight for and protect, and without one he'll backslide and get worse again, and if that happens, Gotham will be torn to shreds. Tim points out that Jason loved Gotham and fought for her, and it's disrespectful of his love and his memory to let everything fall to pieces after he fought so hard for her.

It's enough to convince Gotham to back off on her sabotage, though she's still hurt and sulking. Bruce still isn't sure about Tim not having Gotham's favor, much less a boon of his own, but Tim argues that he'll get good enough to keep up with or without Gotham's help - which he does.

Over time though, Gotham watches Tim fight to protect Gotham and Batman, and she admits she was wrong in how she treated him. She slowly starts to extend her favor to him and eventually approaches him and offers him a boon. Tim, however, turns her down. He's seen how badly Jason's loss and Gotham's grief and anger affected those closely connected to her, and he knows taking the boon will tie him to Gotham permanently. He believes those connected to Gotham and Gotham herself need someone who can be more objective and keep a level head, and he's secretly kind of worried that if something happens again, if Bruce and the Bats eventually tire of him and don't need him, he'll be trapped in Gotham. He also just doesn't totally trust Gotham even though he loves her.

Gotham's hurt, obviously, but she understands and doesn't lash out, recognizing it's her own fault. She does give him her favor though and swears to never rescind it, even when she's upset with him. Tim's gotten this far without her favor or a boon, but it's nice not to have to worry about getting dunked in the harbor for the third time in one week anymore (though she hasn't done that in a year or so).

Then Jason returns, and Gotham is having THE BEST time. Her baby boy! Is back! He's bigger now, and he's a lot angrier and hurt in a lot of ways, but he's! Back! She's a little worried about how angry he is at Batman and the other Bats, but Jason is her favorite and she can't turn him away or deny him. She still favors him, she just... makes sure she favors the Bats enough too to keep them all on an even playing field. They'll work it out. Tim managed to get her to calm down, so she's confident her current Robin will help the family again.

Then Jason goes to the Titan Tower after Tim, and initially she assumes they'll talk and things will be better, but when Jason comes back she sees that he went and ATTACKED Tim.

It's the first time she's ever been angry at Jason, and she drops a brick on his head (while he's wearing his helmet, he's still her favorite), and she threatens to collapse the ceiling of his apartment. They get into a fight. Jason came away from his fight with Tim thinking Tim was impressive as Robin, but he doesn't want him in the suit so he still went through with beating him unconscious. He DID notice Tim doesn't have Gotham's boon, so he doesn't understand why she's so upset he roughed the kid up.

Gotham is pissed and a pissed Gotham is hard to communicate with outside of raw emotion, so eventually after suffering several indignities of light sabotage, getting caught yelling at the street or a building while the manhole cover or windows rattle angrily, Jason goes to find Tim and ask "hey what the FUCK" (haven't fully figured how this changes Jason's interactions with the rest of the Bats, but he is begrudgingly impressed that Tim made it through the start of his tenure with Gotham actively sabotaging him, then argued an eldritch city into behaving, then turned down her boon and STILL came out of it with her undying favor).

(Gotham, in this AU, is NOT a fan of the al Ghuls at all. Primarily Ra's, at first, because he wants to purify Gotham/control her, and she is NOT a fan of that thanks. He's tried attacking her (destroying parts of the city), threatening her, trying to determine the origin of her magic, enslave her, trying to bargain with her, seducing her, and she is having NONE OF IT. Going into Gotham is a nightmare for anyone with the League, because while it can be difficult for her to get a hold of them, once she does she sabotages the HELL out of them. Getting cut on rusted rebar, falling off ledges, sinkholes opening up under them, one of them managed to get bitten by a rat and catch the bubonic plague. Ra's has, on one memorable occasion, been knocked into an open manhole and then almost drowned in sewer water that carried him out into the harbor where something (possibly Croc) tried to eat him, and he broke his arm while climbing out.

Talia got a reluctant pass since she seemed more interested in Bruce than Gotham and Bruce reciprocated, but Gotham doesn't appreciate Talia's attempts to lure Bruce OUT of Gotham. When she finds out Talia kept Jason away? AND convinced him to go after Tim? Talia is on the permanent shit list too.

When Gotham finds out about DAMIAN, Talia can't set foot in Gotham without having SEVERAL chunks of building being dropped on her from above.

Though when Damian DOES show up, Gotham is quick to claim him and offer him a boon. He's the son of Batman, he's a future Robin, and if he's given a boon, he's tied to Gotham and can't easily return to the League (mostly Talia and Ra's). Win win!

Except then he attacks Tim, and learns VERY swiftly that it's not good to piss off the sentient eldritch city you accepted a boon from. He's laid up with a migraine and all kinds of awful symptoms of an illness (nothing fatal but definitely awful) until Tim recovers, and then Tim gets to play mediator between the Bats and Gotham AGAIN as he tries to explain to Damian the nuances of Gotham as an entity and what being one of her favored/booned actually means, AND lecturing Gotham about sabotaging another Robin/giving him a boon without making sure he understood what he was accepting.)

HI 👋 Fabulous AU you've got here.

I particularly enjoy how complicated Tim's relationship with Gotham is. In fact, Tim's later years could be misunderstood by the Bats as Tim being her favorite (hear me out).

If Gotham never states who her favorite is, all the Bats see is that Tim, despite not having a boon, has Gotham on his side against the other Bats (really, Tim just isn't attacking/harming the others like they are to him, but it's about perspective).

It's also kind of heartbreaking that Tim has an additional condition that sets him apart from the Bats. He's the only one to be immediately hated by Gotham. He doesn't have a boon (though later that's a choice). He is consistently reaching out to Gotham to actually communicate and fix their issues.

Might I add an additional part for extra angst? We'll take the fanon idea of Tim stalking his heroes from a young age.

Gotham sees that another being idolizes her paladins and grants him the small boon of his camera never making a sound, being unnoticeable, and the flash never being visible unless Tim wants it to. Tim is okay with being stuck in Gotham due to his parents never taking him abroad with them

After Tim forces his way into Robin, though, Gotham rips this away from him, destroys any need for him to stay (she wants him to leave her alone to her own rumination), and actively sabatoges him.

Because it was taken from him once, because he's felt the pain of that loss, because the sudden emptiness was a gaping hole he had to spend years coping with, he never wants a boon again. He doesn't know if he'll be able to handle the sudden deprivation once more.

This is the start of him not trusting that anything lasts (especially since a retracted boon was so rare it's only been rumored in the past [since Gotham doesn't care for "good" or "evil" it's harder to get on her bad side]).

I'm curious what all of the boons alloted to each person are (very curious if/what Commissioner Gordon's)

#tim drake #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #sentient gotham #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dick grayson

491 notes · View notes

changbunnies · 11 months ago

Text

Desire (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, sequel to scent of you, past dubcon from part 1 is discussed

♡ Word Count: 10.9k (i have got to stop doing this, my god)

♡ Summary: In which the bunny hybrid “little red” has been unable to forget her past encounter with the wolves of the forest, and goes to seek them out for more fun while also being in the throes of her heat.

♡ Warnings: same as before; uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is in heat so... yeah, pet names (though mostly as a title- bunny, little red, and sweetheart), more use of the word slut + gendered language, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, sub!reader, switch!changbin), scent stuff again lol, lots of kissing, size difference, size kink, outdoor sex :'), manhandling, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, orgasm control + denial, subtle mxm may not actually be all that subtle + more of the rivalry between binchan as well as jealous bin lol, mates / mating, biting, nipple play, overstim, multiple orgasms, choking kinda? reader just gets held by the neck lol, handjob, cum eating, multiple creampies

♡ Notes: this is a sequel to scent of you, which you can read here! so i fully intended to still be on a small break and this was not supposed to be a series but i literally could not stop thinking about what would happen next for them and i had to write it :’) i hope you enjoy <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you stare up at your barren ceiling, sweat dripping from your brow as your limbs grow tired and ache with exertion. How long had it been since the night you got lost deep in the woods, only to be found by Chan and Changbin?

Two wolves who you would still think you imagined were it not for the note they left behind, clear evidence that everything you experienced with them was real. It wasn’t something your psyche conjured while lost and alone in the dark woods, the pleasure wasn’t a vivid dream made in an attempt to cope with the reality that you were lost– everything about them, about that night, was entirely real.

You can still remember how you tucked your note away into a pocket of your dress before you opened the cottage door, your grandmother scrambling up to her feet when she heard you enter, rushing off her bed and out of her room as fast as her weak legs could carry her. You met her halfway, catching her as she stumbled, her arms squeezing you tight as relief washed over her.

You knew she must’ve been beside herself with worry, but actually experiencing it made guilt strike your heart like lightning; and when you opened your mouth to speak, she simply shushed you, requiring no explanation. Your grandmother wasn’t stupid, she knew a predator had caught you– your cape was torn in several places and you positively reeked of wolf, but rather than comment on it, she was simply grateful you were back home in one piece.

There were very few things a rabbit could do to ensure their survival against a wolf, and she was wise enough not to pick at the fresh wound you may very well harbor for having done the unspeakable in exchange for your life. She let the topic of wolves die right then and there before it could even be spoken, simply dedicating herself to stitching your cape back together, doing her best to make it appear as if it had never torn at all.

And not being forced to discuss what happened that night was certainly a relief, but not for the reasons your grandmother might expect. Because how would you explain to her that you actually liked the wolves that had found you in the deep, dark woods that night?

It’s utterly shameful how even now you still think of them, how their touch still feels engraved in your skin even as each season comes and goes. Shameful, how you look at that note they left behind as a sign that they’d want you back in their arms, that perhaps they think of you as much as you think of them. And they knew where you lived, they could easily seek you out whenever they pleased, but they never had.

You assume it to be for the same reason they likely left you outside instead of carrying you to the front door of your cottage, or opening the door to bring you inside your home– because you lived with your grandmother, and what would that poor, frail woman do if she was confronted with the sight of two massive wolves holding her precious granddaughter? But despite the logical reasonings, there was a part of you that still felt.. rejected, somehow?

It was fucking dumb, you knew this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling that way. You just wanted to see them again so badly, to look at them and touch them and let them touch you, to bask in the warmth of their skin, to lay yourself against their massive bodies and revel in how feeling small was good in their presence.

Safety, protection– the complete opposite of what you should feel from them, the complete opposite of what you felt when you first laid eyes on Chan and then on Changbin, but somehow by the end of the night, that had all changed.

To further complicate matters, your heats have since made the disgraceful yearning you feel exponentially worse, your mind flooded by the memory of them, your body aching to feel them again, every nerve inside you practically screaming for their touch. You are typically quite prepared for your heats, often stocking up on the herbs needed to brew natural remedies meant to make your symptoms more bearable so that you can be an effective caretaker for your ill grandmother, and they usually did well enough for you.

Of course, it’s not a magic cure-all, nor does it completely alleviate any of the discomfort you feel, but it’s enough. You still need to make yourself cum a couple times before the night is over, but you can at least go about your day with little issue until the remedies effect begins to wane.

This week, and tonight specifically, was supposed to be more of the same– prepare dinner, get grandmother comfortably into bed, and then take care of yourself in the privacy of your room. If all went as expected, you’d feel satisfied enough to get some sleep, the next day you’d start your morning by brewing and drinking your homemade tea to calm your nerves, bring down your heightened temperature, and ease any aches you may experience.

You’d carry on through any remaining discomfort as best you could as you spent another day taking care of your responsibilities until night came, rinse and repeat for essentially a week until your heat eventually recedes and you can go back to your daily tasks as normal. Why had it become so different after meeting Chan and Changbin?

