#the words fired and let you go were not used

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 51: Back To The Start

Summary: Now that you're back on base there's some adjustments that have to be made in order to make things as painless as possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,471 words

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, angst, emotions, flashbacks, PTSD, angst, military inaccuracies, weapons, angst, language, some rehashing of previous chapters events

A/N: So this went in a different direction than I planned but we'll get there soon enough. This story is going to be 392040 chapters long atp

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“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“We didn’t have any choice.”

“There were ways to do this that could have avoided bringing her here.”

John stares hard at Simon, into the gap in his mask where his eyes stick out. He had donned the mask before they left the cottage, reverting back to old habits. He knows why Simon does it, why Simon insists on keeping himself hidden from those outside his pack.

He would have preferred to have this conversation in his office, away from where you might overhear, but the alpha had been on him as soon as they were away from the rec room.

“Like what?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“We could have gotten an apartment.”

“She couldn’t be left there by herself. That would be too dangerous.” John counters.

“We could have taken her to one of our families. Let her stay with them.” Simon says.

“I don’t know how long this will take. It’s not fair for us to burden them with taking care of our omega.”

Simon stares at John for a long moment. “You’re afraid of separation.”

John swallows thickly. Of course Simon would be able to read him so easily. “The last time I left her I nearly lost her. I’m not willing to risk that happening again.”

“So you’ll keep her here where she’s unhappy?” Simon gives him a look. “What are we going to do when we have to train or run drills? We don’t have anyone to lean on this time. We can’t leave her in here alone.”

“One of us will stay here with her, or we’ll bring her with us. We’ve done it before.” John hates to admit that Simon is right, but there’s no other option. “It’s only for a few weeks. This is the best option and we’ll do our best to make this as painless as possible.”

Simon stands up straighter, getting close to him. “It’s going to be painful for her no matter what. She’s not like us, John. She can’t just forget.”

Simon brushes past him, heading down the hallway before turning left towards the rooms. John hates that Simon is so right, but he’s brought up good points. They don’t have Dr. Keller to lean on this time. He knows if he called she’d come back without hesitation, but he won’t. She’s moved on to her new life and she deserves to live it. He can’t leave you here alone again, not after what happened the last time he did that. He’s worried, but he knows there really is no other option for them. They have to do this, have to make it through the next few weeks and hope his paperwork gets processed sooner rather than later.

The couch is just as uncomfortable as you remember. It never was comfortable, but it was what you had available. Now, after seeing what you could have, it’s almost unbearable. You miss the soft couches, the soft light, the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. You miss the soft colors and the warmth, the freedom that the cottage presented.

Now you’re trapped back in a prison, a prison of nightmares. It’s not just unwelcoming, it’s depressing and full of horrible memories. Broken promises, insecurity about yourself and your pack, anxiety about every aspect of your life, fear that something might happen to you or your pack, terror from the threat on your life. So much heartbreak has happened here that being back in it feels as if your heart is breaking all over again.

“I know it’s hard.” Kyle says softly. Your head is pillowed in his lap, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. There’s a blanket tossed over you, one Johnny had dug out of the boxes currently stacked in the hallway.

They’d abandoned unpacking and moving boxes as soon as your panic attack happened. If you weren’t so upset still, you’d almost find it endearing. How much they’ve changed from the cold, battle-hardened soldiers you met over a year ago.

Johnny is cleaning the rec room, keeping his hands busy after affirming you were going to be okay. Were you really? Debatable, but you knew he needed to do something. The barracks haven’t been cleaned in months and there’s quite the build up of dust across every surface. There’s a stale smell as well, not musty but like air that’s been stagnant too long. No one’s been inside to disturb it, to bring it back to life until now.

John and Simon went away to argue. You know that’s what happened as soon as Simon got you settled on the couch with Kyle. You wish John were in here now, comforting you, but you know they’re having a discussion leader to leader, alpha to alpha. What do we do? What can we do?

Nothing.

You can do nothing.

You’re stuck here in your nightmare until John’s retirement paperwork gets processed. That could take weeks. You’ll be stuck here in hell for weeks, forced back into old routines in a place you’ve always hated. Now you have even more reason to hate it.

Quiet footsteps approach the couch. Even after months they’ve never lost that ability. Always light on their feet, always agile and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. You’d never see it coming. You’re lucky McKinney had been far less skilled.

The thought of him sends a shiver down your spine, your leg aching where that scar is. You’ve tried not to stare at it, blanking your mind every time your fingers grazed over it in the shower. You wear a mark now like them. They all have those scars revealing close calls. Now you’ve had your own.

John sits down on the coffee table facing you. He leans his elbows on his knees, reaching out a hand to cup your face. His thumb is rough as it strokes your cheek, running over dried tear tracks. You managed to stop crying. That’s saying something.

“How are you?” He asks, his voice soft.

You almost scoff. “You want me to answer that?” You murmur.

“I know.” He breathes. “I should have thought about that before you came in.”

Yeah, you should have, you think. You wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

“We’ll get the door fixed and keep it closed.” He says. “You won’t have to go in there unless you want to.

I won’t want to. You’d be happy to never set foot in that room again.

“You won’t have to stay here alone, either. You’ll come with us if none of us can stay here with you.” He says, pulling his hand back. “We’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

It’s never going to be painless. Every moment spent here will be misery.

He stares at you for a long moment. You stare back, Kyle’s hand still in your hair, gently rubbing your scalp. There was a time you could have slept like this, but now you can’t relax. Your body is stressed, adrenaline high as fight and flight battle in your brain. You can’t do either, instead stuck in the limbo of freezing. You should feel safe, comforted by his words, his promises...but this is the place of broken promises.

“Now,” He says, putting his hands back on his knees. “We need to go check in, then we’ll get some dinner.” He gives you a weak smile. “Take a minute and breathe. Then we’ll go.”

He pushes himself up to stand, leaving the rec room. Johnny follows, but not before casting a glance your way.

Kyle pulls his hand away, resting it on your arm. “Come on,” He squeezes your arm gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You’re numb as you push yourself off the couch, your legs shaking just a bit from the drop in adrenaline and the nerves still coursing through you. You’re not sure which is worse, being trapped in the barracks or having to leave and face down the rest of the base.

Kyle takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom across the hall. He wets some towels with cold water before gently pressing them against your face. “I know,” He says, moving from one cheek to the other. “I’ll be glad once my paperwork’s in and approved. Won’t miss this place.”

His words don’t do much to quell the twisting in your stomach. “What about Johnny and Simon?” you ask quietly.

“They’ll stay here.” He says, pressing the paper towel against your forehead. “Simon will take over as leader of the team. He might work with Laswell to find new members, or it’ll stay just the two of them.”

“They’ll still get to see us, right?” You ask.

“Of course.” Kyle smiles, gently cradling the back of your head to press the towel over your eyes. “They’ll get to go on leave just like everyone else.”

He dabs at your face, the cool water helping calm your shaking body just a little. You can’t wait for the next few weeks to be over with, when you can leave this place in the dust and never have to return. You love Simon and Johnny but you wouldn’t come back here if your life depended on it. Even if it means going months without seeing them.

Kyle moves the towel to the back of your neck, his thumbs stroking your jaw as he holds it there. There’s a soft smile on his face as he stares down at you. “You’ll be alright. We’ll make sure of that.”

You wish you could believe him.

As much as you the to admit it, the cold water has helped a bit, grounding you out of your state of panic and nervousness slightly. You lean forward, wrapping your arms around Kyle’s waist. He tosses the paper towel towards the trash can where it lands with a wet plop. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest.

A moment of silence passes before you speak. “You missed that, didn’t you?”

He’s silent for a second. “...No…”

A small smile pulls at your lips as you hold him.

You wish you could say being outside the barracks was better than being in them, but that would be a lie. The nerves are back as the five of you walk towards the main building on base, the one in the center of everything. The last time you were there, you met General Shepherd for the first time, when the cameras were put up in your room. That idiotic moment when you left the barracks with a stranger.

Even now walking with your pack, you feel that nervous edge that had been there the first time. You’re in the middle of them, John leading the way, Kyle and Johnny on either side of you, and Simon picking up the rear. You remember all those times walking back and forth exactly like this. They only did it here, not when you went to town while you were at the cottage. Maybe because they knew you were more in danger here than out in the real world. These are well trained soldiers too, not easily intimidated like the average civilian.

It’s cool inside the building. Apparently no one on base has heard of heating. Not that it was really cold enough outside for it, but you’re beginning to crash from your heightened emotions and your body feels cold and shaky.

John guides you to a chair near the front, easing you down into it. His hand stays on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.” His fingers slide to your chin, lifting your face so you’re staring up at him. “You know what to do if someone approaches you.”

You nod. Whether or not you could actually do it is debatable. John stares down at you for a long moment before releasing you, turning his back to guide the rest of the pack away. You watch them go until they disappear behind a door, your nerves starting to pick up. There’s hardly anyone in the building aside from the stray soldier walking by. They give you hardly more than the occasional glance in passing. You doubt they’ve forgotten who you are in the months you’ve been away. Those orders still stand. They’re to leave you alone no matter what.

Time seems to crawl by, your legs starting to shake nervously as you wait for their return. John said it wouldn’t take long, but the minutes are starting to feel like hours. Time seems to pass differently here, slower than it did at the cottage. There’s more to be aware of here. You can’t relax in safety and security like you did there. Even when the threat of Shepherd was still looming over your heads there was still a sense of security at the cottage. You were far from anyone and everyone, free to do what you wanted.

Now you’re going to have to stick to a tight schedule, surrounded by the constant need for hypervigilance lest you face the threat of a cocksure alpha brave enough to approach you, even with your pack around.

That would always be a threat to you as an omega, but here it seems extra prevalent. Here there are rules, here there are expectations. They know better, but that hasn’t stopped them.

You let out a breath of air as your pack walks back through the door, heading towards you.

“Aright?” John asks, his hand on your back as you stand.

You nod. Are you really? Debatable, but nothing happened while they were gone so you have to say yes.

“Let’s get some dinner then we can work on unpacking.” He says, glancing at the rest of your pack before taking your hand.

You walk with him, the others following as you make your way towards the mess. It’s late enough it’s going to be full. You didn’t miss the mess. You didn’t miss having to eat in front of others at set times. The guys liked to keep a schedule, but it was your schedule at your own times. Now it’s entirely dictated by someone else.

You can’t wait to finally be free again.

John keeps his hand on your back as you enter the mess, eyes turning to you. They’re all staring, all glancing your way as you make your way to the line. They’re all wondering why you were gone for months, why you came back. They want to know but they never will. They’ll wonder again in a few months when you and John and then eventually Kyle drive away and never return, when it’s just Simon and Johnny showing up. You wonder if any of them will be the ones chosen to join the task force, which of them Simon would choose, if any.

You do wonder if he’ll choose anyone. It would be different, since they wouldn’t be part of your pack. You know Simon would never allow anyone else to join. It’s the five of you and that’s it. You have your dynamics, your balance settled. Anyone else runs the risk of disrupting it, turning it on its head.

Most of all, you know they wouldn’t be allowed near you.

John fills your tray for you, not forgetting his duties even back in this setting. At the cottage he made your plate, here he fills your tray with what he knows you might eat of the offerings tonight. It all looks so bland, so...beige. Formless slop with a side of mushy peas.

The five of you find a table near the back of the room, thankfully away from most of the prying eyes. You sit between Kyle and John, Simon and Johnny facing you. It’s like riding a bicycle, back to the automatic patterns even months spent away couldn’t break.

You stare down at the unappetizing meal on your tray, your mind already back to home cooked food, even if they were only okay at cooking. It was still infinitely better than this sad excuse for a dinner that you just know it’s going to be bland as hell.

They have no problems diving in. They’ve been eating this food for years, no doubt only thinking of nourishment and not what they’ve left behind.

You’re fighting tears as you attempt to cut what you think is chicken. It’s slightly tough, overcooked most likely. It doesn’t taste any better than how it looks, seasoned with hopes and dreams of what might have been good chicken. You wish you could go in there and cook your own dinner for your pack, give them the food they deserve to eat.

You pick at your food, eating and chewing slowly as you try not to think about it. You lived on this food for months, you even enjoyed eating it sometimes. You can do that again, slip back into that headspace where you had to do things, where you had no choice. You have no choice now?

“Everything okay?” John asks, glancing down at your still full tray.

“Yeah, just...not hungry.” You say. You’re starving, but you’re too busy grieving food with flavor and defined edges.

You should eat. There’s no snacks to go back to. They’re all probably expired and stale after months of sitting. Besides. Most of them are probably in your room anyway. The last place you want to go is in there, even out of desperation for some kind of good food.

“At least eat your peas.” John says, nodding to the mush of green in one of the sections of the tray. They don’t look in the least bit appetizing.

Tears gather in your eyes again as you acquiesce despite your reservations, spooning a bit into your mouth. They’re just as mushy and bland as they look, and you don’t waste much time chewing.

They’re all watching you as you eat, their own trays mostly clear. You feel a bit like a child forced to eat your vegetables before you leave the table. Shame burns hot in you and you quickly finish off your peas before downing the rest of your water.

“Good girl.” John says, patting your back before taking your tray. Your stomach is churning, and you feel a bit like you’re about to be sick, but you hold it down. This is the last place you want to cause a scene...another scene. You’ve already done that once.

You won’t be doing it again.

You cough a little as more dust flies up into the air. There’s a thick layer of it over everything and it’s currently being kicked up into the air by John’s dusting. You’re seated on his bed on a blanket, the sheets stripped to be washed. All of the washers are going right now, one for each of them filled with blankets, sheets, and clothes. Tomorrow they have to go back to wearing their uniforms again. You’ll miss the look of Simon’s ass in jeans.

There’s a bear in your arms, squeezed tight against your chest as you watch him clean his bookshelf. You’re trying to silence the quiet gurgling of your stomach. Whether it’s hunger or your body’s protest to the mushy peas you’re not quite sure.

“You doing alright?” John asks, deeply focused on cleaning the shelf he’s working on. The books are stacked next to him, each one getting a thorough wipe down.

“Yeah.” You say, rubbing some of the bear’s fur between your fingers.

“You want something to read?” He asks, glancing up at you.

You shake your head. “No, that’s alright.”

He sits back on his heel, pausing what he’s doing to stare at you. “You’re turning down a book?”

You shrug, dropping your gaze to the bear in your arms. “Just don’t feel much like reading right now.”

John hums before pushing himself up to stand. He sinks down on the bed next to you with a sigh, his arm wrapping around you to pull you against his chest. “I’m sorry you have to do this. I wish I could make it easier.”

“I hate it here.” You murmur, still holding your bear close to your chest.

“I know. I know you always have. You were here because you had to be and now that we’ve all gotten a taste of what life could be like...it’s hard to come back.” His hand rubs your arm. “Even if I hadn’t already decided to retire, I think I would have been pushed in that direction after coming back. If nothing else I’d suck it up and take a desk job and move us off base.”

His words give you pause for a moment. “Why didn’t you do that? Why fully retire?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. I’ve always been a man of action, out in the field, fighting to save the world. Better to be out completely than sitting behind a desk knowing I could have been out there myself.” He squeezes you gently. “At least if I retire I can learn to relax.”

It falls silent between the two of you for a moment, John’s scent soft and relaxed. It’s helping ease the turmoil in your mind just a bit. He’s trying hard, you know that. You know he means it when he says he’s sorry for bringing you back here. He really does feel guilty for what happened to day, for what this place means to you.

He sits up straighter, his arm dropping from around you. “I have an idea.”

He pushes himself up to stand, holding out a hand for you. You take it, frowning a bit as he pulls you up to stand next to him. He kneels down, putting the books back on the shelf before standing again. He starts to dig through the boxes, pulling out blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows before stacking them on the desk and underneath on the floor.

You take a couple steps back towards the bathroom door as he grabs the mattress, sliding it down to the floor. He shoves it up against the desk before standing. “Be right back.” He disappears out the door.

You stand there, watching the doorway as he makes his way down the hallway, calling for all of them to bring their mattresses and blankets. It’s not hard to figure out what he’s doing. You’re just not sure why.

John reappears in the doorway, a small smile on his face. Simon’s not far behind him, dragging his mattress into the room. He shoves it in next to John’s, dropping a pile of blankets on it. You didn’t even know he had so many blankets. He’s always seemed like a one rough, ratty blanket kind of man.

Kyle and Johnny appear at the same time, nearly getting stuck in the door at their excitement to add to the growing nest. It’s a nest. John’s making a nest for you.

John starts to arrange your blankets across the four mattresses squeezed onto the floor. They’ve all brought their own blankets, likely ones picked up while at the cottage or ones they washed and dried. You stand there as they arrange the pillows and blankets, trying to make a perfect nest for you. You haven’t nested in months and here they are trying to build you one instead.

Tears start to slide down your cheeks, a quiet sob leaving your lips. All four of them look up at the sound, pausing in what they’re doing.

“What is it?” Kyle asks.

“Is it wrong?” Simon asks at the same time.

You shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “It’s so sweet.” You cry, holding your bear tight against your chest.

“Aw bon, c’mere.” Johnny holds his arms out and you move forward into his hold.

The other three surround you, folding yourselves into a group hug as you cry. The action nearly makes you cry harder as you’re enveloped in their warmth and comfort. Their scents surround you, seeping into your brain and deep to where your omega has been pacing back and forth, awakened thanks to your fear and the perceived threat looming in the back of your mind.

It’s nice, being held by them, surrounded safely in their arms. You don’t think you’ve ever been held like this by them, all of them at once, securely in the middle of their protective circle. It makes you feel warm, fighting off the inevitable chill of the barracks that seeps into your very soul.

You don’t want them to let go, but you let them. You can’t stay that way forever, no matter how badly you want to. You don’t doubt they’d stand there until their legs gave out if you asked them to.

“Better?” Johnny asks, gently wiping your tears.

“Yeah.” You breathe, sniffling still. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Kyle kisses the top of your head. “You know we’d do anything for you.”

“I know.” You give him a small smile. “Even murder.”

“Just tell us who.” Simon says, looming behind you.

“Thankfully no one right now.” You say, plopping yourself down into the nest. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Simon says, staring down at you for a moment before heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“Gotta get ready for bed.” He shrugs before leaving the room.

“Right.” You say, looking down at your clothes. You should probably get ready too.

You crawl over to the boxes of clothes, popping one open before digging through it. It’s a box of John’s stuff but that’s alright. That’s what you were looking for anyway. You pull out a t-shirt for you, before moving on to another box, looking for John’s pajamas.

“What are you doing?” John asks, watching you dig through his neatly folded clothes.

“Looking for your Pj’s.” You say.

“Probably won’t need them tonight.” He says. “It’s going to get warm in here.”

You sit back on your heels. He’s right. The last time you’d all slept in the same room it had gotten unbearably hot. You shrug before pulling your shirt over your head, ditching your bra and pants before pulling John’s shirt over your head. You turn to stare up at him, his eyes hooded as he stares down at you.

“What?” You ask, wiping your face in case you’ve been wearing remnants of mushy peas that no one told you about.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, pulling his shirt off. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are.”

Your face warms at his words, your stomach fluttering. “Don’t,” You say unconvincingly. “You’re gonna distract me.”

“Good.” He smirks, undoing the button on his jeans. You watch his fingers as he pulls the zipper down before looping those fingers into the waistband and tugging.

Your eyes follow them down before trailing back up his body to his face. He’s watching you as he steps out of his pants, kicking them over towards the bathroom door. You lick your lips, staring at his face for a moment before crawling past him, grabbing your big bear from the spot on the floor at the end of his bed. You drag it over to the middle of the nest, situating it next to where you’re going to lay. Right in the middle between them all.

You situate the bear before getting up, heading to John’s bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

“Bloody hell.” You hear Simon say, no doubt about the bear. It has a smile tugging at your lips.

You try to hide that smile as you step out of the bathroom, climbing back into the nest. Simon has settled himself closest to the door, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. Your mood has been steadily improving since this new development, your eyes trailing across Simon’s back as he sets his phone on John’s shelf.

Johnny and Kyle enter, both of them forgoing shirts as well. Johnny is in nothing but his boxers, Kyle a pair of shorts. They’re trying to kill you, you know it.

Distraction: successful.

You settle yourself in the middle next to your bear, slipping under one of the blankets. Kyle tosses a couple more onto the pile, still warm from the dryer. Johnny plops down on your right, between you and Simon. He wraps his arms around you, tugging you against his chest. You just barely manage to get your arms around your bear, pulling it with you.