While going through a heat without a partner is never a comfortable experience, what you experienced now was downright unbearable; nothing you did to calm yourself or your body ever seemed good enough, none of your orgasms satisfying enough to dull the incessant need for something more, your only relief coming from driving yourself to utter exhaustion, when your body would be forced to give itself to sleep.

It didn’t make sense– it’s not like you were a virgin before you met them; you had your fair share of fun experiences with a few trusted friends of yours before you moved in with your grandmother to care for her. So certainly, while you weren’t exactly super promiscuous in your personal life, you were no stranger to sex, and you never fixated on your past partners during your heats the way you do now with Chan and Changbin.

If you had to guess, it must be because of how different they were. Nothing about them was familiar, and that brought a unique sort of excitement you’d yet to feel again since that night had come to an end. Could that feeling be replicated with another rabbit?

You weren’t sure– and even if it could be done, would you want them over the two wolves? That was another thing you’d found yourself stuck on lately; was it them specifically that you wanted, or just a similar experience, in which anyone would do as long as they successfully replicated the sensations?

Either way, you spent yet another night in unsatisfied yearning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. And your poor grandmother would suffer for it, as your scorching fever and addled mind made your ability to care for her deteriorate.

Compounding on that even further, your longing for them was becoming increasingly heightened as you became more and more desperate for relief– a desperation that would drive you to make foolish decisions you wouldn’t otherwise make. You look again at the note the two wolves left behind, clutching it tightly in your hand as you consider what you should do next.

If you go see them again, grandmother will know– their scent will be all over you when you return, and what will you say? Will you admit you liked them and sought them out on purpose? Or will you make up some stupid excuse, blaming your every decision solely on your heat, chalking your choices up to a lapse in judgment brought on by your need for relief?

But the simple truth is that it isn’t just your heat that makes you want to see them again, and even if you did place all of the blame there, it wouldn’t change what you have come to realize about yourself. The shameful reality is that you’re attracted to wolves– those two wolves in particular, and no one but them will be able to grant you the specific relief you seek.

And you know how dangerous it is to leave your home when you’re in heat– your scent could attract far more than just Chan and Changbin, and truthfully speaking, there is no guarantee that you will find them before someone else finds you first. You’d be walking blindly, mirroring what you’d done the first time you were lost in the woods at night, though this time with the explicit hope that you’d be found by them.

It’s dangerous, it’s foolish, you absolutely should not go into the woods at night looking for a fucking wolf– but that’s exactly what you do. Not even bothering to change out of your nightgown and into proper outdoor attire, you opt for tying on your cape and pulling up the hood, knowing they will instantly recognize you if you’re wearing it (as if they need more than just your scent to identify you in the first place.)

Just in case, you hastily write a note for your grandmother in the event that you aren’t back before morning, apologizing as you explain in the briefest of terms that you needed to soothe your growing ache. She’ll understand, you hope– she was young herself once, and surely she remembered what this feeling was like. And foolish though your choice may be, you hope she’ll sympathize and scold you lovingly instead of harshly upon your return.

The night air feels impossibly cold on your fevered skin, but it’s hardly a deterrent– in fact, you welcome the way the wind chills your sweat, a small, but much appreciated form of relief before you hopefully experience what you truly wish to.

Honestly speaking, you have absolutely no fucking clue where you are going; there is no path to follow to their den, no landmark for you to use in an attempt to guide yourself to your destination. You simply wander in the direction you hope is correct, praying the one (or ideally both) of the two wolves you so wish to find stumbles upon you.

You glance up at the sky, the waning moon and countless stars shining back at you; a full moon is coming, and you wonder if they even have time to play with you at all. You don’t know all that much about wolves outside of what is required for self preservation, but you do know that the full moon is important to them; will they even entertain you right now?

Maybe this truly is a fool’s errand, maybe you’re making a mistake and getting yourself lost for nothing, maybe–

Suddenly you’re being grabbed, body being forcibly turned around and back shoved harshly against a thick tree you’d passed just moments prior. Your breath hitches, and your nose recognizes who it is before your eyes do–Changbin. He's caging you in and looking down at you with a clenched jaw, his claws digging into the bark of the tree he has you pressed against, clearly trying very hard to control himself.

“Y/N-” he breathes, voice strained as he uses your given name for the first time, and hearing it from him makes a new, fresh wave of heat crawl over your body. “What are you doing walking around out here smelling like that? Are you insane?”

Unable to control yourself now that he’s close, you immediately grab at his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands as you look up at him with pleading, glassy eyes. “B-Binnie, I– I was looking for you, needed to find you,” you explain, your voice embarrassingly weak with desperation, “need you and Channie to help me, please.”

His grip tightens, you realize– the sound of wood cracking and splitting audible just behind your head. “Please? I’ll be a good bunny for you again, I promise, please help me,” you continue to plead, shamelessly pawing at him, begging for him to accept your advances.

Holy shit, are you seriously doing this to him right now? Begging him to take care of you? Him? A wolf? A rabbit begging a wolf for something like this is completely unheard of, only occurring within his wild fantasies.

To be quite frank, he was aware that the first time with you was coercion– he and his elder saw a meek, defenseless rabbit, and they took their chances. He had his fun, and while you did too when things really got going, he fully expected that to be it, though he hoped otherwise.

And God, he can’t even believe how reckless you’re being; what if it was one of the other wolves patrolling this area tonight that found you instead of him? He can only imagine how the younger wolves in the pack would react to your scent right now– he’s barely keeping himself in control as it, and he has much more experience with these matters than them.

He clenches his teeth as his gaze trails away from your eyes and down your body, where your nightgown leaves very little unexposed, where you are very clearly pressing your thighs together as you stare up at thim, expectant and hopeful. Fuck. You really want this, don’t you?

“Fuck, yeah, okay, just–” Changbin says as he picks you up, tossing all his responsibilities aside as you’re lifted from the ground and cradled in his arms, “just hang on, we’ll go find him, okay? We’ll help you.” And he’s trying, he’s really fucking trying to control himself and not just throw you down on the ground right here and have you all to himself, but you’re making it increasingly harder to maintain focus on the task at hand as he winds his way through the forest.

Chan’s scent is barely discernible over the way yours intensely fills his nostrils, and even when he does manage to pick up on his elder’s location, he can hardly even focus in on it. And your hands wont stop roaming over his skin, you press your body to his as much as you can manage, absolutely desperate for contact.

He can hear you panting despite the fact that all he’s doing is holding you, can feel your body tremble in his arms, can smell the slick that steadily leaks from your core. And to put it simply, Changbin is a weak man, and your desperation is utterly infectious. But still, he holds strong; that is, until you start pressing kisses to any patch of his skin you can reach.

When your breath hits his neck before your lips latch on to it, he feels completely done for. This is it. Fuck it. Chan can have his turn with you later– Changbin is the one that found you, it’s only fair that he has fun with you first, right? And besides, you’re acting positively insatiable right now– how is he supposed to hold off or say no? That’s quite literally asking him for the impossible.

So he falls to his knees, your bodies tangled together on the grass in a matter of seconds, your clothes being thrown off in a flurry. Changbin rotates to his back, pulling you on top of him, deciding that he should still be a gentleman even when his composure is at its limits and not let your bare skin touch the dirty forest floor.

He grabs your face, pulling you in to kiss him before you’re even fully settled on his lap; it’s a bit awkward, given the size difference between you, but he makes it work, curving and twisting his body however necessary to keep his lips on yours as you adjust your positioning.

Your slick drips and pools, coating him entirely with no effort expended on either of your parts. He’s even bigger than you remember, and that feeling of pure adrenaline inducing excitement that you’ve missed so much finally returns to you. This is what you needed all this time, what you’ve been craving.

You grab the base of Changbin’s cock with one of your hands and do your best to line it up with your hole– and again, it’s awkward due to the difference in size between you, but you’re determined to see this through. “Wait, fuck, sweetheart–” Changbin gasps as you begin to sink down on him.

He fully intended to get you prepped first, was going to pull you up after he got his fill of kisses and have you sit on his face, make you cum and loosen you up enough to take him, but apparently you felt that you’d waited long enough to have him inside you again. And you’re so fucking wet that the slide down is relatively easy; benefits to being in heat, you suppose– it makes your fervent desperation for cock come with far less sting.

And no doubt, there is still a sting– after all, your body isn’t made to take a size so disproportionate to your own; but all it does is further ignite the fire in your gut, the excitement swelling as you take more and more of him inside. Changbin uses one hand to bear his weight and keep himself propped up while the other holds your face in place, his tongue shoved in your mouth.

He hardly lets you pull away for a breath before you’re dragged back to his lips, a moan coming from deep in his chest when you meet his tongue with enthusiasm. Your palms are pressed firmly on his chest, your nails digging into the surprisingly soft flesh, your every moan and whine swallowed by his open mouth until your hips finally become flush with his.

You know you should feel the utmost shame, desperate as you are for a wolf, stark naked and exposed in the open forest where anyone could stumble upon you, but all you feel is relief. True, delightful relief, finally– Changbin gives you everything you need just as easily as you’d hoped he would.

You mentally compared him to a puppy during your first meeting– desperate, easily excitable, cute in a way that juxtaposes his rough exterior. And you knew, just knew he’d never deny you if you offered yourself to him, because it’s simply not within him to do so. A desperate puppy with his equally desperate bunny– what better pairing could there be?

And truly, you feel like heaven– your body, so small in comparison to his, makes you feel impossibly tight, your wet warmth utterly perfect and beyond compare; he could die right now, and feel that his life was entirely fulfilled. “Be a good girl, and show me how good bunnies can bounce,” Changbin breathes as he lets go of your face, now supporting himself with both arms as he leans himself back to watch you. He huffs out a small laugh when he feels you clench, pleased to find that words still have a profound effect on you.

Changbin expected you to start slow, but maybe expecting a desperate little thing like you in the middle of her heat to show restraint wasn’t his brightest moment– because you’re bouncing fast, and fuck, he knew rabbits had strong legs and were notoriously skilled at bouncing, but what the fuck?

You’re riding him like your life depends on it, which from your perspective may very well be true– you’ve been so pent up and unsatisfied that truthfully you couldn’t act any differently than this even if you wanted to. All you can think about, all that drives you, is your need to cum on Changbin’s cock– nothing else matters.

Despite the fact that Changbin is using his arms and hands for the explicit purpose of keeping himself upright to watch you, you all but demand he brings them to you. It’s a pitiful attempt really, trying your best to learn forward enough to grab his hands without losing your balance on his lap and falling straight onto his chest, but thankfully he realizes what you’re going for and offers them to you before you can fully fall against him.

His back once again touches the cool grass, with you intertwing your fingers as soon as his hands come to your own. His hands are much bigger than your own, fingers thicker, and you have to completely spread out your own fingers to even get them between his, but he squeezes your hands once you succeed. You use the additional support of his hands in yours as leverage for your bouncing, his arms strong and firm enough to help keep you upright and steady as you slide up and down his length.

You can hear his tail thumping against the ground, a display of excitement and pleasure that he’ll never be able to disguise. Your nails dig into his knuckles, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you try to contain the noises that leave you, not wanting to alert the entire forest that you’re fucking right now (as if yours and Changbin’s combined scent doesn’t already give that truth away.)

But there’s still something missing– something that a desperate puppy and bunny really needs; and that is someone to keep them in line. That’s where Chan comes in, tsking at the scene in front of him as he steps closer, having evidently caught your scent and came straight to where you are now, sitting on Changbin’s dick in the middle of the forest without a single ounce of shame between the two of you.

“What’s this? Having fun without me?” he asks with a frown that feigns disappointment, though the slight swish of his tail and subtle spark in his eyes relays that he doesn’t actually mind very much. If anything, it gives him a chance for even greater fun, opens up a world of opportunity to tease and demand whatever he wishes.

And his sudden presence and voice doesn’t cause you to slow down in the slightest– rather, it excites you further, causing you to bounce with renewed eagerness as you turn your head in the direction you heard him, looking him squarely in the face even as you continue your motions atop Changbin.

“That’s not very nice, I thought you liked me,” Chan pouts as he squats down next to the two of you, though his obviously fake pout breaks into a smile when you whine and affirm you do like him and want to have fun with him too.

“We tried, fuck– we tried to find you, I swear, but she– she just–” Changbin is doing his best to talk, though you’re making it extremely difficult for him to be coherent, not letting up your pace in the slightest; and truth be told he’s never been much of a multitasker. “She– she’s fucking– God, I can’t–”

There’s also a pang of jealousy in the pit of Changbin’s stomach over how obviously excited the addition of Chan made you, how his presence and voice caused you to bounce on his dick with renewed vigor; and really, he should probably be happy that you’re putting so much effort into riding his cock thanks to Chan, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he squeezes your hands harder, almost instinctively, a gesture that he doesn’t even fully comprehend as possessive. “Oh, look at what you’ve done to poor Binnie. He’s a mess because of you, slutty girl,” Chan coos and your stomach twists as you divert your gaze back to Changbin.

He’s sweating, panting hard, his stomach rapidly clenching and unclenching– and you feel it, the throb and twitch that alerts you to how close he is. And you’re close too, you have been for ages. Days worth of terrible, unfulfilling orgasms make the pleasure of this moment positively euphoric– but you were doing your best to hold out for Changbin. You know that once you came you won't have the strength to ride him anymore, and you want to be good and do what he asked of you to the best of your ability.

And Chan can clearly see the signs on both of you; he’s shared with Changbin enough times to recognize his tells, and in your case, well.. It doesn’t take a genius to realize you’re about 3 seconds from gushing and creaming all over Changbin’s cock and lap.

But you started the fun without him! And he isn’t sure you deserve to cum so easily after leaving him out– so just as your volume picks up, your pace finally faltering as your taut line is about to snap, Chan grabs your hips and forces you down, bringing you to a complete stop.

You whine loudly, wiggling your hips as you vainly try to lift yourself up again, but it’s impossible– Chan is much, much stronger than you after all. Changbin, who was close himself, curses and whines nearly as loudly as you, his brows knitting together as he tries to calm himself down.

“Hyung, what the fuck–” he complains, though he doesn’t dare make a move to make Chan stop holding you down– he knows better than that. You look at Chan, bottom lip quivering and eyes glassy with fresh tears as babbles of “why” and “please” and “need to cum” leave you.

“But weren’t you a bad bunny? Having fun with just Changbin, weren’t even thinking of me at all..” Chan says with another false pout. He is nowhere near as jealous and unconsciously possessive as Changbin, as he knows very well he can have whatever he wants, but this dynamic is where he has the most fun– exuding control is the greatest pleasure he knows. Changbin’s denied orgasm is just collateral.

“And poor Binnie, you dragged him down with you because you just couldn’t wait,” he continues, grabbing your face with one hand and making you look back at the wolf beneath you, “I think you should tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’re sorry for being a slut who can’t wait and getting him into trouble with you.”

You whine again, watching as Changbin swallows and bites his lip, clearly eager to hear the apology you’re about to grant him at Chan’s command. “I.. ‘m sorry, Binnie, ‘m really sorry,” you mumble, and Chan tsks again, very clearly unsatisfied with the meek apology.

“C’mon little red, you can do better than that, can’t you? Try again, we’re waiting.” You glance at Chan and then back at Changbin, swallowing as both of them stare at you and wait; the ball is in your court, and you have no choice but to deliver.

“I’m sorry f-for being a slut, and ‘m sorry for being a bad bunny, sorry for getting Binnie in trouble, ‘m really sorry, I promise ‘m so sorry,” you try again, to which Chan smirks, taking his hand away from your face to give you a pat on the head. “That’s better,” he says as he finally removes his other hand from your hip. You take that as all the permission you need to start moving again, wasting no time in lifting your hips and slamming them back down onto Changbin’s lap.

Changbin’s surprised gasp transitions into a moan, his hands once again squeezing yours while also trying to be careful not to pierce your skin with his claws. Eventually, begrudgingly, he lets go of your hands to dig his claws into the earth instead, finding that better than risking cutting into your precious skin.

Chan watches patiently, waits until you’re both close again before he brings you to another stop with his strong hands, frustrated whines leaving you both as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and try to fight against Chan’s natural strength.

“I didn’t tell you that you could move,” he explains as he watches tears fall from the corners of your eyes, “couldn’t even wait for my permission, and look at you now, in trouble again– dragging Binnie down with you, again.”

You pout and cry, babbling apologies to both wolves, shame ever a foreign concept in the face of desperation– all you know is you want to cum, but if Chan needs you to be good, to ask first and follow his rules, then you will; you’ll always be as good for him as you possibly can be.

When Chan removes his hands from your hips this time, you ask for permission as he wants you to. “Can I move, please? Please, I’ll be good from now on, I promise, just need to cum so bad,” you beg and he smiles as he coos, once again giving you a sweet stroke to your head.

“Of course, good bunnies can have whatever they want. Make Binnie cum too, he’s so good to you, he deserves it, doesn’t he?” Chan chuckles as you nod quickly, eagerly resuming the motions on Changbin’s cock as if Chan had never stopped you at all. “Tell him,” he says, moving his hand down your head, over your back and to your tail, tugging it ever so slightly, “he’ll get so excited. Go on, talk to him.”

“B-Binnie, you’re so– so good to me, make me feel so good, want you to cum, d-deseve to cum– cum in me,” you stutter out between harsh breaths and Chan has to suppress the laugh in his throat when Changbin’s tail fucking whacks against the ground in an impossibly loud, excited thump. So predictable, he always is– can’t hide a damn thing he thinks or feels.

Changbin is the one grabbing your hips this time, helping you along as he starts to fuck up into your from below. You squeak and nearly fall forward onto his chest, but somehow manage to keep your balance and stay mostly upright, your hands gripping desperately at his biceps.

And in all the times they have shared someone, Chan is met with a sight he doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Changbin’s eyes are rolling back as bites his lip and chases his high from below, using all of his strength to move you however he wants. Clearly, being denied orgasms did something profound to him– he’s almost feral, relentless in the way he fucks into you.

When he feels the build up again, he tries to hold back, almost afraid that Chan will rip it all away from him at the last moment again– but then you’re squeezing him hard, he can feel more slick gush and coat his length as you cry out, and he loses it entirely, cumming in long, drawn out spurts, giving you all he has to give.

You’re entirely collapsed on Changbin’s chest now, seemingly spent from all the effort you exuded and the intensity of your orgasm, eyes closed as you try to collect your breath. Changbin is equally breathless, brain lagging as he processes the fact that he’s cum the hardest he thinks he ever has, and on top of that it was in the middle of the fucking woods with Chan controlling when you were both allowed to cum. Maybe he’s due for some self discovery after this..?

Changbin, whose senses are finally returning to him and recalls he was unable to kiss you at all once you really got going and was sorely missing it, lifts your face and pulls you into a kiss. One kiss turns into two, then to three, then to four, until you’re essentially making out, with Changbin effectively stealing away all the breath you’d just regained.

Chan watches for a time, lets Changbin indulge in what is one of his favorite intimate acts, but he can’t let you two be the only ones having fun for much longer. It’s Chan’s turn now, and he’s been patient enough.

He’s good at putting up a front, makes his control seem effortless, what with his boundless charisma and intimidating presence, but fuck, the minute he caught the scent of your heat in the air, he about lost it. Just as Changbin surely felt, he needs to fuck you before he risks going insane.

The younger wolf whines when you’re pulled off of him, a mess left behind on his lap where you once were. What a selfish pup he is– maybe one of these days Chan needs to remind him what it means to share. “Go home, Bin. And tell everyone still there to get the fuck out, so I can bring her back home with me.”

Changbin blinks for a moment as he processes, and then he’s scrambling to his feet, getting his clothes back on in a rush. Changbin wanted to bring you home too, but he knew he couldn’t– if he just walked in with you in his arms, it would’ve been chaos; the younger wolves with much less practice in self restraint would’ve lost their fucking minds. Even Chan and Changbin themselves had barely been keeping it together, still heavily effected by your heat despite how experienced they were.

“Uh, when I do, can I.. y’know..?” Changbin asks before he starts to leave and Chan rolls his eyes before he lets out a small laugh. “Yes, Bin, you can join us again.” Changbin smiles, tail swishing cutely before he runs off and once again you have to suppress a giggle at the surprisingly adorable display. You wonder if he’d take offense to the fact that you view him as a puppy; he just screams “I need constant affection and attention or I’ll die” and it’s oddly endearing.

Chan doesn’t let your thoughts linger exclusively on Changbin for long however; he’s grabbing your face again, diverting your attention back to him, making you look straight up at him. He captures your lips in a kiss, one that is far more impassioned than you would’ve expected based on his cool exterior.

He holds you tightly, pressing your body firmly against his own, leaving no space between you. You in turn wrap your arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss as you are met with more of the sweet relief you’ve desperately needed. His hands travel over your body, refamiliarizing himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, refreshing the memory, letting it become engraved once more.

When he pulls back, he is looking at you carefully, doing his best to continue to suppress his carnal need to have you long enough to ask you something that’s been mulling around in his mind, “Tell me honestly, little red. Did you want us to find you tonight, or was it an accident?” He needs to know if it was simply spur of the moment with Changbin, if anyone would’ve done if they’d approached you, or if it was them you specifically needed to get you through your heat.

“You, I wanted you,” you answer easily, truthfully, a slight blush crawling over your face as you admit how you truly feel; your mind may be foggy from your heat, but you're not immune to the nerves that come with an honest confession, “I told Binnie too, that I.. I wanted you both.”

Chan smiles at your answer, a smile that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pretty he is when he smiles at you. “Good. Then my next question before I keep you for the rest of the night– do you want to be ours?”

“B-Be yours..?” you ask, blinking up at him as your mind goes over what that could mean. “Mhm, mine and Changbin’s. Our sweet, little bunny that we’d take good care of. Our mate, essentially.. Do you want that?” Your breath hitches, the blush on your face growing as the words swirl around in your head.

Their mate. Chan’s. Changbin’s. Both of them.. Their mate. “A-Are you serious? I mean– I’m a rabbit, and you’re.. not.” From what you've heard, wolves take having a mate very seriously.. and he wants that special someone to be you? And to share that special someone with someone else? Is that really okay?

“I’m completely serious. And you don’t have to be if you don’t want to, but I hope you know it’s not something I offer easily,” he says, stroking your cheek, offering you the softest smile you’ve ever seen him hold. “And you feel it, don’t you? The inexplicit desire, how nothing since having each other has felt complete, satisfying.. enough?”

You swallow as you nod, knowing that much is true– ever since you met them, every night without them felt.. wrong somehow. Like you weren’t where you were supposed to be. And God, how unbearable your heats had become, going far past the usual discomfort into completely uncharted, agonizing territory.

“I do, I really do,” you answer, unable to lie about such a thing even if you wanted to. And there’s still so much about your life you’d have to figure out, but you know you’d regret it if you said you didn’t want to be theirs, you’d live in agony if you didn’t have them. He smiles again before he kisses you, hands traveling down to your legs, over your thighs and hips, until he’s cupping your ass, lifting you up and bringing you closer.

You leak onto his lap, but he doesn’t mind, can’t even process it, really– his mind is full of you. Of your scent, of your touch on his skin, of his on yours. And just how you’d done with Changbin, you insatiably run your hands over whatever patch of his skin is within your reach. And if his senses weren’t in overdrive from your scent, he’d admonish you for being so insatiable, tease you for being a slut and make your face burn red from filthy, whispered words.