“No fair.” Kyle pouts, settling himself on your other side.

“Shoulda been faster.” Johnny says, spooning himself up against you.

You wrap your arms around the bear, holding it close against you. Johnny’s arms stretch across your middle to wrap around the bear as well, nearly suffocating you between them.

Kyle huffs, laying on his back. “I’m starting to realize why you hate the bear so much.”

“Insulting, isn’t it?” Simon mumbles from behind Johnny.

“Give into the bear.” You say, reaching over it to blindly find Kyle’s arm. You tug him over, or at least try to. He scoots closer, letting you pull him close against the bear.

He drapes his arm across the bear and across you to rest it against Johnny’s side. The room goes dark as John turns out the lights, making sure the door is closed and locked before moving to lay on the other side of Kyle.

“Can you breathe in there?” He asks before settling down.

“Yes.” You answer, your voice muffled from the fluff of the bear.

“Get some rest.” He says to everyone, his phone thunking as he sets it on the desk. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Kyle and Johnny grumble, no doubt dreading what tomorrow is going to bring after being spoiled for months. There will be no sleeping in, no lazing around, no more slow mornings. Now it’s only rise and grind, something you’ll have to get used to as well. You don’t want to be left alone here, no matter how badly you want to sleep in. If getting up early means getting out of the barracks sooner, you’ll take it.

You lay there, listening to their breathing even out. You’re jealous of their ability to sleep anywhere at any time. A learned skill in the field, you know. They never know when they’re going to get the chance to rest, so you have to be able to drop off at any time. You’re not so lucky.

It’s quiet in the barracks, too quiet. You can hear every breath, every small creak of the building as it settles. The door is locked and you have four very well trained soldiers surrounding you, but still you can’t shake that paranoid thought. What if someone gets in? What if someone comes back for revenge? What better time to strike than at night when you’re at your most vulnerable? It was dangerous coming back here.

You won’t be getting much sleep tonight.

It’s still dark out when his alarm goes off. He’s wide awake as soon as the sound starts, his hand reaching behind him to grab his phone and quickly silence it. It’s enough to rouse the others, quiet groans of displeasure reaching his ears.

Simon lets out a breath, wrapping his arms around the soft body against his chest for a moment. A soft body. Too soft.

He turns on his phone screen, glancing down.

He’s snuggling the bear.

He lets out a scoff, shoving it down off the end of his mattress.

4:30 his phone screen tells him. He’s been getting up early since the arrival at the cottage, unable to retrain his natural clock. Only, instead of getting up most days he just laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, pondering his life choices, thinking about what was going to happen next in his life, worrying about who might come after them on Shepherd’s behalf. It was senseless to worry, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the racing thoughts, the fears that filled him, the images in his head. Shepherd would get rid of them to cover his ass. He’d never be safe so long as the 141 was out there, just as they’d never be safe so long as Shepherd was out there. Two missiles heading right for each other where they’d inevitably meet in the middle.

Now it’s over. Now they have nothing to worry about. Shepherd is gone, the threat has been removed from over their heads. John trusted they were safe enough to return here to base. Simon wishes he could be that positive.

He pushes himself up to sit, rubbing his eyes. The others have settled again. They won’t get up for another thirty minutes, maybe an hour. He’s always the first up, always the one starting the earliest. It feels good, getting back into this routine, this predictability. He likes it. He needs it.

He casts a glance across the four sleeping bodies next to him. John had gotten up to plug in your nightlight, giving the room a soft glow. Johnny is starfished across an entire mattress, Kyle curled up next to him. Simon’s startled to see you sitting up rubbing your eyes. John is on his side next to you, arm outstretched where you had been laying.

Simon crawls over, your head lifting to look at him. “Go back to sleep.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You let out a quiet sound, half murmur, half whine as he eases you back onto your back next to John. He tosses a blanket over you before standing, stepping back over Johnny’s legs towards the door. He steps on the bear on his way, not even looking down as he unlocks the door before turning the nob.

It’s bright out in the hallway, his eyes burning as he squints. He can understand your hatred of overhead lights in moments like these. He’s more than capable of moving in the dark, but the eternal fluorescents in the hallway render that skill useless.

He quickly changes into his gym clothes, slipping on his runners before hesitating, his hand hovering over the drawer to his nightstand. It’s been weeks since he’s put on a mask. He got so used to not wearing one it almost feels strange to don the characteristic skull-print balaclava once more. He could go without one. He could choose to bear his face to the many soldiers on base for the first time, but anxiety churns in his stomach. They’ll stare, they’ll point, they’ll talk.

No, he doesn’t want that.

He opens the drawer, pulling out one of the masks from the stack of them that have been sitting for months. It’s free of dust from having been shut in the drawer but he dusts it off anyway, staring down at it for a moment. He could choose not to, but that could complicate things. He pulls it over his head, situating it in place before heading out the door. There’s still an early spring chill to the air as he makes his way across the road towards the gym, his breath visible. It’s quiet on base, not many up this early since they don’t have to be. Usually there’s only movement this early when there’s a drill being run.

Soon he’ll be the one running those drills. Well, he’ll be running Johnny through those drills. Soon it’ll be just him and Johnny against the world.

He can hardly believe it. He never thought John would retire like that, though things have changed since your arrival, he supposes. You’ve changed all of them and priorities have shifted. John did what he needed to do. He eliminated the threat against his pack and now what’s left for him? He’s seen how you reacted to being back here, they all have. It’s torture for you and Simon hates it.

He enters the gym. It’s quiet, no one up yet. Just the way he likes it. He steps into the weight room, setting his phone on a bench before he begins stretching. He tried to keep up on his fitness at the cottage. Pushups, situps, jogging when he could. He knew coming back would be hard regardless after months away being spoiled. It had been nice, despite his inability to accept that kind of life.

Sometimes he wishes he could retire that easily. When he saw your face, how happy you were when John revealed his decision...it struck something inside of him. He always knew he’d be in this life as long as he could. He’d either die in the field or be forced to retire. Most days the former seemed the most likely option. The idea of being forced behind a desk was enough to drive him crazy.

That’s why John is leaving, though. He’d never be able to survive behind a desk. Better to be out completely than forced to watch others out saving the world knowing that could have still been you. It’s going to be hard. People like them don’t make that shift to civilian life easily. He’s glad Kyle is going too. John’s going to need support that you can’t give him. You don’t know what it’s like. You won’t understand when the nightmares hit, when the itching begins beneath your skin, when your hands start seeking out the comfort of a gun between them again.

What is he going to replace it with? What is he going to do to keep his mind and his hands busy? Fishing? Farming? Maybe he’ll get a dog. A big one he can take on runs. Long runs to keep his mind clear, give him some sort of familiarity of the life he’s spend more years in than out of.

Maybe he’ll fully settle down and you’ll have pups.

The mental image of you greeting him at the door with a fat baby on your hip has him twitching in his shorts.

Fucking hell, Simon, he grunts as he racks his weights.

That would be down the road though. The first battle is getting settled, figuring out how to live in the civilian world. That’s going to take time. He almost wishes John would get a place in Hereford where Simon and Johnny could stay, but he understands. He knows John wants to get as far from this life as he can, get you as far from this life as possible. He’ll get you your little house by the sea, let you live out your domestic fantasies.

Simon’s happy for you two. He’s happy for Kyle.

That doesn’t stop the bitter taste of jealousy from rising in the back of his throat.

It’s still dark out when the next set of alarms go off. Two of them ringing loud in the air. Kyle and Johnny move almost in sync as they reach for their phones on the floor above the nest, silencing the alarms. You’ve been awake since Simon’s went off. You’ve been awake most of the night, the hours crawling by as you drifted in and out of a light sleep. You wanted to get up with Simon, go sit with him in the gym or something, but he’d forced you back into the nest, back into a sleepless hold. John stirs beside you again, his arm shifting from beneath your neck. You wonder if he’s going to get up now too. You wonder what he’s going to do with his day. Go on like normal or is he going to do only what he has to for the next few weeks?

You can’t be sure.

Johnny and Kyle both sit up rubbing their eyes. No doubt it’s rough going from sleeping in and being lazy to having to be up early and start the day right away. You’d probably be feeling the same if you could have slept. You go to sit up too but John’s arm wraps around you tighter, keeping you down with him.

“Morning, love.” Kyle rasps, leaning over to kiss your sweaty forehead. “Get more sleep.”

You wish you could.

Johnny rolls over as Kyle stands, rolling until he’s face to face with you. “Enjoy sleepin’ in while ye can.” He says quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll see ye later.”

Both of them leave, your eyes squinting against the stream of light from the hallway. Silence falls once they’re gone, John breathing evenly behind you. You want to get up, go get ready with them and head to the gym if only to sit and watch them, but John’s grip around you is firm.

“Did you sleep?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Not really.” You admit, knowing he’d probably know if you were lying.

He hums, his face pressing against the back of your head. “We’ll stay here until they get back.”

“Not going to work out?” You ask.

“I’ll do it later.” He says. “We’re running drills after breakfast. See just how out of shape we all are.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Yes.” He answers, tightening his hold around you. “Wouldn’t be fair to leave you here alone.”

“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.” You say despite your relief at his decision to bring you along with him. “I’d be fine.”

“I’m not sacrificing anything.” He says firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not after what happened last time.”

“You’re scared.” You say quietly, laying there in his tight hold.

“Of course I am.” He breathes, shifting slightly behind you, almost as if you realization is uncomfortable for him. It probably is. It must take a lot for him to admit that he’s afraid. For a while, you weren’t sure he could feel fear. “I nearly lost you.”

“John?” You breathe, tears gathering in your eyes. “Would it have happened anyway?”

He pauses for a moment, just a brief second but you hear it loud and clear. “Inevitably. They would have used you no matter what. It was a fail-safe. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

“It’s not going to happen again, is it?” You ask, speaking aloud your fears even if they are irrational.

“No.” He says, his lips brushing your ear. “I won’t let it.”

“I’m scared.” You breathe, a tear sliding down your cheek.

“Don’t be.” He says, tightening his hold around you until it borders on painful. “I’m right here.”

You’re not sure how long you lay there, pinned tightly against his chest. You wish you could sleep but you’ve been awake too long. Your pulse races in your ears, muffling any sound that might indicate something is wrong, your paranoia heightened in your exhausted state. You want to believe John, but you know men like him have enemies. Perhaps you’ll never be safe, no matter how much he tries to reassure you. They all have their enemies. Sooner or later one of them has to come for you.