But he has to admit the desperate, needy side of you he’s witness to is a treat, and it works at the rope that is his composure in record time, steadily tearing at it until all that keeps it together is a thin thread. He’s no better than Changbin, is he?

Really, if this is how you’ve been from the start, it’s clear the younger wolf never had a chance; but Chan is the superior here, and he has to set an example– what good will it do if he can’t stay in control long enough to get you back to his den? He has something to prove– to himself, to Changbin, and to you; that he doesn’t break and give in so quickly and easily.

So he quickly rises to his feet with you in his arms, carefully leaning to where your clothes were discarded and picking them up, covering you in your cape like it’s a blanket. “Just in case there’s some stragglers still at home,” he explains; when you’re officially his mate, no one will touch you, but until then, he’ll take every precaution necessary to protect you from other wolves that may want you– barring Changbin, naturally.

It takes you no more than a few minutes to get to their den thanks to his speed, and just as before you closed your eyes and clung to him tightly as he wove through the trees to get there. Thankfully, it seemed Changbin did a good job at relaying that the leader wants everyone gone until morning, as the only sight you are met with inside is him sweetly and excitedly waving as Chan approaches with you in his arms.

Just like the first time, Changbin trails close behind on the way to Chan’s room, locking the door for security when you’re all inside. You’re set down on the bed, with Chan putting your discarded clothing on his nearby armchair before he’s sitting next to you. Changbin also wastes no time getting his clothes off again, to which Chan stares at him incredulously until Changbin replies with a simple “what?”, causing Chan to scoff in disbelief and you to giggle.

Changbin sits on your other side, his hands in his lap as he waits for whatever it is Chan is going to do next; and he may be jealous, but he won’t interfere with whatever his elder wants to do with you, even if it means all he gets to do for the remainder of the night is watch.

Chan reaches out, pushing your hair behind your shoulders and exposing your neck, to which Changbin instinctively swallows. He resisted last time, only scraping your skin with his teeth, but he wanted to bite you so bad that night.

It was a bit strange, considering he’d never had such an urge with previous partners; he liked them, of course, they were pretty, sexy, fun.. But he almost felt the natural instinct for a wolf to bite was either a myth or something he wasn’t meant to experience until he had you.

And maybe that’s why he felt so jealous when Chan captured your attention; Changbin has always been a jealous person, but it never felt this.. real, almost? Serious, and not entirely playful and fun-aligned as it usually was.

Changbin watches as Chan trails his fingers over your neck, the both of you instinctively holding your breath. He watches as Chan replaces his fingers with his lips, watches as he trails kisses over your skin, watches as his hands travel to your thighs and squeezes them. His jealousy mixes with excitement, softened cock beginning to harden once more, his fingers twitching and aching to touch you some more, but not acting on the desire; it’s Chan’s turn, he has to remind himself repeatedly.

Chan chuckles a bit when he pulls away and sees Changbin very clearly internally struggling; he’s so simple when it comes to things like this, incredibly easy to read. Once more, Chan grabs your face, but he does something new this time– he makes you tilt to the side, exposing the entirety of the right side of your neck to Changbin.

He licks his lips and swallows before tearing his gaze away from your neck to look at Chan, unsure of why exactly he’s exposing your neck to him like this. “Bite her. I know you want to,” Chan says much too casually for Changbin’s poor brain, his eyes widening in surprise as he practically gawks at his elder.

“W-What? But– I can’t, she’s–” he stutters out, and you’re surprised to hear him so flustered; you guess the rumors are true– wolves take mating and bites very seriously. It’s not something he’ll do on a whim, even if he desperately wants to.

“She wants you to. Wants both of us to,” Chan continues with a smile as he watches the gears turn in Changbins mind, “isn’t that right? Tell him, sweetheart.”

“’s true, I wanna be yours. Both of yours,” you tell him and Changbin groans, though you can’t tell if it’s from disbelief, pleasure, or a mix of both. He takes one of your hands in his, squeezing once more as he leans down to your neck, inhaling your scent as he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin.

“You’re sure..? This isn’t something you can take back,” Changbin asks between his hot kisses, and you affirm eagerly, that yes, you absolutely want this. “Together then?” he asks as he pulls away, looking at Chan with utmost seriousness.

Chan hums his agreement before he’s tilting your head backwards, your entire neck exposed to both of them. And though this is something you want, you can’t help but be nervous as they take their places on either side of your neck, their breath tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. “Relax, sweetheart,” Chan whispers soothingly, his hand coming down to find the one Changbin isn’t holding.

You let out a breath, doing your best to will you heart and nerves to calm; this will change your life forever, but it’s a change you accept wholeheartedly. Once the initial pain subsides, you know they’ll take the utmost care of you, they’ll make it all worth it. You feel their teeth start to prick your skin, their positions on your neck a true mirror of one another– the same placement on either side, marks that will show to the entire world that you have not just one mate, but two.

Chan’s fangs pierce your skin first, causing you to gasp and squeeze at their hands, crying out when Changbin’s own fangs follow shortly behind. It stings, but that initial pain dulls rather quickly, and you’re soon left with only the pleasurable feeling of belonging, of.. love?

Or maybe that's not entirely accurate given how this all came to be, but whatever it is transcends anything you've ever known or experienced in your life thus far. It’s unique, special, new– a fitting description for your newfound relationship, and all the emotions it conjures within you.

Changbin is the first to kiss you when they seperate from your neck– and it's to be expected, he just can't help himself. But possessive though he can be, intentional or otherwise, he pulls away rather quickly, giving Chan his opportunity to kiss you too– because it’s not just him you belong to, and he wants to make it clear that even when he’s clingy, or jealous, or pouty, he’ll never do a single thing to jeopardize what the three of you have together.

He simply hugs you as Chan kisses you, his lips ghosting over the mark he left behind, soothing a sting that no longer exists. You wondered, when you were back at home in your cottage in the clearing, if it was okay to miss them. Was it foolish, did it even make sense to want to see them again?

But you feel you’ve found your answer– you were meant to miss them, were supposed to feel a tug in their direction, were supposed to find them irresistible in every aspect, to desire them with all that you are. They are meant for you, and you for them, and maybe everything up to this point happened the exact way it was supposed to; and now you were truly where you belong.

Though Changbin should keep his hands and lips to himself given that it’s Chan’s turn to have his fun with you, he really can’t help himself. You’re sure Chan notices, as he notices everything when it comes to the both of you, but he doesn’t scold, tease, or pull you away.

As fun as it would be to make you both whine and pout, this is a moment that will never be replicated– to bite someone like this is an act that you hopefully only do once in your lifetime. For the first night of belonging to each other at least, he’ll loosen the reins of his control just a bit for Changbin’s sake.

Chan guides you, and in turn Changbin, to lay back. Changbin's back hits the wall, while yours rests against his chest, where he cups and grabs your breasts from behind, squeezing and playing with them to his heart’s content while Chan continues to kiss you. His tongue slides in your mouth when Changbin’s rolling and pinches of your nipples causes your mouth to open with a moan, Chan’s own hand traveling between your legs, his fingers becoming quickly coated in your slick.

Your body jolts when he rubs your clit, instinctively squirming and avoiding his direct touch– because even though it’s the first time either of them are touching it tonight, you’ve been abusing it all week whilst chasing your (unsuccessful) orgasms. It’s tender, sensitive– and you say so, a tremble in your voice as you try to make Chan understand that the feeling is just too much right now.

“It’s too much?” he questions, and you’d think his tone was one of genuine concern were it not for his smirk giving away that he doesn’t very much care if the feeling is overwhelming you, “but you’re making such pretty sounds for us. And I thought you needed to cum? Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Y-Yes, but–” you start but Chan quickly shushes you, another roll of his fingers making your eyes roll back as you continue to squirm. Your hands instinctively go to his wrists, simply holding them as you know you’d never actually be able to push him away.

“But what? I’m giving you what you wanted, silly girl,” he says with a smile that you’d view as sweet if you didn’t know any better, “you should be thanking me. Go on, tell me ‘thank you’, nice and sweet, ‘kay?” Oh, he’s so mean– and Changbin is no better, because he feels it fair to remind you that apparent cuteness and loss of composure aside, he’s just as much a menace as his elder.

“Yeah, yeah, do it, pretty. We wanna hear it,” he says, close enough to your ear that it makes you shiver and squirm some more, whining in equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. Because even if it is overwhelming, it does still feel good– so good, you can’t help but cry.

“Th-Thank you, thank you,” you say between moans and gasping breaths, your nails digging into Changbin’s thighs now that you’ve released Chan’s wrists from your grasp. “Hmm, are you sure that’s all you wanna say? I think Channie-hyung expects more from you,” Changbin says with a grin you can’t see but can certainly hear.

He’s right, of course, but you have no idea how you’re supposed to string together a coherent sentence with the way they’re coordinating their touches to your body and talking to you. But you have no choice but to do your best, because the alternative is disappointing them, and you would never.

“Thank you– thank you for making me feel s-so good, thank you Channie, Binnie, th-thank you.” Choppy and hardly coherent through your whimpery moans your words may be, they seem satisfactory enough; Chan hums approvingly, and you can feel Changbin’s cock twitch against your back.

“That’s my good girl,” he smiles, increasing the speed of his fingers before he corrects himself, “our good girl.” You squeeze your eyes shut, legs twitching, entire body trembling, though you no longer instinctively squirm away from his fingers– your body has finally accepted it, you suppose. Apart from the tremble and shake in your legs, your body is otherwise limp, accepting of every bit of stimulation they bring you.

You’re close, they both know, but given the circumstances, Chan decides to be kind this time– he can make you beg and cry some more later, for now he should give his good bunny what she needs. “Gonna cum aren’t you, pretty bunny? Go ahead and let go, let us hear it,” Chan says, doing his best to apply more pressure with the pads of his fingers, though how sloppy you are from slick doesn’t make the task entirely effortless– not that he minds, of course; he likes the mess you’ve made between your legs.

You cry as you nod, head falling back against Changbin’s shoulder when his tugs and pinches to your nipples become harsher. You try to warn them before it happens, but you can’t– it hits you so hard that you can’t even utter any further noise, your mouth hanging open in silent cries as your eyes roll back and body tenses and untenses rapidly, gushing and making a further mess of Chan’s fingers and the mattress beneath you.

They both whisper praises in your ears, sweet encouragements and dirty words that further drag out the euphoria you feel. You’re not sure how much time has passed before you open your eyes again, feeling Changbin’s hands rubbing your hips and thighs while Chan strokes your cheeks, smiling sweetly at you, actually sweetly, as your senses return to you.

“There’s our girl,” he says after giving you a quick peck on the lips, “did such a good job, sweetheart.” He strokes your head as Changbin presses sweet kisses to your neck and shoulders, moving his hands from your thighs to wrap his arms around you in a soft hug.

“Channie, fuck me now?” you ask, because as breathless and nearing exhaustion as you are, you’re still eager to feel him inside you, and you won't be truly satisfied until you get another load of cum inside you– his specifically. His smile turns to a grin, his hands coming down to your hips, prepared to move you into whatever position he desires, “Course sweetheart, nights not over until I’m done with you.”

He flips you around effortlessly, Changbin catching you before you fall completely against him. He holds you upright while Chan adjusts the position of your hips, aligning his cock with your hole once he has you how he wants you. Changbin kisses you as Chan slides his way inside your heat slowly, swallowing every little noise that escapes you.

And really, you’re beyond wet and prepped enough for him to go fast if he wants to, but he doesn’t. Not entirely because he wants to tease you (though it does serve that purpose), but because he’s been so on edge this entire time that he’ll cum in record time if he doesn’t, and he’ll die before he lets Changbin last longer than him.