An hour goes by fast, your brain in turmoil as the thoughts race. John doesn’t let up, his hold around you tight. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s nothing he could say. All he does is hold you, breathing slow and even, his chest pressed against your back.

The barracks door opens and you flinch, the squeak of tennis shoes coming down the hallway. You hold your breath, preparing for the worst. You’re in front of John, you’re the one in the line of fire. You brace yourself, squeezing your eyes closed as the door handle turns.

“It’s pishing it doon out there.” Johnny says, sticking his head in the door.

He’s soaked, mohawk flat and dripping water into his eyes. That explains the squeaking shoes. No one trying to sneak in would take that risk.

“English MacTavish.” Simon’s voice floats down the hallway.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Ye know what I mean.” He turns to look back at you two still in bed. “Dress warm.”

He closes the door, heading off to go shower most likely. John doesn’t move for a moment, still holding you tightly. No doubt he felt your flinch, sensed your fear before you realized it was Johnny. The paranoia is running rampant this morning, your mind stuck in a loop of fear.

“Come on.” John says softly, finally releasing you. He sits himself up behind you, leaning over your body. “Let’s get dressed. Go and get some food.”

You don’t want to get up. The prospect of moving your body feels daunting. Yet, you don’t want to lay here either. You push yourself up to sit too, John leaning over you to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s so soft and gentle, the opposite of the thoughts racing through your head.

He pushes himself up to stand, moving to his closet to pull out a uniform. Back to playing the soldier. He really is playing this time. In a few weeks he’ll be officially retired and the two of you will leave base never to return again. You’ll move on to some semblance of a normal life, playing at domesticity. Not long after Kyle will join you and it will be you and your pack with Simon and Johnny playing the satellite. Maybe some day they’ll take the plunge and join you.

You crawl over to the boxes, digging through to find your own clothes. You wonder if he’ll bother unpacking anything from these boxes. Or if he’ll just leave them so they’re easier to grab once the two of you do leave.

John goes into the bathroom while you decide what to wear. Sweatpants or jeans. T-shirt or long sleeves. Johnny said to dress warm so you decide on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt with jeans. Hard clothes meant for a military base. No more lounging around in the barracks all day. You’ll be out there with them, watching them run drills for the first time in months.

You quickly change, stepping into the bathroom after John is done. You’re quick, not wasting any time. The more you dally, the more time your brain has to focus on the fear swirling in the back of your mind.

John is waiting for you when you exit the bathroom. He’s close to the door, crowding you as you step out into the room. Your eyes trace his form from his feet to his face. He grips your chin, holding you still as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes minty, like toothpaste, his lips soft against yours.

“What are you doing?” You murmur when he pulls away.

“Trying to distract you.” He breathes.

“Do it again.” You say.

He kisses you again, this one harder as his hand slips from your chin to your throat. You hate to admit that it’s working, the swirling emotions in the back of your brain quieting as you kiss your alpha.

He pulls away too soon, your lips parted and eyes still closed as he releases you. “Better?” He asks.

You nod. You do feel a bit better. Your thoughts aren’t quite so loud now.

“Come on.” His hand slips into yours, squeezing it gently as your eyes finally open.

It’s time.

He leads you out the door, pausing to put his boots on once he’s over the nest. It stays where it is, messy and rumpled. None of them bother making the beds and you wonder if it’s driving them crazy. No doubt that need to make sure their bed is made carried with them to the cottage. You hardly ever bother as you usually wind up back in it at some point in the day. You wonder how crazy you drive them with that habit, or lack there of.

You walk with John at the head of the column as you step out into the rain. It is raining hard, and you’re glad you went with something with a hood. You should have dug out the rain jacket John got you at the cottage. That probably would have been smarter.

You’re cold and wet when you make it to the mess. It’s early enough it’s sparsely populated. You wonder if John did that on purpose, or if it’s just coincidence. You hold onto his hand until you reach the front of the line, letting him fill your tray for you with plastic looking eggs and far too watery porridge. Once again you’re reminded of how much you were spoiled at the cottage and how far you’ve fallen into the world of bland, tasteless food.

Or, as you would call it, British food.

John graciously chooses a table near the back, keeping you out of sight for the most part, away from prying eyes. You sit between him and Kyle again, staring down at your depressing looking tray of food. The only thing that looks good is the fruit, so you focus there first. They go down the easiest, filling your desperate stomach. You haven’t eaten a good meal since you all stopped to get food on your drive back to Hereford. You underestimated how much you’d struggle adapting to mess hall food again.

Granted, the last time you were coming from the CIA and their cafeteria food, and before that the institute. You can’t remember how long it’s been since you had a home cooked meal before the cottage. Maybe that’s why you were struggling so much.

How you wish you could go into the kitchen and make your mother’s enchiladas.

You struggle your way through breakfast, using the fruit to get you through the porridge. You leave most of the eggs, unable to stomach more than a few bites. Of course the rest of your pack clears their trays. This food must be heaven compared to stuff they eat while they’re away on missions.

It’s mostly stopped raining by the time you leave the mess hall, now just a drizzle. You’re clinging to Kyle’s hand, letting him lead you after John as he heads across the base towards one of the hangars. Time for training, you assume.

You recognize this one. You’ve been here before months ago. It was one of the first times you got to see their training. Hell, you yourself had participated in it once. You wonder if John will do that again, or if he’ll take pity on you and let you just watch.

“We’re going back to basics today, lads.” John says as the boys line up. “Testing where you’re at after months away. You’ll be timed on how long it takes you to get through the course as usual. Stay sharp and watch those corners. Who’s going first?”

“I will.” Johnny says, not even hesitating.

“Good luck Sergeant.” John says before turning to you. “Come on.”

He leads you up into the viewing area where the screens are located. You’ve been up here before a couple of times.

“Don’t want you catching a stray bullet.” He says.

You give him a sideways glance. The last time you were here they hadn’t used live rounds.

“Rubber bullets still hurt.” He says, giving you a grin.

You shake your head, watching as Johnny prepares himself to run the course.

Their times aren’t quite as good this time around. Even Kyle is dragging a bit, not quite as sharp as you remember him being. Granted it has been months. They’re all rusty and out of shape. You’re going to miss them being all soft and gentle. Even John will lose some of it before retirement, you think. The yo-yoing of his body is going to be hard on him. Strong and fit to soft and gentle to partially strong and fit again to permanently soft. You doubt he’ll give up everything completely. Morning runs, weight lifting, keeping himself sharp. He’ll never fully relax. He can’t.

“Not bad, muppets.” John says, standing in front of them. You hoist yourself up onto a crate. “But not good either. That’s to be expected after months of going soft. We’re going to focus on re-polishing those skills again. Building stamina and strength, sharpening those weapons skills again.” John stands up straighter. “Let’s hit the range next.”

He turns to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You hop down off the crate, taking his hand. You’ve never been to the shooting range here. John always tried to keep you away from live fire as much as possible, god forbid there be some freak accident.

At least now you know what it feels like to be shot.

You have to accompany them now though, in fear of being left in the barracks all day. This is still far better than being cooped up in a place full of nightmares.

The range is in another hanger, and unfortunately not empty. It’s loud inside, two other soldiers inside firing at targets. You put your hands over your ears as you follow John towards the far side of the range. He grabs a headset, slipping it over your head. It offers just enough protection from the loud banging of the guns being fired. The sound in the enclosed space is enough to drive your adrenaline up. You can only imagine what it’s like with hundreds of guns going off all at once while half of those are shooting back at you.

You’ll never understand how they manage it.

You stand back out of the way behind them as they line up. Even John lines himself up this time, all of them firing down the line at targets. You keep yourself pressed up against the wall, watching them. It’s louder with the four of them shooting, your heart hammering in your throat. You can’t help but wonder what kind of firefight there was when they rescued you, if there was much of one at all. Their skills were sharper then, their abilities honed. Going up against trained soldiers would have been a walk in the park back then.

Had you known they were coming you might have waited, might have let them have their hostage rescue instead of having to chase your wild omega through the woods in her attempt to escape herself. You can still remember bits and pieces of it, the feel of blood on your hands, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, the wild freedom to not care about anything but survival.

It makes your hands shake.

You squeeze them into fists, nails biting into your skin as they fire round after round, adjusting stances, reloading and then firing again. You can only see Simon’s target ahead, all of his shots hitting the outline of the body on the paper. You don’t think something like shooting would be a skill lost easily. Like riding a bike, you suppose.

You wonder how good it must feel to them to have a weapon in their hands again. That thought concerns you, but then again, there’s a lot about them that should concern you. You’ve gone numb to most of it, those thoughts you had early on not even in the back of your mind anymore. They are who they are, they’ve done what they’ve done and there’s no changing that. It simply comes with the territory.

“Hey,”

Your eyes dart up as a knuckle pushes your chin up. Simon is standing before you. He smells metallic like gunpowder. It meshes well with his natural scent creating an intoxicating blend.

“C’mere.” He tilts his head towards his now vacated spot. You follow him, his hands moving you into position. He slides the warm gun into your hands, clicking the safety off. “Take a shot.”

You stare down the line at the fresh target, gulping a bit. The gun feels heavy in your hands. The others have stopped, and you can tell they’ve gathered around, watching, waiting for what’s going to happen. You half expect John to stop this before it starts, but he lingers back, letting this play out.

Simon’s arms wrap around you, moving your hands into position around the gun. He lifts them up to proper height, holding you there for a moment before releasing you and taking a step back. Your finger twitches as it hovers over the trigger as you stare at the target. You take a deep breath in, holding it for a second before squeezing the trigger.

You fire three shots.

All three hit the paper of the target, missing the body but still hitting the paper. You lower the gun, clicking the safety back on before turning to face them. They’re all staring at you with faces of shock and mild amusement.

You glance at all of them before shrugging. “I used to live in Texas.”

Johnny and Kyle laugh, Simon shaking his head. “You need to work on your form.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you back around to face the target.