Changbin, who is happy to have your attention again, has his tail thumping excitedly against the mattress. You’re holding onto his shoulders for support as your tongues play together, gasping into his mouth when Chan is finally fully sheathed inside you, his hands digging into your hips whilst still trying to be cautious of his claws and their ability to pierce your delicate skin (though you don’t think you’d particularly mind if they did.)

Changbin brings a hand to one of your ears, stroking the soft fluff and causing you to whimper as you clench around Chan’s cock, earning you a grunt from behind, a clear sign that he felt it. It’s not meant to be a challenge against Chan’s ability to hold out, but he takes it as one– if anyone is going to break and cum fast, it won’t be him.

His hand comes around to your front, grabbing your neck with just enough strength to pull you back towards him. You gasp and whimper, turning your head as much as you can to look at Chan while he holds your neck. “Make our Binnie cum again while I fuck you, and then I’ll let you cum again too. Understand, bunny?”

You nod quickly as Changbin whines and his cock twitches. Our Binnie– he likes the sound of it more than he’d expect. Chan whispers a simple ‘good girl’ in your ear before he lets you go, letting you fall back into Changbin.

Your head lands on his chest, and he intends to lift you up to support you and shift himself into a position that’ll benefit the both of you, but it doesn’t seem you need it– your hands are instantly on his cock, your tiny hands wrapping around and stroking as much as they are able. He groans and grabs your face, lifting it up enough so that he can lean down to kiss you.

Your pace falters when Chan finally starts to roll and thrust his hips, but you do your best to keep steady, determined to perform well and be allowed to cum again. You’re gasping, whimpering, crying as Chan’s pace turns to one you can only describe as purely animalistic– and fair, you admit, given how much self restraint and composure he had to hold until now. The fact that he even went this long before losing it is a herculean feat.

Despite that, he is still firm on the idea that he absolutely will not cum before either of you do, so he reaches around and grabs one of your hands, taking it away from Changbin’s cock and bringing it up instead to one of his twitching ears. “Wanna see our Binnie really lose it? Rub his ear, he’ll go crazy.”

“Hyung–” he opens his mouth to protest as his face starts to flush, seemingly embarrassed that his weak spot is being called out. The complaint dies in his throat however when your fingers softly rub over his ear, a gaspy whine coming out instead as his hips jolt up into the other hand still on his cock.

“Fuck, shit-” he weakly whines while Chan smirks in victory– though the smirk doesn’t last very long, as he truthfully isn’t fairing much better than Changbin in regards to how good you’re making him feel. Maybe in the end, his plan backfired– because each noise that Changbin emits causes you to clench harder; but he still has other ideas in mind to make the two of you cum first.

Chan’s fingers find your clit again, making your body jolt and your hands grip at Changbin harder– on both his poor, sensitive cock and equally sensitive ear. He curses again, eyes rolling back for the second time, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as his hips once again unconsciously thrusts upward.

It reaches a point where he’s essentially doing all the work, your fist almost entirely still while Changbin fucks your hand. His hands dig into the sheets, almost tearing them as he clenches at the fabric between his fingers. “O-Oh fuck, ’m gonna cum– harder, touch me harder, please–”

Butterflies explode in your stomach, having never expected to hear Changbin beg the way you are usually made to. You do as he asks, you’d never dream otherwise; your fingers grip him harder, squeezing his cock and rubbing harsh circles on the soft ear in your hand. The thump of his tail is erratic, his breaths harsh as his head falls back, cum shooting on your hand and his stomach.

When he opens his eyes and lifts his head, he’s met with the sight of you licking his cum off your hand before your scooping up the mess he made on his stomach with your fingers. You stick them in your mouth, licking them clean and then sticking out your tongue to show him it’s all gone when you’re done, twisting your neck after to show Chan too.

“F-Fuck,” Chan stutters a groan, pulling out long enough to flip you back around, your back hitting the mattress as Changbin moves to the side to watch. “Such a good girl, cleaning him up without having to be asked, should– fuck, should reward you, shouldn’t I?”

But he already promised you could cum if Changbin did, so what’s the next best reward he could give you? “What do you want? Tell me, bunny, and I’ll give it to you,” he decides to simply ask as he slides back into your wet warmth, resuming the harsh pace he’d set before you flipped back around.

“K-Kiss? Can we kiss?” you ask and he chuckles, stroking your cheek as he brings his face close to yours, close enough that your noses are touching and you can feel his breath against you.

“That’s it? That’s all you want?” he asks, unable to suppress the smile when you quickly nod, “Bin’s gonna get jealous, y’know. You’ll have to make it up to him after.” But before you can reply, he’s kissing you, tongue shoving it’s way in your mouth.

Chan’s pace is fast and not entirely accurate, but God, he’s trying– and you perfectly understand, because even with the cool exterior he exudes, you can tell he’s barely been holding it together. He’s utterly gorgeous like this too, sweat dripping and jaw clenched, brows scrunched and veins popping from exertion, pretty lips glossy from your kisses just prior.

He finds your clit once more, desperate to make you cum first, but his fingers are quickly replaced by Changbin’s, allowing him to focus purely on his own pleasure. Chan’s hands grab your legs and keeps them held open, his cock going as deep as it can go.

“So perfect, perfect bunny for us,” Chan grunts as his head falls to your neck, lips ghosting over the mark he made with fangs. Changbin brings his other hand to one of your ears, rubbing the base in the same way you rubbed his, while his fingers on your clit rub in quickly practiced circles. “Yours, ‘m yours and Binnie’s, bunny just for you,” you affirm, body shuddering when Chan groans in response.

He’s close, so fucking close, but you have to cum first– so he closes his eyes and tries to focus on hitting the spot that makes you see stars, working to stave off his release as long as he can possibly can. And he’s successful, Thank God– between his perfect thrusts and Changbin’s fingers, you’re cumming again in no time at all, the wet spot beneath you growing as you drench Chan in your release.

He grunts, thrusts reverting back to their sloppier rhythm as he chases his high, his grip on your thighs sure to leave bruises behind. A string of curses leave him as he finally cums, filling you to the point it leaks even as he’s still fully pressed inside.

Your eyes are closed, heavy with exhaustion, but you hear them talk to each other as they wipe your sweat away and clean you up between your thighs. One of them picks you up, Chan you think, while the one you assume to be Changbin changes the sheets for him, absolutely filthy after the night you just shared.

Tired and not entirely conscious as you are, you still snuggle into the chest of the one holding you, and it’s confirmed it’s Chan when you hear him chuckle and whisper something about you being “sweet and cute.” You tiredly whine when you’re put back down, eyes still closed but missing the warmth you were enveloped in, and hear them once again chuckle before you feel them on both sides, pressed against them in the middle.

With a struggle, you blink awake, body heavy and eyes still impossibly tired, the darkness surrounding you making it near impossible to tell what time it is. It's clear you're still in their den, and wolves dens are always dark given their nocturnal nature.

You're laying on your back, you realize, Changbin’s arm slung over your stomach while Chan, who is also apparently awake, is stroking your head as he looks at you. “You didn’t sleep?” you ask quietly and he shakes his head, whispering his reply back to you.

“It’s still the middle of the night, sweetheart. We never sleep at night– but well, after what you did to Changbin, he was out as soon as he got comfortable next to you. Couldn’t stay awake even if he wanted to.” You quietly giggle, turning your head to catch a peek at him. He looks cute, peaceful– you give him a soft peck on his cheek before you turn your attention back to the awake Chan.

“He’d lose it if he was awake during that, y’know. He loves cute shit like that,” he says and you smile– you can tell, it’s obvious; Changbin is a bit of an open book, you think. “What about you?” you ask and he scoffs a little, turning his gaze away as a slight smile peeks out on his lips.

“Course. I just don’t make it as obvious as that idiot. Seriously, we have a reputation to maintain.” You peck his cheek, and he scoffs again, trying to hide the growing smile and retain the cool image. “Don’t start– you’re gonna make me as bad as him.”

“Is it going to be morning soon..?” you ask as you lower your head back to the pillows. “It will be in a couple hours,” he replies, turning back to you with a more serious expression, “you need to go back home, yeah? Can’t stay here?”

You frown as you nod, a strange feeling of loneliness filling your gut at the idea of leaving them behind to go back to your cottage. “Grandmother needs me..” you tell him and he hums in understanding, careful not to expose the ache in his chest that you’ll be parting soon– whether that’s courtesy of the mating bite or if it’s feelings he’d have regardless he can’t entirely tell.

“We’ll figure something out. Just get some more rest for now, okay? I’ll be right here.” You nod and close your eyes, relaxing further when you feel him start to stroke your head again. When you shift slightly for comfort, Changbin instinctively holds you tighter; even in his sleep, he has to make sure you’re close.

There’s a lot you’ll have to confront come morning, but you decide to follow Chan’s words and leave it until then. You lay one of your hands atop the one Changbin has resting on your stomach, and use your other to touch Chan, humming happily when he brings his own over to hold it.

For now, you’ll fall back to sleep, you’ll indulge in the safe comfort you feel while sandwiched between their bodies, holding their hands, secure in the knowledge that even though your life will be drastically different from now, it’s what will make you happiest. A bunny and her two bad wolves, who aren’t actually as bad as they seem– this is where you belong.

#i tried to give them equal attention but my bin bias may have come thru dgsdfg i'm sorry !!!#skz x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #changbin smut #werewolf au #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

794 notes · View notes

tiiraameesu · 1 month ago

Text

The One That Got Away Pt. 1

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af

NOTESજ⁀➴ hi im new here so pls be kind! do feel free to dm me if any of my content offends you! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

wcજ⁀➴ 7.0k

The ice rink was alive with excitement as the final seconds of the game ticked away. The roar of the crowd echoed throughout the stadium, a sea of faces clad in school colors, jumping to their feet in anticipation. On the rink, the Arctic Aces were poised for a victory, the puck at the feet of their captain, Gojo Satoru.

With a deft flick of his stick, Gojo sent the puck careening toward the goal. The opposing goalie was caught off guard, a split second too slow, and the sound of the puck hitting the back of the net sent the crowd into an explosion of cheers.

“GOAL!” the announcer bellowed, but the noise from the stands already drowned out everything else. Gojo’s teammates rushed towards him, lifting him into the air as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. The victory was theirs.

You sat in a quieter corner, slightly detached from the chaos of the bleachers, the game still playing out in the background. Your notebook was open in front of you, its pages filled with half-finished lyrics, the melody lingering in your mind, yet elusive. At the bottom of the page was a small doodle—just a simple, almost careless sketch of Satoru’s jersey number. You hadn’t meant to draw it, not really, but there it was, a subtle tribute to the guy whose presence always seemed to fill a room without trying.

With a soft sigh, you closed the notebook, the sound nearly lost amidst the cheers echoing around you. You slipped it into your bag and rose to your feet, your gaze briefly lingering on the jubilant team celebrating in the center of the rink.

You clapped along with the rest of the crowd, your smile wide and genuine as the team gathered at the center of the rink, already celebrating. It was hard not to feel a surge of pride yourself, even if you weren't directly involved. You’d been there for the highs and lows, through every game, every practice. And now, here he was, surrounded by his teammates, basking in the glow of victory.

From across the rink, you spotted him.

Gojo’s eyes were immediately drawn to you in the crowd, his expression lighting up with that familiar, cocky grin. The chaos around him seemed to blur, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of you. He nodded in your direction, his gaze lingering on you as the celebration continued around him. His eyes said it all—pride, admiration, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart gave a soft jolt, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips in response. You clapped harder, cheering for him as your eyes met his, silently acknowledging the bond that had existed between you for as long as you could remember.