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[elswhore]

𝐏. 𝐁 ─── I LOVED YOU WITH A FIRE RED.

you ended the no-string relationship with her, genuinely growing tired of, but you are unaware that she was already falling inlove, it was all too late for her.

angst. unrequirted love. fuck buddies. late realization

masterlist ۶ৎ navigation ۶ৎ

The bed creaked beneath you, the rhythm of her thrusts steady but mechanical, paige’s hands gripped your hips, her strap on sliding deep inside you, each movement precise but lacking the fire it once held.

your legs were spread wide, thighs trembling, but your mind was elsewhere, you stared at the ceiling, tracing cracks that weren’t there, your body present but your heart a thousand miles away.

you’d been fuck buddies for six months, a deal struck after one drunken night when her lips found yours at a party.

it was supposed to be fun, no strings, just skin on skin, pleasure for pleasure, but you fucked up.

you fell for her. hard.

the way she’d smirk after making you come, the way she’d pull you close, letting you pretend for a moment it was more—it all burrowed into you.

you started wanting her in ways she didn’t want you, you dreamed of mornings tangled in sheets, of her calling you hers, of building something real.

but paige was clear from the start “i dont do relationships, this is just us having fun, yeah?”

you tried to play along, swallowing your feelings like bitter pills, you let her fuck you in her dorm, in your apartment, in the backseat of her car, each time hoping she’d see the way your eyes lingered, the way you held her a little too tight.

you’d whisper her name like a prayer, hoping she’d hear the love in it, but she never did, she’d just kiss you hard, fuck you harder, and leave you to pick up the pieces of your heart alone.

tonight, though, something was different, your body responded your clit throbbed with each grind of her hips, your walls clenched around the silicone but your mind was numb.

you felt her breath hot against your neck, her teeth grazing your collarbone as she thrust deeper, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room.

but it wasn’t enough, it hadn’t been for a while.

“hey,” paige’s voice cut through, sharp with concern.

she slowed, then stopped, the strap still buried inside you, her hands slid up to your waist, and she propped herself up, blonde hair falling messily over her shoulders.

“you okay? you’re… not here.” you blinked, pulling yourself back to the moment.

her eyes searched yours, and for a second, you saw something—worry, maybe even softness.

it made your chest ache, but it also made you angry, why did she care now? you pushed yourself up on your elbows, then sat up fully, forcing her to pull out.

the emptiness left behind mirrored the one in your heart. “i can’t do this anymore” you said, voice low but steady, though your throat burned with hesitation.

you wanted to take it back the second it left your lips, but you couldn’t.

you wouldn’t, paige froze, the strap glistening between her thighs, her hands hovering like she didn’t know where to put them.

“what? What do you mean?” you swung your legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a sheet to cover yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed.

“this, us. whatever the fuck this is. im done.” her brow furrowed, and she shifted closer, still kneeling on the bed.

“hold on, whats going on? did i do something wrong?” you laughed, bitter and hollow.

“no, paige, you didn’t do anything wrong, yhat’s the problem, you’re exactly who you said you were, but im not. i wanted more. i wanted you. not just your body, not just this.”

you gestured vaguely at the rumpled sheets“i wanted us to be real, but you don’t want that, you never did.” her lips parted, but no words came out.

you saw the flicker in her eyes, the way her hands twitched like she wanted to reach for you, but she didn’t, and that silence it was louder than anything she could’ve said.

“i love you” she blurted suddenly, the words clumsy and desperate, they hung in the air like a guillotine.

you stared at her, disgust curling in your gut, not because you didn’t believe her—god, a part of you wanted to—but because it felt like a cheap shot, a last ditch effort to keep you tethered.

“don’t.” you spat, standing now, clutching the sheet tighter.

“don’t you fucking dare say that now, you don’t get to pull that card when im walking away.” paige’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw her look small.

But it was too late, you’d spent months bleeding for her, pouring your heart into someone who only wanted your body.

you weren’t going to let her rewrite the story now. “im serious” she said, voice shaking.

“i didn’t realize it before, but—”

“Stop.” you cut her off, your voice like steel. “you don’t love me, paige. you love the idea of me sticking around, being your good little fuck buddy who’s always there when you need a release. but I’m not that person anymore.”

she flinched, and you saw tears well in her eyes, but you didn’t soften, you couldn’t.

you grabbed your clothes from the floor, pulling them on with shaking hands, paige didn’t move, just watched, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

you could feel the weight of her regret, thick and suffocating, but she didn’t say it, she didn’t admit she’d started feeling something, that she’d been too scared to face it until you were slipping through her fingers.

instead, she let the silence speak for her, and it screamed of everything she’d failed to give you.

when you were dressed, you turned to her one last time. “take care, paige” you said, voice flat, final.

she stood, fumbling to unstrap the harness, pulling on her own clothes in a rush. “wait” she said, but you were already at the door. Sl

she followed you out, barefoot, into the cold night air, the street was quiet, the rain from earlier leaving puddles that reflected the streetlights.

you didn’t look back, but you heard her footsteps stop a few paces behind you.

paige stood there, hands shoved in her pockets, hair damp from the misty air, she wanted to run after you, to that she was sorry, that she’d been an idiot, that she’d fallen for you without knowing how to say it.

but the words stuck in her throat, choked by her own fear and the disgust in your eyes when she’d tried to say she loved you.

she’d fucked it all up, and now you were gone, your back a fading silhouette in the dark.

she turned, kicking a pebble into a puddle, the splash the only sound in the empty street.

regret clawed at her, raw and relentless, she’d had you—your heart, your body, your everything—and she’d thrown it away because she was too cowardly to face what she felt.

now, she was the one walking away, alone, carrying the weight of what could’ve been, the love she’d realized too late to save.

and you? you kept walking, tears burning your eyes but refusing to fall, you’d loved her with everything you had, and it hadn’t been enough.

but you were done breaking your own heart for someone who couldn’t hold it, the night swallowed you both, two shattered pieces drifting further apart.

۶ৎ — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode @latenighttalkinqwp @avvwritesstufff @prettygirl-gabi @yailtsv @bebitts @heartsforari @usuallyshadowybasement @authentic-girl03 @private-but-not-a-secret @evanpeterstoe @destinybueckers44 @youmeandjennessey @starfulani @cherryswisherz @bueckersworld @paiges-1vur

[kayharrisons]

Will you go, lassie, go? [Remmick x fem!Reader] [18+] [1 of 11]

Remmick has been drifting for a decade now, aimlessly passing from one town to the next as he hunts and feeds and fucks and-

And. And. And.

One could go mad after a while with all those ands.

Loneliness threatens to consume him, to pull him right over the brink and into insanity.

Until, that is, he hears a voice sweeter than a nightingale's and with a haunting, melodic pain that buries itself deep in his chest and takes root there.

Until, that is, he meets you.

A/N: hey guys!! My first attempt at a Sinners fic o o p I LOVED the movie sm and Remmick was just 😩 😩 Jack O'Connell the man that you are fr!! Anyway, idk if I'll write a LOT for Sinners, my brain rot is still very much Romulus focused BUT HEY have this lil two shot for now! Scottish Reader x Remmick oh no oh DEAAAAAAR!!! I'm not a native Gaelic speaker by any means (I know a couple basic words lol), so any future Gaelic sentences will be in italics! This fic is set some time in the 20s before Sinners! Next chapter will be up soon hopefully!! Apologies if there's any mistakes we rock and roll buckaroo over here ✌️

Series warnings: younger woman (19-21) x older man (literal vampire), blood, biting, sexual acts, mentions of immigration and racist/xenophobic attitudes towards Scottish and Irish communities, colonisation mentions (Ireland in Remmick's past), manipulative Remmick, naive Reader, Remmick was at one point Jack the Ripper 💀

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Time.

It's a funny thing. Especially to someone like him, to someone with this affliction.

It both passes in the blink of an eye and goes by slower than those snails that used to infest his mother's garden when he was a boy. He can't remember her face much, but he remembers how she used to rant and rave over the little creatures as they ruined vegetables and plants she'd oh so painstakingly grown.

He's had many families over the centuries. Many mothers, many brothers, sisters.

The faces blend, sometimes, when you're as old as he.

His birth mother had eyes like his, he thinks. She had his laugh.

He recalls having been told, frequently, that he takes after his father.

He wonders if that was before or after his skull was cleaved in two. He can't recall his father's face before it was split in half like a log for the fire.

Fire. Warmth.

He misses that.

Misses sitting with his brothers and sisters around the hearth as their mother hummed lullabies in their native tongue. Síthmaith had been his favourite of the bunch, his precious sister only nine when her throat had been cut to the bone.

Remmick had been the oldest of the bunch.

He'd failed them, and this, he thinks, is retribution.

He's never done well without people to care for, could never cope knowing people were sad. His mother used to smile and call him her mo mhuirnin whenever she'd catch him being kind.

The last time in his human life that he'd been kind, he had invited a sobbing stranger inside of his home, a frail woman begging for shelter against Protestant brutes, could he please help her?

The children hadn't survived the turning. They never did, according to the woman.

His mother had taken one look at her dead children and screamed an almighty roar of agony before walking out into the sunlight.

Remmick can't remember his mother's voice anymore, but he remembers that scream.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The centuries passed. He spent it learning, teaching himself.

He occupied himself with hobbies, with history, and eventually with song.

That was the one thing he'd never allowed himself to forget over the years. The act of putting pen to paper and letting pain spill out as ink, of taking the time to sit back and think of melodies, of chords and notes.

He loves to sing.

Sometimes, he can still hear his mother when he sings, can hear his siblings laughter around the fire.

There is rarely anyone around to hear him, however.

New families come and go; not everyone is suited to this way of life, a lot lack survival instinct he's found. Lovers are there for an hour or two or three, the ones that linger end up drained upon the bed, his songs still lingering in their dead ears.

Perhaps one time he'd been overzealous in Whitechapel, had earned himself a nasty moniker and had had to hastily retreat to the countryside for a few years all while the public pondered over the identity of this Ripper fellow.

Animal blood wasn't quite the same as a human's, it must be said.

It's rather like drinking tar, he's come to find. Unpleasant and thick down his throat. Only worth doing in a pinch.

He hasn't met anyone else who's even tried it.

The others he'd been with on the ship, the ones who had burnt brighter than the sun, had rolled their eyes at him for that admission.

Lions were not expected to eat plants and nothing more, so why should they?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He hasn't eaten in weeks.

He could. Easily. Easy pickings don't even begin to describe half of the people he's come across as he wanders the earth.

New York had been ripe with bodies, and he'd indulged himself more than necessary during the ten years he had spent there.

But his legs were leading him south. And who was he to go against them? Taken him this far, hadn't they?

He is curious to see the rest of the continent, to meet people, hear stories, to rebuild that which he's lost time and time again.