The celebration around you continued, the sound of clapping and cheers echoing in your ears as you remained at the edge of the stands, watching Gojo and his teammates bask in their hard-earned victory. The pride in his eyes when he’d glanced over at you made your heart skip a beat, but you quickly pushed the fluttering feeling aside. This was his moment, and you were happy for him—just like always.

As the team began to make their way off the rink, you slowly made your way toward the back hallway where they would head to change. You’d been in this routine for years: waiting outside the locker room for Gojo to finish, stealing a quiet moment together before he went off to celebrate with his teammates.

You turned the corner and found yourself face to face with a small group of girls—other members of the team’s girlfriends, their laughter and chatter filling the hallway as they stood near the entrance to the locker room. They were all dressed up, their excitement just as evident as the boys’ on the rink. The sight of them made your heart thump a little faster, the realization creeping up on you that you, too, were here waiting for Gojo.

It wasn’t that you didn’t belong here. You’d been doing this for years—being there for him after every game, every victory, even after every loss. It was just that... well, in this moment, it hit you all at once: the way you were standing there, waiting like everyone else, but your connection to Gojo wasn’t like theirs. You weren’t his girlfriend, not in the way they were to their boyfriends. You were his best friend.

You flushed at the thought, suddenly acutely aware of the blush creeping up your neck. Was it silly to feel this way? To feel just a little out of place, even though you knew—deep down—that your relationship with Gojo was different. Special, in its own way. But still, it didn’t stop that feeling of awkwardness from bubbling up. You knew you had no claim over him in the way they did. You were just... well, his best friend.

Still, the thought made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and as you stood there, trying to seem casual, your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the strap of your bag.

The door to the locker room swung open, and soon, Satoru emerged, his white jersey drenched in sweat, a cocky grin plastered across his face. He jogged toward you, his energy undiminished by the physical toll of the game.

The moment your eyes landed on him, all your thoughts seemed to vanish. Everything—the other girls, the lingering self-doubt—faded away. There was only Gojo, glowing with the thrill of victory, and the familiar rush that came with being near him. It was like slipping into something comfortable, and just like that, your nervousness was gone, replaced by the ease of a banter that had become second nature.

"Well, well, well," he teased, stopping in front of you, out of breath but practically glowing with energy. "Were you actually watching this time, or were you scribbling in that nerd journal of yours again?"

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" you replied, a teasing glint in your eye. "Maybe I was writing an exposé about how predictable your moves are on the ice."

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if offended. "Predictable? You wound me!" He leaned in a bit closer, eyes sparkling with playful mischief. "Did you see that shot? I’m the best, and you know it."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a towel, handing it to him. "You're okay, I guess," you said, shrugging like you were just barely impressed.

Satoru took the towel with a grin, pretending to be hurt by your indifference. "Oh, come on, I expected more from my number one fan!" He draped the towel over his shoulders, exaggerating his disappointment. "Here I am, out there scoring game-winning goals, and all you’ve got is ‘you’re okay’?"

You smiled, amused by his theatrics. "Well, you know, someone has to keep your ego in check."

Gojo grinned, clearly not ready to let the playful banter end. He tilted his head slightly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. He wiped his face with the towel, still looking at you with that teasing smirk.

"You’re no fun," he remarked, a hint of disappointment in his tone as he playfully shook his head. Then, his expression shifted, his voice turning a bit lighter but with an eager undertone. "But hey, speaking of fun... you’re coming to the party, right?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference as you folded your arms. "I don’t know… I’ve got a lot of important nerd journaling to catch up on."

Gojo’s expression immediately shifted, pouting dramatically as if you had just crushed his dreams. "What? No way! You can’t just leave me hanging after I win the semi-finals for us!" His hand came up to his chest in mock offense. "I’ve got a whole celebration planned, and it’s not the same without my favorite person there."

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upwards despite your best efforts to resist. "You’re unbelievable."

Gojo stepped closer, his tone turning slightly more pleading, though still playful. "Come on, please? I’ll even save you a spot by the snacks, I promise." He added with a wink, "You know I’m much more fun when I’m not around all these crazy fans. I need someone who can keep me grounded."

You glanced at him, considering it for a moment. It wasn’t like you had any other plans, and honestly, it had been a while since you’d just hung out with him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to join the chaos for once.

"Alright, fine," you relented with a sigh, though you couldn’t help but smile at the victory in his eyes. "I’ll come. But if you make me regret this, I’m leaving early."

Gojo’s grin returned in full force, and he playfully pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Victory! You’re the best, you know that? Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior," he said, though it was clear from the sparkle in his eyes that he was definitely not going to keep his promises.

The party was in full swing when you arrived. Gojo had given you and a few of his teammates a lift, and as soon as you stepped inside, the vibrant atmosphere hit you. The music was loud, the lights dimmed just enough to set the perfect party mood, and people were already dancing, laughing, and enjoying the night.

Gojo, as always, was in the center of it all, surrounded by teammates and friends, a bright grin on his face. He turned to you with that familiar gleam in his eye, his excitement contagious.

As soon as you stepped inside, Gojo grinned at you, his excitement clearly building. "Told you this would be worth it," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "See? Not so bad, right?"

You shook your head, laughing lightly. "Alright, alright. You were right. But I’m still not convinced this is my scene."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning closer with that characteristic smirk. "You’ll warm up to it. Just give it time."

Before you could respond, a couple of teammates called out to him from across the room, pulling his attention away. With a quick, almost apologetic smile, he waved at you before being swept into their conversation, his laugh carrying over the noise. You watched him for a moment, his energy like a magnet for those around him, before turning toward the snack table.

The music pulsed around you as you picked through the snack table, finally grabbing a drink. You popped it open with a satisfying crack and took a sip, letting the coolness settle in your hand as you surveyed the party. It was a lot—too much for you to dive into right away, but you were managing. The hum of conversation, the laughter, the occasional burst of songs—it all blended into the background.

"You look like you're in your element," a voice said from beside you, breaking your moment of observation.

You turned to find Geto Suguru, another member of the Arctic Aces, leaning casually against the snack table, a grin playing on his lips. He wasn’t as flashy as Gojo, but there was something laid-back and steady about him that made his presence comforting. His dark hair framed his face as he looked at you, his usual calm demeanor offering a contrast to the louder energy around you.

"Yeah, I’m just trying to keep up," you said with a smirk, raising your drink in a mock toast.

Geto chuckled, glancing around the room before his eyes landed back on you. "I get it," he said, that easy grin of his showing. "It’s a lot to take in if you’re not used to it. But hey, sometimes it’s fun just watching the chaos unfold without jumping in headfirst."

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your drink. "Yeah, I’m more of an observer. Not sure I get the hype about all this, but I guess it’s not the worst way to spend a night."

"Fair enough," Geto said with a shrug. "It’s not for everyone. But, you know, there’s something about a party like this—it brings people together. Everyone’s just here to have fun and let loose, no pressure." He looked back toward the group near the center of the room, grinning as a few of his friends got into a debate about something, probably over a game. "But hey, not everything has to be high-energy. You can always hang back and enjoy the quieter moments too."

You nodded, spotting a few people hanging out on the couches, chatting quietly. "True. A little peace in the middle of all this madness wouldn't hurt."

Geto’s grin widened. "Exactly. No need to dive into the madness if you don’t want to."

You both stood there for a moment, casually observing the party, and for the first time that evening, you felt a little more at ease.

"So," Geto broke the silence, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. "There’s a beer pong game going on over there. You in? It’s chill, nothing too serious."

You looked over at the table where some of his friends were already setting up. A couple of cups lined up, a few people tossing ping pong balls with varying degrees of success.

"Beer pong?" you asked, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m not sure I’m ready to show off my amazing skills yet."

Geto smirked, clearly enjoying the teasing. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll blow everyone away. Or, you know, at least keep us entertained." He nudged you with his elbow. "Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I promise no one's going to make you do anything too crazy."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, the idea sounding better than the noise of the dance floor. "Alright, alright. But if I end up losing, you’re taking the blame."

Geto laughed. "Deal. Let’s go—just try not to throw off my perfect winning streak, yeah?"

With that, he led the way over to the beer pong table, the two of you joining the group already gathered around. You felt a little more relaxed now, ready to see how this party game would unfold.

The beer pong game was in full swing, and you found yourself leaning into the rhythm of it, despite your initial hesitation. Geto was on your team, and with his laid-back demeanor, he made the whole thing feel a lot less intense than you’d expected. On the other side of the table was Shoko, laughing softly as she lined up her shot, her usual cool demeanor only slightly cracked by the casual fun of the game. Her relaxed approach made her a surprisingly good opponent, and she had a knack for landing her shots effortlessly.

"Alright, you’re up," Geto said, giving you a playful nudge as he grabbed another cup from the table and set it back in place. "Don’t mess this up, we’ve got a streak to keep."

You chuckled, grabbing the ping pong ball and eyeing the cups across the table. "No pressure, right?" you teased, though you could feel a slight tension in your fingers as you focused. With a flick of your wrist, the ball bounced off the edge of the table and landed neatly into a cup.

"Nice!" Geto grinned, his usual calm facade replaced by a proud smirk. "Guess you did have it in you."

"Yeah, yeah," you said with a smile, taking a step back as Shoko raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed.

The game continued, with a few more players hopping in and out of the action, each one bringing their own unique flair to the table. As the game wore on, the noise and chaos of the party became more distant, like a buzz in the background of your focus. The cups kept getting fewer, and despite the light-hearted teasing and competition, you were starting to enjoy yourself.

Finally, after a round where you successfully sunk another ball, you stepped back, leaning against the edge of the table and catching your breath. The game was getting intense, and you felt the adrenaline picking up, but you decided to take a small break. Your eyes wandered, searching the crowd for a moment of calm.

And then you spotted him.

Gojo.

He was dancing with a cheerleader, a girl you’d seen around campus but never paid much attention to. But this time, the way he moved with her was different—charged. He was still his usual animated self, effortlessly spinning and swaying, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the way they fit together. They laughed, their bodies gliding and shifting in sync, a fluid rhythm that felt more intimate than anything you’d seen before. His hands brushed against her lower back with a confidence that made your chest tighten. There was a certain spark between them, the kind that you couldn’t ignore—like they were feeding off each other’s energy in a way Gojo had never done with anyone else.

The playful, carefree smile he wore was still there, but there was a deeper connection in the way he held her, a closeness that felt charged and electric. It wasn’t the usual flirtation, the casual touch-and-go kind of connection Gojo had with the girls who passed in and out of his life. No, this was different.

You quickly tore your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself—not exactly—but something about the scene unsettled you. Maybe it was the raw, undeniable chemistry between them, or maybe it was the fact that Gojo, the one who never seemed interested in anything serious, was making you feel like an outsider in his own world. You tried to shake it off, refocusing on the game, but the lingering feeling wouldn’t go away.

"Hey, you good?" Geto’s voice broke into your thoughts, but you hadn’t noticed him watching you. His tone was casual, no hint of suspicion, just his usual calmness.

"Yeah, just catching my breath," you replied with a small smile, grabbing another drink from the table as if nothing was amiss. "This game’s getting competitive."

Geto nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, that's what makes it fun." He motioned to the cups in front of him. "Your shot next."

You pushed the moment with Gojo out of your mind, focusing back on the game as if nothing had distracted you at all.

The game continued with the usual back-and-forth banter and some impressive shots, but you couldn’t shake the growing feeling that your attention was divided. The lively energy of the game was fun, but your thoughts kept drifting back to that moment you had seen Gojo dancing with the cheerleader. It wasn’t anything that should’ve bothered you, but for some reason, it did.

Shoko tossed the ball at the cup with a confident flick of her wrist, sending it into the last cup with a victorious cheer. "Yes!" she exclaimed, raising her hands in triumph. "We win!"

You blinked, realizing you were so distracted by your own thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed the last round coming to an end. You let out a small laugh, trying to shake off the distraction. "Guess I lost focus there."

Geto leaned back with a playful grin. "Yeah, I noticed. You okay? You seemed a bit out of it."

You gave him a small shrug, not wanting to dwell on the weird feeling that had taken over you. "Yeah, just... a little distracted."

Shoko was already high-fiving the others, and a few people started gathering around to congratulate her. You felt the buzz of the crowd all around you, but it was starting to feel a bit too much, and you needed a break.

"Alright, I'm out," you said, pushing yourself up from the table. "Gonna grab some fresh air."

Geto gave you a lazy salute, looking half-amused. "Go on, take five. We’ll keep your spot warm."

You nodded, flashing a smile as you made your way through the crowd. The noise, the trashy music, the movement—it all felt too much, and you couldn’t quite place why your thoughts had been so scrambled. Maybe it was the way Gojo had been so carefree with the cheerleader, or maybe it was just the overwhelming energy of the party in general.

Once you made it outside, you stepped into the cooler night air, the sharp contrast immediately soothing your frazzled nerves. You leaned against the railing of the patio, taking a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. It was quiet here, a much-needed break from the chaotic energy inside. The noise of the party was muffled, distant, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just take it all in.

But as the fresh air settled your mind, the thoughts you’d been trying to ignore bubbled back up, more persistent now.

Gojo and the cheerleader—what had that been?

The way they danced so close, so natural with each other. It was like they had their own rhythm, their own unspoken connection. You could’ve brushed it off, but it was hard to ignore the tightness in your chest when you remembered how easily Gojo had slipped into it. He was always the life of the party, always the one drawing attention, always so effortless with everything, even with women.

A part of you—one you liked to keep tucked away—had always been amazed by how effortless Gojo made everything look. He just fit into the world, like he belonged. And yet, standing there now, in the cool night air, with that image of him twirling with the cheerleader flashing through your mind, you couldn't deny the pang of something… sharper. The way he looked at her, how easily he connected with her—it was all so natural for him.

And then, you remembered the words he'd said to you, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather: that he wasn’t really into relationships, that he wasn’t interested in finding a girlfriend. He didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want to complicate things with attachments. He just wanted to have fun. At the time, you’d respected that, admired his free spirit, and told yourself that it didn’t bother you. He had made his stance clear. No strings. No complications.

But as you stood there, feeling the chill of the night air against your skin, you found yourself wondering why it felt different now. Was it because you had thought, somewhere deep down, that maybe things were just… simpler with him? That you didn’t need to define what you were to still have moments that felt real? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sudden, inexplicable weight in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to focus. Why was this bothering you so much?

It wasn’t like you expected anything from Gojo. Hell, you didn’t even think he’d look at you the way he looked at others. He had made that perfectly clear. And you had always told yourself that was fine. You were fine with it.

But then, seeing him with someone else, laughing with her, so at ease—it stirred something inside you. Something you hadn’t really known how to name, and certainly hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated with yourself. It shouldn’t matter. You barely knew him outside of these parties. Hell, you weren't even sure you were looking for anything at all. So why did it feel like something was missing when you thought about him with someone else? Why did it hurt?

You sighed deeply, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you like a fog. You hadn’t signed up for this. You hadn’t signed up for the confusing mess that your thoughts were becoming, nor for the overwhelming weight of emotions you hadn’t asked for.

As you stood there, trying to ground yourself, a loud cheer from inside cut through the quiet, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. The music and voices from the party had reached a fever pitch, the energy almost tangible, and for a moment, you were distracted by the chaotic buzz from within. The door felt like an escape, a safe boundary between you and everything that was swirling inside your chest.

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the railing and walked back toward the door. You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before stepping back inside. The noise hit you again—laughter, the clinking of glasses, a sense of collective joy—and you couldn’t help but feel out of place, as though your personal storm didn’t quite fit in with the party’s sunny atmosphere.

You made your way through the crowd, your eyes scanning the sea of faces, searching for something familiar, something to anchor you. That's when you spotted Geto, leaning casually against the wall, a half-empty cup in his hand. His sharp eyes met yours, and in that instant, you felt like he already knew something was off, even before you had a chance to say anything.

"Everything okay?" His voice was quieter than usual, soft but laced with an undercurrent of concern. The question hit you harder than you expected, and the tightness in your chest only worsened.

You forced a smile, but it was thin—barely a curve of the lips—and you knew Geto could see right through it. You shook your head, not ready to expose everything that was eating at you. "Yeah, just needed some air."

Geto didn't press, but his gaze lingered, measuring you with a quiet intensity. He wasn’t the type to pry, but he could read you like an open book. After a beat, his eyes shifted around the room, the calm in his demeanor a stark contrast to the growing chaos inside. Then, he looked back at you, his voice quieter still. "There's a lot going on in there... If you want to keep your peace, maybe it’s best you stay out here for a bit."

His tone wasn’t teasing. It was low, almost protective, like he was warning you to shield yourself from the storm brewing in the room. You frowned, a knot tightening in your stomach. Geto didn’t speak like this unless something was really going down.

"Why’s that?" you asked, your voice betraying the unease creeping up your spine.

He shrugged slightly, his faint smirk only half-formed, like he knew something you didn’t. But his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Just a little... drama brewing."

You tilted your head, still not getting it. But before you could ask again, a sudden eruption of noise crashed over you—loud cheers, boisterous shouts of encouragement. It felt like the entire room was vibrating with an unseen energy, something in the air urging everyone to push harder, get louder.

And, against every instinct telling you to stay out of it, your feet moved. Drawn toward the door, the buzz inside almost impossible to ignore. You stepped closer to the entrance, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, but before you could make sense of it, you saw them.

In the far corner, Gojo was kissing the cheerleader.

The world seemed to slow. The kiss wasn’t the playful, casual brush of lips you’d seen a thousand times before. This—this was different. It was slow, deep, intimate, a connection that felt effortless, yet so charged, as if every moment they shared was weighted with something unspoken. The way Gojo held her, the soft curve of her body against his—it was like they fit together in a way you’d never seen before.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart slammed against your ribs, too loud, too painful. This was no fleeting moment—it was real, it was them, and it made something inside you shatter in a way you couldn’t explain.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, the beat of your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Your body went numb, your vision narrowing as you tried to force yourself to look away, but you couldn’t. Every detail of that kiss, the way Gojo’s hand lingered on the small of her back, how she leaned into him as if there was no one else in the room, etched itself into your mind. It was too much. Too raw. Too real.

You felt cold, exposed, like the weight of the room had just pressed in on you, suffocating. The realization hit like a gut punch—Gojo, the guy who never did this, never gave anyone more than a fleeting glance or a brief touch, was suddenly offering someone else everything you had wanted to give him. The part of you that had always been there for him, the part that had waited and stayed in the shadows, felt torn wide open, vulnerable in a way that left you trembling.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. And in that moment, you knew—it was too late.

You stood frozen in place, heart pounding, the world around you blurring as you tried to force yourself to breathe. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. You blinked, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

That's when you felt Geto’s presence again, the way his gaze settled on you with an intensity that cut through the haze of your emotions. You could hear the concern in his voice, though it barely registered through the ringing in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

The question hit like a wave. You struggled to keep your composure, but the crack in your smile was all too obvious. You shook your head, the sharp edges of your thoughts scraping against your skull.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geto didn’t buy it. He stared at you, his gaze sharpening. He could see through every wall you tried to build, and for a moment, you felt like he was going to call you out. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave you a small, understanding nod, though his eyes were still full of that quiet concern.

“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “But if you need anything, I’m here.”

You nodded quickly, too quickly, like you were desperate to move on from this moment. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to feel any more. So, you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed a drink from the nearest table, your hands shaking as you wrapped your fingers around the cold glass. Without a second thought, you tilted the glass back and downed it in one shot, the burn of the alcohol stabbing through your throat.

It was harsh, but it was enough to take the edge off. Just enough to dull the sharp sting of everything crashing down on you.

You set the empty glass down, the room spinning a little as you steadied yourself. Your chest still ached, but at least it was bearable now. You didn’t know how much longer you could stay, how much more you could watch, how much more you could pretend that you weren’t falling apart.

“I’m gonna head home,” you muttered, already turning away.

Geto didn’t argue. He just gave you a small nod and a glance that said everything without saying a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you made your way out, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t. Not when you knew if you did, you’d break open in front of him.

You didn’t want to be seen like that. Not by anyone.

So you left.

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe. The city stretched out before you, the distant lights barely reaching up to where you stood. You knew you couldn’t just go home—not after everything that had happened tonight. Not when your mind felt like it was about to crack wide open.

Instead, you walked, each step purposeful, until you found yourself at the door of your studio. It was quiet here, isolated, the perfect place to think—or, at least, drown out everything with noise.

You shoved open the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of wood and old instruments hitting you like a wave. It was a strange kind of comfort. The walls were lined with guitars, and the sound of your fingers brushing against the strings felt like the only thing that could quiet the storm in your mind.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights—just went straight for your guitar. The soft, familiar shape of the acoustic greeted you like an old friend, and you sat down on the edge of the old couch in the studio, fingers instinctively resting on the strings.

You strummed a few chords, the sound mellow and comforting in the silence of the room. It was familiar, something that had always calmed your mind. But tonight, it felt... hollow. The notes felt small, contained, like they couldn’t fully capture the mess swirling inside you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the song you were playing, but your fingers faltered. The music wasn’t matching what you felt.

What was it that you were searching for? You didn’t know. It was the kind of feeling that started in your chest and spread through your body, but the acoustic guitar didn’t have the power to express it. It wasn’t the quiet melancholy you’d often poured into your songs. No, this was something else—something more urgent, more intense. Something that, as much as you hated to admit it, made you think of Gojo.

You closed your eyes, letting the last chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too thick, too heavy.

It was his smile. His laugh. The way he seemed to move through the world like he had everything figured out, with no hesitation or doubt. It was the way he looked at her—the cheerleader—like there was nothing but the two of them, and how effortlessly they seemed to fit together. There was something so... easy about it. Something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your chest tighten.

You set the guitar down with a frustrated sigh and stood up, pacing around the room, the weight of everything pressing on you again. You thought about Gojo and the cheerleader. The way they moved together, so effortlessly, so sure of themselves. You thought about how he could be so light, so carefree, and how you were... not that. Not in the same way.

It was strange. You didn’t want what he had with her—what he could have with anyone, really—but there was something about it that made you wonder. Why was it so easy for him? And why was it so hard for you?

You grabbed the acoustic again, but this time, it felt even more distant. The softness, the quiet—none of it matched what you were feeling. You needed something more. But what was it?

power to express it. It wasn’t the quiet melancholy you’d often poured into your songs. No, this was something else—something more urgent, more intense.

You closed your eyes, letting the last chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too thick, too heavy.

It was strange. You didn’t want what he had with her—not in the sense that you wanted to be with someone else, but it made you wonder. Why was it so easy for him? The way he was with her, so relaxed, so certain. And why was it so hard for you to even acknowledge the way your heart twisted every time you thought about him, about the way he made you feel?

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe. The city stretched out before you, its distant lights flickering like they belonged to someone else. You knew you couldn’t just go home—not after everything that had happened tonight. Not when your mind felt like it was about to crack under the weight of all the thoughts crowding in.