He can help people, like he used to, he can give them a family, can take all their petty human squabbles and differences and turn it into something good, can't he?

He hums to himself, a melody he has hazy memories of his mother singing. The words are lost to him now, taken from him by time, but he recalls the melody, at least.

Over and over, he hums, his fingers brushing over brick and stone and cold hard suburbia, before eventually his fingers run over trees and leaves and life itself.

He never did like cities much.

Remmick hums into the dimming light of the night, with no expectations of a response, an answer, of divine intervention.

He gets one anyway.

A little miracle in its own right.

"-the blooming heather, will ye go, lassie, go?"

His blood ignites in his veins just as brightly and fiery as it had the day he'd been turned into this.

If he had a pulse, he is sure it would be racing in his cold dead chest. If he could blush, he's sure the tips of his ears would be a burning red.

Your voice creeps through the trees like that of a fine mist, and it settles over him like dew on grass during a summer's morning. Refreshing, soothing, anchoring.

When was the last time he had felt anchored?

Voices, he's found, have a way of carrying stories, of harbouring emotions in a way that sometimes merely speaking doesn't even begin to encompass.

Sadness, anger, love, lust, loss-

It all sounded beautiful, in song.

Your voice reaches out like that of a beautiful plant, wraps around his soul like vines in the forest, takes root upon his very being like that of the strongest of trees.

Nature personified.

His pace quickens, the damp grass and dirt cliging to his bare feet, his hair sticking to his forehead.

He only wishes he was more presentable for you. Remmick is far from vain, but he's certain he's about to waltz into the den of perfection, an alter of beauty that would put Aphrodite herself to shame.

And he finds it.

Your back is to him, your hair is down loose around your shoulders. Your blouse is a few sizes too big and clings to your shoulders, your waist cinched by your skirt. You sway softly, like that of a flower in the breeze. Your fingers move effortlessly over the strings of your guitar, your voice having lowered to that of an airy hum.

He damn near almost collapses at the sight before him. Of such beauty here before him, untouched by the world outside of this forest. He's not a religious man, hasn't been in centuries, but Remmick is struck by the urge to collapse by your feet and cling to your skirts as if you were a Saint of utmost divinity, one he would swear his life and soul to.

Such natural, effortless beauty, and he hasn't even seen your face yet. Persephone can weep for all he cares.

A branch snaps beneath his feet, and your hair whips your face as you whirl around to face him.

Oh.

Oh.

Remmick staggers back a step, unusual for someone with supernatural grace on their side.

You're more radiant than a sunrise on a winter's day, more beautiful than poetry itself.

He could weep in your presence.

"Can I help you, sir?" you ask, pausing your guitar strumming and setting the instrument aside, leaning it against the tree beside you.

Your accent isn't from here. Scottish, the highlands, he thinks. He smiles at the sound, at the knowledge that he won't have to use that goddamn ridiculous Yank accent that helps him blend in.

"Aye, lass'," he nods, hands in his pockets as he steps closer. You watch him with a furrowed brow, with complete and utter confusion across your radiant face.

He stops short of you, leaning back against a tree, crossing his legs at the ankles as he studies you.

His eyes...

You straighten a hairs breadth, the same way one does when they spy a wolf in the distance, when you know a predator is watching you.

Remmick merely hums, unbothered at your reaction, even as his eyes gleam unnaturally in the darkness of the night.

"You can help me somethin' fierce, darlin'."

You smile, a touch uncertainly, your head cocked as you patiently wait for him to explain whatever it is he needs help with.

Remmick can only smile.

[kathaelipwse]

✧ Still Yours | H. Jisung

♡ Pairing: Han Jisung × Chubby!Reader

✧ Word Count: 12,208 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins

900+ Followers Special ♡

✦ Trope: Second Chance Romance | Ex-Classmates to Lovers | Slow Burn | Popular Jock x Bullied Girl | Non-Idol AU

✧ Warnings: Bullying (verbal abuse, fat-shaming), mentions of physical abuse, toxic family, emotional trauma, drinking, mild suggestiveness, language, angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

♡ Synopsis: Back in high school, she was the chubby outcast—bullied, bruised, and abandoned—while Han Jisung was the untouchable jock who broke hearts and ignored them all… except hers. When life pulled them apart after a brutal misunderstanding, she vowed never to look back. Now, eight years later, she's a successful engineer—independent and guarded. But when fate throws them back together in the most unexpected boardroom, Jisung sees a second chance. And this time, he’s not letting go without a fight. ♡

✦ Author’s Note: For the ones who loved in silence and healed in shadows. This one’s for you. You are seen, and you are enough. ⋆彡

You were a walking paradox, a vibrant ember struggling to glow beneath a thick layer of societal soot. Chubby, they called you, their voices often laced with a disdain that never seemed to dull, each syllable a tiny pinprick against your already tender skin.

Yet, the softness of your frame held a surprising resilience, your cheeks often flushed with a healthy color that belied their cruel pronouncements, a testament to a spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Kindness flowed through you like an unseen current, a gentle offering of smiles even to the very faces that contorted with mockery at your approach, a quiet rebellion against the negativity that surrounded you.

And your mind? It was a sharp, agile thing, devouring knowledge with an insatiable hunger, your intelligence a quiet fire that burned brightly in the hushed corners of the library, a stark contrast to the dim view others seemed to have of you. You found solace in the intricate logic of mathematics, the sprawling narratives of classic literature, worlds where your physical form held no bearing on your worth.

But despite these inherent strengths, an invisible weight clung to you, a suffocating shroud woven from the stinging barbs of your classmates. "Hey, look, it's the walking sofa!" someone would bellow down the hallway, their friends erupting in laughter that felt like a physical shove, each jeer chipping away at the fragile foundation of your self-esteem.

"Bet she uses a GPS to find her own feet," another would sneer, their words echoing the insidious voice of self-doubt that sometimes whispered in your own head, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy. You learned to flinch inwardly, to brace yourself for the inevitable sting, to become as small and unobtrusive as possible, a shadow trying desperately to blend into the background noise of the school, your gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor.

Your world had fractured years ago, the sharp edges never quite fitting back together after the sudden, gaping loss of your father. He had been your anchor, a warm, comforting presence whose booming laughter still echoed faintly in the quiet corners of your memory, a phantom sound that sometimes brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.

Now, he was a faded photograph on your bedside table, a silent observer of your increasingly solitary existence, a bittersweet reminder of a love that felt both impossibly distant and achingly present. Your mother, lost in her own labyrinth of grief, eventually found a fragile sort of peace in the arms of another man.

His arrival brought a polite, almost sterile atmosphere to your home, a subtle distance that grew between you and the woman who had once been your sun and moon. "He's a good man," she'd said once, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth you remembered, her eyes focused on some distant point. "He'll take care of us." But 'us' never truly included you in the same way anymore; you felt like a tolerated guest in a life that had moved on without you.

The real chill, however, the bone-deep, relentless cold, emanated from your aunt. After your mother's remarriage, you were sent to live with her, a woman whose lips seemed permanently pursed in disapproval, whose voice was a constant, low hum of criticism that eroded your spirit.

Her house was a place where joy seemed to wither and die, where every corner held the unspoken accusation of your inadequacy. "Are you going back for seconds?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as you reached for another small portion of dinner. "Honestly, child, have you no self-control?

You'll never find a nice boy looking like that. You'll be alone forever." Meals were silent, tense affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and her pointed sighs. Chores were endless, thankless, and any small spark of happiness you managed to ignite was quickly doused by her sharp tongue and colder-than-ice gaze.

"Don't slouch," she'd bark across the living room, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Sit up straight. You look like a sack of potatoes. Honestly, the way you carry yourself…" Your home life became a toxic swamp of neglect and emotional abuse, a secret shame you carried like a lead weight in your stomach, a burden that made your steps heavy and your spirit weary.

"Honestly," she'd mutter under her breath as you did the dishes, the clatter of plates a poor substitute for conversation, "your mother always said you were a clumsy one. Just like her."

Across the bustling, often chaotic landscape of your high school moved Han Jisung. He was a figure carved from a different kind of coldness – a detached, almost arrogant aura that seemed to ripple outwards, creating a respectful distance.

A star athlete, his movements on the basketball court fluid and mesmerizing, he was the undisputed object of countless girls' affections. Their whispered yearnings followed him down the hallways like a persistent, hopeful breeze. "Did you see the way Jisung looked at me during practice?" you'd overhear one girl sigh to her friend, her voice dreamy.

"I swear, he totally wants to ask me to the homecoming dance." Yet, he remained aloof, a polite but firm "I'm not interested" the standard response to any lingering glances or hesitant advances. "Sorry," he'd say, his voice cool but not unkind, his gaze already drifting away, "I'm just really focused on the upcoming tournament. Got to keep my head in the game."

His eyes, sharp and intelligent, often held a distant amusement, a subtle disdain for the petty dramas and hormonal surges that defined the high school experience. "Honestly," he once said to his friend, a slight smirk playing on his lips as a group of girls giggled nearby, their attention clearly fixed on him, "they're all so… transparent." He was a world away from your own, a dazzling supernova you never dared to gaze at directly, knowing you were a mere speck of dust in his radiant orbit.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, in those fleeting moments between classes, or during the forced proximity of shared assemblies, his gaze would sometimes flick towards you. It wasn't a look of mockery or pity, but something… else. A quiet, almost clinical observation.

He noticed the way your shoulders would instinctively hunch when a group of popular kids approached, their laughter echoing in the confined space, the barely perceptible flinch in your eyes when the school bell shrieked through the corridors, the determined set of your jaw as you navigated the crowded lunchroom, your tray held like a fragile shield against the judging eyes.

He saw the way your fingers, often ink-stained from hours spent lost in the pages of a book, your refuge from the harsh realities of your life, would nervously twist the hem of your oversized sweater. Once, during a particularly brutal round of hallway taunts aimed your way, the words like sharp stones thrown with intent, he had paused, his usual easy stride faltering for a split second before he continued on, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his dark eyes.

One particularly bleak, rain-swept afternoon, the meager grocery money, carefully counted out and clutched in your sweaty palm, the lifeline that would hopefully stave off your aunt's wrath for another week, was snatched from you just outside the familiar fluorescent glow of the convenience store.

A gaggle of giggling, impeccably dressed girls, their faces bright with a casual cruelty that chilled you to the bone, had surrounded you like a pack of predators. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," the ringleader had sneered, her perfectly manicured nails reaching for your trembling hand.