Instead, you walked. Each step was mechanical, like you were trying to outrun something. Anything. And before you knew it, you found yourself standing at the door of your studio, its silence a sharp contrast to the chaos that had swirled inside the house. It was the kind of quiet you could lose yourself in—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You shoved open the door and stepped inside. The familiar scent of wood and old instruments hit you like a wave, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. It was strange—this place always felt like home, like the one constant you could rely on, but tonight it felt more like a refuge from something you couldn’t outrun. Something that had started the moment you’d seen Gojo with her.

Your fingers brushed the neck of your guitar as you sat down on the worn couch in the corner. The shape of the instrument was familiar, comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. You strummed a few chords, the sound soft and tentative, as if even the music knew you weren’t really here.

But the melody felt wrong. Hollow. Like it was a poor imitation of the storm inside you. The rhythm, the notes—they couldn’t capture what you were feeling, no matter how hard you tried to make them. Your fingers faltered, slipping on the strings as your mind wandered, unwillingly, back to the image of Gojo and the cheerleader. The way he’d kissed her, so easy, so effortless. Like there was nothing else in the world, like nothing had ever been more natural. It was all so... simple for him.

Your chest tightened, the air thick with something that wasn’t just frustration—it was something sharper, something you couldn’t define. Something that stung, deep and raw.

You closed your eyes and let the final chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too heavy, like the space between the notes was just as suffocating as the weight in your chest. The truth that you were trying to ignore came crashing down in a way you couldn’t escape: It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way he moved, the way he was with her—so light, so carefree. It was how he looked at her, the ease with which he seemed to fit into everything, into life.

And you... you couldn’t even breathe around him without wondering if you were doing everything wrong.

You set the guitar down with a sharp sigh, the sound too loud in the quiet of the studio. Standing up, you paced, unable to sit still as your thoughts collided with each other, sharper now, more frantic. What was it about him that made everything feel both so simple and impossible? The way he’d looked at her, the way they fit together—it felt so effortless, so right. You’d watched him move with her, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, you wondered if you could ever have that. But you weren’t like them. You weren’t that easy, that sure of yourself.

You grabbed the guitar again, but it felt even more distant this time. It was just another object, another tool, in a room full of things you used to make sense of the chaos. The soft notes, the gentle strumming—none of it matched the whirlwind inside you. You needed something stronger, something that could hold what you were feeling, but the music just wouldn’t come.

What was it you were really searching for? You still didn’t know. But you did know one thing: you weren’t ready to face it.

The guitar felt foreign now, the touch of it somehow wrong as you strummed another failed chord. The frustration built, and your fingers slipped off the strings again. Your thoughts turned back to Gojo—his laugh, his smile, the way he moved like he was untouchable. And, God, how easy it all seemed for him. Why was it so effortless for him to just... exist, and so impossible for you? Why did everything about him make you feel like you were drowning?

The last thing you wanted was for him to be in your head like this, but there he was. His face, his touch, that damn smile that seemed to slice through everything, leaving you exposed and uncertain. And what were you supposed to do with all of that?

You exhaled shakily, leaning back into the couch, the room spinning just slightly. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t anger. It was... something else. Something far more unsettling. You tried to deny it, but it was there, festering beneath the surface—the way your heart twisted every time you thought about him.

You didn't want to want him. You didn’t even know how to want him. But there it was, the ache.

Maybe it was the feeling that you'd never quite measure up to whatever it was he had with her. Maybe it was the knowing that, no matter how hard you tried, you’d never feel the way he seemed to make it look—effortless, natural, right.

And all you could do was sit in the silence, that hollow ache growing louder, until the music was just noise, and nothing made sense anymore. PART TWO

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #angst #jjk #tiiraameesuTOTGA

137 notes · View notes

aixeko · 3 months ago

Text

──────‹𝟹 SINNERS SAVAGERY ༄ Ѽ✧

IF I'M YOUR SALVATION, WELCOME TO HELL.

2024 Halloween Event | Art credit: Efferwescent on Twitter

𖤐 SINNERS SAVAGERY | or ERISETOBER is an event that is a mix of Kinktober, Whumptober and Flufftober in a nutshell SMUT, ANGST & FLUFF with Halloween aspects. All prompts are made by me but some of the ones that inspired me are whumptober ofc, and this list.

𖤐 ONLY HONKAI STAR RAIL AND GENSHIN WOMEN For this year

𖤐 This will be my first time doing the October prompts stuff + I have another event going on so bare with me haha.

𖤐 !! WEEK 1 starts 6 to 13 !! !! WEEK 2 starts 13 to 19 !! !! WEEK 3 starts 20 to 26 !! !! WEEK 4 starts 27 to 31 !!

WEEK 1 | MONSTER AU | | ONESHOT

| Film | TILL DEATH DO US PART | Starring | Kafka as alien symbiote “Venom” x Host!Reader | Synopsis | A livelihood ripped away by the greed of humankind and faced with impending doom, an alien symbiote by the name of "Kafka" entered your life and made you her host. Originally, the monstrous being harbored one goal: to destroy everything planet Earth had to offer, but plans changed upon meeting you and thus, with her power, you both do whatever it takes to save the planet. Loathing was all that was bestowed toward the extraterrestrial parasitic, but as time passes, a long-lost feeling resurfaces, one that hasn't manifested since your heartbreak; of course, you would rather be brutally killed than confess your endearment. Unbeknownst to you, the woman has suspected you of such intimacy and, with her incredible adaptability to the complex human emotion, has a ploy to make you profess those three special words.

| Film | YOUR LORDSHIP | Starring | Yelan as Leviathan x Mortal!Reader | Synopsis | When the tempestuous waves crash against the shore and the sky turns a foreboding grey, human shells cower in fear as the mighty lord of the seas, Leviathan, awakens from the darkest pit of the deep, seeking for a human companion to aid her lonely voyage.

WEEK 2 | MYTHOLOGICAL AU | | ONESHOT

| Film | BEYOND THE IMAGINABLE | Starring | Clorinde as Medusa x Blind!Reader | Synopsis | Despised and misunderstood by the world, she was a victim of a scandalous man's wrongdoing, unfairly punished by heaven despite her innocence. During one fortunate day, the woman whose heart had turned to stone melt under the accursed spell of love, wholly captivated by a blind mortal who fell in love with her for who she truly was; even without sight, the virtuous human saw the very essence of her, the beauty within her soul.

| Film | OFFERING OF PURITY | Starring | Raiden Ei as Hades x Mortal!Reader | Synopsis | The townsfolk tell tales of a legend that speaks of how, once in a century, the moon would adorn itself in a deep crimson hue and illuminate its shade onto the world. Under its wrathful light, the god of hell emerges to wreak havoc, and the only way to banish such evil is to offer a youthful virgin mortal; only then will humankind live in another century of prosperity and peace.

WEEK 3 | ANIMATRONICS AU | | SMUTSHOT

| Film | FIVE NIGHTS AT STAR RAIL | Starring | Kafka, Himeko, Blackswan, and Acheron as the FNAF Classic Animatronics x Night-guard!Reader | Synopsis | A newspaper arrives at your doorstep, featuring a job opening for a night guard position at the famous Star Rail Pizzeria. Struggling financially, you quickly seize the golden opportunity. The job's only requirement is 5 nights of work, and if you succeed, you'll be hired as an official employee; what could possibly go wrong?

WEEK 4 | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU

| Film | MINDFUCK | Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader | Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night. With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late. So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.

258 notes · View notes

ongakusml · 1 month ago

Text

[AU in process] Wonderful mechanic.

#lost harbor au #bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #art #alice angel #twisted alice

307 notes · View notes

midnight-shadow-cafe · 3 months ago

Text

Masterlist

Key:

Fluff ☕️

Spice🍵

Angst🫖

Smut✨

Requests: OPEN

Note: I do write for a lot of people, if you request something I will try to fulfill it! I’ll also update this as I go, but please enjoy my work!💜✨ dividers by @saradika-graphics

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Call of Duty

Task Force 141

John “Bravo-6” Price

Imagine This 🍵☕️

A Different Kind of Noise (Part 1) 🍵☕️🫖

A Quiet Storm (part 2) 🍵☕️🫖✨

Safe Harbor 🫖☕️

Under The Mistletoe ☕️

A Christmas to Remember ☕️

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish

Caught in the Crossfire 🫖🍵☕️

Until We Meet Again ☕️

The Perfect Blend ☕️🫖🍵

Snowbound Hearts ☕️

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Caught in the Crossfire 🫖🍵☕️

Bringing Him Home ☕️🫖

Warmth in the Winter ☕️

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Behind the Mask ☕️🫖

A Different Kind of Noise (Part 1) 🍵☕️🫖

A Quiet Storm (part 2) 🍵☕️🫖✨

Closer than You Think ☕️

Welcome Home, Tough Guy ☕️

Sunshine & Shadow ☕️

Through the Static 🫖☕️

Blurred Lines ☕️

Christmas with the Riley’s ☕️

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?☕️

The Boys

141 x pregnant reader ☕️

König

Classified Affections 🫖☕️

Rekindled Flames ☕️✨

Unveiling Shadows ☕️🫖

Silent Nights and Bright Lights ☕️

Poly 141

Spoiled ☕️🍵

Beneath the Shadows ☕️🍵🫖

Engines and Affections ☕️🍵

Haunted Nights & Cozy Frights with the 141 ☕️

Where We Belong ✨🫖☕️

After Hours ☕️🫖

Mission: Birthday Surprise ☕️

Home for the Holidays ☕️

Series

Shadows and Paws (Hybrid 141 AU)

Chapter 1 🫖

Chapter 2 🫖☕️

Chapter 3 🫖☕️

Chapter 4 🫖☕️

Chapter 5 ☕️

Chapter 6 ☕️

Chapter 7 ☕️

———

Steel and Blossoms (Knight 141 x Healer Reader)

A Kingdom of Shadows and Steel 🫖☕️

Embers of Betrayal 🫖☕️

Marvel

Avengers

Steve Rogers

Home Again ☕️

Our First Christmas ☕️

James “Bucky” Barnes

In the Quiet of the Night ☕️

Silent Nights, Warm Hearts ☕️

Stucky

Bound by Love and War ☕️

Loki Laufeyson

Lost in Midnight Shadows ☕️🫖

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Babysitting the Babysitter ☕️

Under the Mall Lights ☕️

Lost in the Stacks ☕️

A Very Harrington Christmas ☕️

Eddie Munson

More Than Enough 🍵☕️🫖✨

Safe and Sound ☕️🍵

Under the Hood ☕️

Through Thick and Thin 🫖☕️

Full Throttle Heart ☕️

The Knight and The Princess ☕️🫖

Merry and Munson ☕️

Steddie

A (Prison) Break 🍵☕️✨

Soft Hearts, Healing Hands ☕️🫖

All I Want for Christmas Is You (And You) ☕️

The Walking Dead

Rick Grimes

Deal with the Devil ☕️🫖

Daryl Dixon

Long Time Coming ☕️🫖

Lost and Found ☕️🫖

Rickyl

A New Beginning ☕️🍵✨

Harry Potter

Marauders

James Potter

Under the Oak Tree ☕️🫖

Sirius Black

Between Stars and Moons ☕️🫖

Secrets of the Astronomy Tower ☕️🫖

Remus Lupin

Between Stars and Moons ☕️🫖

Poly Marauders

Bound by Love ☕️🫖

All Wrapped Up ☕️

Slytherin Boys

Serpents’ Courtship ☕️🫖

Golden Trio

TBA

Gladiator II

Emperor Geta

The Emperor’s Gaze ☕️🫖

The Emperor’s Gaze 2 ☕️✨🍵🫖

The Emperor’s Gaze 3 ☕️✨🍵🫖

The Emperor’s Soft Spot ☕️

196 notes · View notes

comfortless · 1 year ago

Text

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

896 notes · View notes