"Going on a little snack run, tubby? Maybe stocking up for winter hibernation?" "Leave me alone," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the drumming rain, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Oh, are you going to cry?" another one taunted, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Maybe a few tears will wash away some of that… extra baggage." "What's this, enough for a diet soda?" the first girl said, snatching the crumpled bills from your grasp.

"Maybe you should try skipping a few meals, fatty," another added, their laughter echoing the hollowness that had become a constant companion in your stomach. "Yeah," a third chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern, "think of it as us doing you a favor. Helping you reach your… goals."

"Just give it back," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes, blurring their cruel faces. "It's all I have. My aunt…" They just laughed harder, their cruelty a sharp, physical pain. "Too slow," the ringleader said, tucking the money into her designer bag with a smug smile. "Maybe next time you'll learn to run faster. Or maybe just stay home."

Fear, cold and sharp as shards of glass, pierced through you, rendering your legs heavy and unresponsive. Home, usually a place of quiet dread, now loomed like a monstrous shadow in the downpour. Without the groceries, without the flimsy excuse of running an errand, the prospect of facing your aunt's wrath was unbearable.

"Where have you been?" she'd likely snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, her voice laced with impatience. "And where are the groceries I asked for? Don't tell me you've dawdled again." You could already hear the accusations, the bitter recriminations, the inevitable lecture about your worthlessness.

You found yourself huddled beneath the inadequate shelter of a dusty shop awning, the relentless rain plastering strands of hair to your forehead, tears blurring your vision as they mingled with the raindrops tracing paths down your cheeks. "Great," you muttered to yourself, the despair a heavy weight in your chest.

"Just great. Now what?" You were stranded, caught in the cruel intersection of teenage malice and a desolate home life, with nowhere safe to turn. "What am I going to do?" you whispered into the storm, the question a pathetic plea carried away by the wind.

Then, through the grey curtain of rain, a figure emerged. Tall and lean, with the unmistakable swagger of the school's star athlete, Han Jisung paused beside you. His expensive black umbrella, large enough to shelter two, dripped steadily at the edges, a stark contrast to the cheap, flimsy one you usually carried.

He didn't say a word, didn't offer a platitude or a condescending remark. He simply extended the umbrella towards you, the silent gesture a stark contrast to the cacophony of cruel words you had just endured. For a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against his as you hesitantly took the offered shelter, a surprising jolt of warmth in the pervasive cold.

He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the downpour as quickly and silently as he had appeared. "Hey," you called out after him, a confused question forming on your lips, a desperate need to understand his unexpected kindness, but he was already gone, swallowed by the rain.

Confused, a strange cocktail of gratitude and bewilderment churning within you, you watched his retreating figure. Why would he do that? you wondered, clutching the smooth handle of the umbrella, its expensive fabric a stark contrast to your own worn coat.

Just as you began to think it had been a fleeting act of detached charity, a moment of pity from someone who existed in a completely different stratosphere, he reappeared. This time, he held a small, clear plastic bag clutched in his hand. He stopped directly in front of you.

"Here," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, almost a murmur, his gaze flicking around as if he didn't want to be seen. He wordlessly pressed the bag into your hand. Inside, nestled against the damp plastic, were crisp twenty-dollar bills.

His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flickered over your face briefly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your distress. He simply nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Take it," he added, his gaze direct for a fleeting second, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. And then he turned and walked away again, melting back into the rainy afternoon, leaving you standing beneath his expensive umbrella, the unexpected kindness a heavy, almost unbelievable weight in your hand.

Your lips parted in stunned silence, a soft, disbelieving "thank you" escaping into the drumming rain, a whisper lost in the downpour. The twenty dollars felt like more than just money; it felt like a lifeline, a tiny, unexpected crack of light in the overwhelming darkness.

"Thank you," you repeated, a little louder this time, clutching the bag tightly, even though he was already gone. The warmth of the unexpected gesture spread through the chill of the rain, a small seed of hope planted in the barren landscape of your day. You wondered, just for a moment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren't entirely invisible after all.

The sleek, black umbrella, a stark contrast to the cheap, floral one you usually carried, became an unspoken, tangible link between your vastly different orbits. It stood sentinel in your locker, a silent testament to an act of unexpected kindness that replayed in your mind like a recurring dream.

The twenty dollars, carefully and sparingly used to replenish your stolen grocery money, felt like more than just currency; it was a symbol of a hand reaching out in the darkness, a small spark of hope in the overwhelming gloom. A hesitant "thank you" the next day in the crowded hallway, your voice barely a rustle of sound, was met with a curt nod from Jisung, his usual guarded expression firmly in place, his gaze already sweeping over the bustling student body. But something had subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible crack in the icy façade he usually presented to the world.

It began with shared study sessions in the hushed sanctuary of the library. He never explicitly invited you, never uttered a direct request. Instead, he would simply appear at your usual corner table, a formidable stack of advanced calculus textbooks and meticulously organized notes in hand.

You, initially wary of his continued presence, found a surprising, almost unsettling comfort in his focused silence. He possessed an unexpected patience when you wrestled with a particularly convoluted equation, explaining complex concepts with a quiet clarity that your often-impatient teachers lacked.

"Think of it like this," he'd say, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched diagrams on scrap paper, his voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet hum of the library. You, in turn, would sometimes help him navigate the labyrinthine prose of English literature, your insightful interpretations of symbolism and theme offering a perspective he, with his more analytical mind, hadn't considered.

"That's… actually a really interesting way to look at it," he'd admit, a flicker of genuine intellectual curiosity in his dark eyes. These sessions were mostly silent, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and the soft scratching of pens against paper, but a fragile, unspoken camaraderie began to bloom in the shared pursuit of knowledge, a quiet understanding passing between you over highlighted passages and solved problems.

Then came the late-night texts, the glow of your phone screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your small room. It started with a simple, utilitarian "Need help with the assignment?" from his number, a question that sent a jolt of surprised apprehension through you.

Hesitantly, you replied with a terse "Maybe," and soon, short, academic queries about formulas and literary devices morphed into slightly longer exchanges about favorite books (his surprisingly leaning towards classic sci-fi, yours towards poignant coming-of-age stories), obscure indie music, and even, occasionally, fleeting, carefully worded glimpses into the mundane details of your respective days.

His texts were often clipped, punctuated by emojis that seemed oddly out of character for the school's notoriously aloof jock – a surprisingly expressive thumbs-up, a thoughtful pondering face – but there was a consistency to them, a quiet checking-in that you found yourself looking forward to, a small beacon in the often-lonely expanse of your evenings.

He stumbled upon your deep-seated passion for retro video games during one of your brief study breaks in the library, when you were idly scrolling through an old emulator on your battered phone, a nostalgic smile softening your features as pixelated spaceships whizzed across the screen.

To your surprise, a flicker of recognition crossed his usually impassive face. "That's 'Galactic Gladiators', right?" he'd asked, leaning closer, a genuine spark of interest momentarily eclipsing his usual reserve. "My older brother used to be obsessed with that game. I remember watching him play for hours."

This shared, unexpected connection, a bridge built on 8-bit nostalgia, led to clandestine gaming sessions at his sprawling, modern home on weekends. His house, with its sleek furniture and panoramic city views, was a stark, almost intimidating contrast to your cramped, perpetually shadowed one, but in the dimly lit, surprisingly comfortable game room, surrounded by the hypnotic glow of multiple screens and the cheerful cacophony of digital sound effects, you found a strange, unexpected sense of belonging.

He was surprisingly competitive, his fingers flying across the controller with practiced ease, but never condescending, and your laughter, a sound you rarely heard yourself make, would sometimes bubble up and fill the room, a light, joyful sound that felt foreign yet wonderfully liberating. "Nice move!" he'd grudgingly admit after you executed a particularly skillful maneuver, a rare smile gracing his lips.

Throughout these increasingly frequent interactions, Jisung remained a keen, almost unnervingly perceptive, silent observer. He noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands when someone raised their voice, even in a casual classroom discussion.

He saw the fleeting shadow of anxiety that flickered in your eyes when he accidentally brushed your arm in the crowded hallway. He learned your instinctive aversion to sudden loud noises, the way your gaze would dart nervously towards any raised hand in a classroom, as if anticipating a blow.

He pieced together the fragmented clues of your unspoken traumas, the subtle anxieties that clung to you like a second skin, an invisible weight you carried in the slump of your shoulders. He never pried, never asked directly about your strained home life or the cruelties you endured within the school's social hierarchy, but his awareness grew, a quiet understanding that seemed to settle in his dark eyes whenever he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the battles you fought unseen.

One particularly unpleasant afternoon, as you were walking home from school, clutching your backpack straps tightly, a group of boisterous guys from the basketball team, emboldened by their perceived social superiority, started making crude, insensitive remarks.

"Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast!" one of them jeered, his voice dripping with a nasty sarcasm that made your stomach clench. "Guess who's Beauty?" another one chimed in, eliciting a round of snickers. You froze, your face flushing crimson with shame, your instinct to disappear into the nearest crack in the sidewalk overwhelming.

Before you could shrink away and endure their taunts in silence, Jisung, who had been walking a few discreet steps behind you, his presence unnoticed until that moment, moved with a sudden, terrifying speed. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the loudest offender by the collar of his expensive sports jacket, his knuckles white with barely suppressed fury.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Jisung growled, his usual cool, detached demeanor replaced by a raw, furious intensity you had never witnessed before, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The other guys, initially amused, backed away, their laughter dying in their throats, surprised and intimidated by his violent outburst. Jisung shoved the guy away, his eyes blazing with a protective anger.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?" The guy, visibly shaken and surprised by the ferocity of Jisung's reaction, mumbled a hasty apology and hurried away with his equally stunned friends. Jisung turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his expression softening infinitesimally, a hint of genuine concern in his dark eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. You could only nod mutely, your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected, fierce defense leaving you both shaken and strangely… protected, a warmth spreading through the cold knot of shame in your chest.

But the incident, as such things often do in the hothouse environment of high school, had significant repercussions. Whispers followed Jisung down the hallways now, laced with a different, more salacious kind of speculation. "Did you see him go after her like that?" someone murmured, their eyes wide with gossip.

"He's totally obsessed with that… chubby girl. What does he even see in her?" The rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by the public display of Jisung's anger and your continued, albeit still somewhat hesitant, proximity. "Jisung's into fatties," one particularly cruel comment, delivered with a deliberate, cutting edge, reached his ears in the crowded cafeteria during lunch.

The words, meant to be a public humiliation aimed at both of you, hit a raw nerve, igniting a fury within him that you had only glimpsed before. In a flash, Jisung was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.

He strode purposefully towards the group of guys who had been snickering, his eyes dark with a barely controlled rage. He grabbed the one who had spoken by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a nearby table, sending trays clattering and food scattering across the linoleum floor.

"Listen here, you piece of shit," Jisung snarled, his voice dangerously low but carrying through the stunned silence of the suddenly hushed cafeteria. "She isn't fat. She is chubby, and being chubby isn't inherently bad. She looks absolutely beautiful.

There is a fundamental difference between ignorance and deliberate malice. Educate yourself, you fucker." He punctuated his furious words with a sharp, brutal punch to the guy's jaw before his stunned friends could react and pull him away. The cafeteria buzzed with shocked whispers and a newfound, albeit grudging and often resentful, respect for Jisung's fierce, albeit violent, defense of you.

The rumors, however, persisted, twisting the narrative into something you increasingly dreaded. "Rich brat Jisung dating the school outcast," they whispered, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Probably just a phase. He'll get bored of her eventually and go back to the pretty, skinny girls."

These whispers, amplified by the dramatic incident in the cafeteria, inevitably reached the venomous ears of your aunt. The subtle shift in Jisung's behavior, the undeniable attention he was now paying you, confirmed her worst, most cynical suspicions.

"So," she hissed one evening as you were silently washing dishes after a particularly grueling day at school and an even more grueling dinner with her, her eyes narrowed with a predatory suspicion, "that rich boy has his claws in you now, hasn't he?" You flinched at the venom in her tone, the familiar sting of her judgment.

"He's just… a friend, Aunt," you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor that ran through you. Her hand shot out with surprising speed, catching you across the face, the sharp crack echoing in the small, cramped kitchen. The physical pain was a familiar ache, but the accusation that followed cut far deeper. "Don't lie to me, you little gold digger!" she spat, her grip tightening on your arm like a vise.

"I knew it. I always knew you were after something. Trying to latch onto his money, aren't you? Just like your good-for-nothing mother!" Her words were like a toxic poison, seeping into the fragile sense of hope that had begun to tentatively bloom within you, twisting the unexpected kindness into something ugly and manipulative. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her accusations, her bitter, distorted perception of your burgeoning connection with Jisung.

The relentless rumors, your aunt's brutal abuse and her vile accusations, the gnawing fear of what others were saying about Jisung because of his association with you – it all became an unbearable weight, crushing the fragile shoots of hope that had dared to emerge.

The unexpected bridge you had started to build with Jisung felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, the whispers and judgments like relentless waves eroding the foundation. In a desperate, self-preservationist attempt to protect yourself, to retreat back into the familiar, albeit agonizing, solitude, you made a drastic, heart-wrenching decision.

With trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision, you blocked Jisung's number on your old phone, severing the digital lifeline that had offered a sliver of connection. You deleted your text conversations, erasing the late-night exchanges that had brought you a fleeting sense of belonging, the digital echoes of his unexpected kindness now too painful to bear.

You started avoiding the library during your usual study times, the quiet corners now feeling like painful, empty reminders of his focused presence. When he tried to approach you in the crowded hallways, his usual aloofness replaced with a bewildered concern, his brow furrowed with worry and a silent question in his dark eyes, you would turn away, your heart aching with a silent scream of despair trapped in your throat, your gaze fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.

The umbrellas and game nights became distant, bittersweet memories, shrouded in a self-imposed silence, a shield you erected to protect your already battered heart from a world that seemed determined to misunderstand and hurt you.

The fragile connection, barely formed, snapped under the immense weight of fear, misunderstanding, and the crushing reality of your own deeply ingrained insecurities, leaving you alone again in the echoing silence of your own making, the black umbrella a stark, painful reminder of what could have been.

--

Eight years. An epoch in the fleeting landscape of youth, a span long enough for the seasons to cycle countless times, painting the world in vibrant hues of spring and summer, then stripping it bare with the stark beauty of autumn and winter.

Enough time for fledgling cities to evolve into sprawling, gleaming metropolises of steel and glass, their skylines perpetually reaching for the heavens, monuments to human ambition and progress.

And certainly enough time for the tentative bud of a high school connection, once so fragile and fraught with misunderstanding, to wither into a distant, almost dreamlike memory, its sharp edges softened by the relentless passage of time, its significance fading into the hazy recesses of the past, like a forgotten melody played on a broken instrument, its notes barely audible.

You were no longer the shrinking, self-conscious teenager haunted by the cruel whispers that echoed in the crowded hallways and the oppressive silence of a toxic home, a ghost in your own life. You had painstakingly, meticulously built a new life for yourself, brick by emotional brick, each one laid with the mortar of hard work, unwavering determination, and a fierce, almost defiant independence that had blossomed in the fertile ground of necessity, a shield against the vulnerabilities of the past.

The late nights spent poring over textbooks, the quiet dedication to mastering complex algorithms and intricate lines of code, the relentless pursuit of knowledge in the digital realm, had finally translated into a thriving career as a successful IT engineer in your early twenties.

You commanded respect in boardrooms, your innovative solutions were sought after by colleagues and superiors alike, and your code was elegant, efficient, a testament to the sharp, analytical mind that had always been your secret strength, a weapon against the insecurities that once threatened to consume you.

Your personal life, however, remained a carefully constructed fortress, its walls high and its gates firmly locked, guarded by years of ingrained caution and a deep-seated wariness of vulnerability. You lived alone in a sleek, minimalist apartment perched high above the city's relentless pulse, a sanctuary of your own making where silence was a welcome companion and your personal space was your own inviolable domain, a stark contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable environment of your adolescence. The panoramic city views from your floor-to-ceiling windows served as a constant reminder of how far you had come, a testament to your resilience.

Close friends were a concept that felt foreign, almost unnecessary, a potential source of pain you had learned to avoid, the risk of emotional entanglement outweighing the promise of genuine connection. The scars of the past ran deep, invisible but persistent, leaving you emotionally guarded, wary of any hint of intimacy, and proficient at maintaining a polite, professional distance from everyone you encountered. Trust was a precious currency you hoarded carefully, rarely spending it, its value inflated by the painful lessons etched into the fabric of your youth, lessons you had no intention of repeating.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the melancholic scent of fallen leaves swirling in the city's canyons and the sharp, invigorating promise of a coming winter, you were hurrying down a busy downtown street during your lunch break. A mental checklist of errands – dry cleaning, a quick stop at the independent bookstore you frequented for its comforting smell of old paper and ink, and perhaps a decent cup of artisanal coffee from that new place around the corner – ran through your mind with the precision of a well-written algorithm, each task prioritized and scheduled.

Lost in the intricate logic of a particularly challenging debugging task you'd been wrestling with all morning, your mind still tracing the elusive error in the cascading lines of code, a phantom bug that seemed to shift and evade your every attempt to squash it, you rounded a sharp corner near a bustling, trendy coffee shop and collided with someone.

The unexpected impact sent a jolt through you and your sleek, state-of-the-art smartphone skittering across the textured pavement, its screen momentarily flashing a distorted image of your focused concentration before going dark, a small tragedy in your otherwise meticulously managed day.

"Oh, excuse me! I am so incredibly sorry," you murmured automatically, bending down to retrieve your device, your initial annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the awkwardness of the unexpected physical contact and the immediate fear of a cracked screen, a costly inconvenience in your otherwise meticulously ordered life.

As you straightened up, your eyes traveled upwards, drawn to the man you had bumped into. He was taller now, the lean frame of his youth filled out with a more mature breadth across his shoulders, the boyish angularity of his face softened by the passage of time into a subtly handsome countenance, etched with the faintest lines of experience around his eyes, lines that hinted at late nights and weighty decisions, a roadmap of the years that had passed.

Wire-framed glasses, a sophisticated touch you wouldn't have pictured on the often casually dressed teenager you remembered, perched on the bridge of his nose, framing intelligent, familiar eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in surprise, a fleeting flicker of recognition dancing within their depths, a spark that ignited a dormant ember within you, sending a surprising warmth through the chill autumn air.

His once meticulously styled, almost severe haircut now fell in a deliberately messy wave across his forehead, giving him a more approachable, less rigidly perfect appearance, a hint of artistic disarray that somehow softened the sharp edges of his undeniable success.

He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat, the dark charcoal fabric hinting at considerable expense and understated power, and held a steaming paper cup in one hand, the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed, high-end espresso wafting in the cool air, a scent that somehow felt both vaguely familiar and entirely new, a marker of his evolved world.

A jolt of recognition, sharp and unexpected, shot through you, followed by a disorienting wave of a peculiar, almost unsettling familiarity that tugged at the frayed edges of your carefully constructed present, pulling you back to a time you had consciously tried to bury beneath layers of achievement and self-reliance. It couldn't be… could it possibly be? Han Jisung.

Older, undeniably more polished, radiating an aura of quiet confidence and understated power you hadn't witnessed in his teenage years, but the intense gaze that locked with yours, the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips as he registered your presence, was undeniably him.

Your immediate instinct was to disappear, to melt back into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowd, to pretend you hadn't seen him, hadn't felt that disconcerting flicker of recognition that sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of a past you thought you had outrun finally catching up.

You offered a quick, generic "So sorry," and began to sidestep him, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the aloof, often sharp-edged teenager you remembered with the sophisticated, almost enigmatic man standing before you, a man who exuded an air of quiet authority and effortless charm.

"[Your Name]?" His voice, deeper now, a smooth baritone that resonated in a way the adolescent timbre never had, cutting through the surrounding cacophony of city noise like a familiar melody played on a new instrument, a familiar cadence that pulled at the frayed edges of a long-dormant memory. He said your full name, the way he used to all those years ago during those stolen, quiet moments in the library, a sound that sent a faint, unexpected tremor through you, a vibration that stirred something long dormant within your carefully guarded heart.

You froze, your carefully constructed composure momentarily faltering, the practiced indifference you wore like armor cracking under the unexpected weight of the encounter. You reluctantly met his gaze, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant flicker of something akin to… curiosity? "Jisung?" you replied, the name feeling foreign and yet strangely resonant on your tongue after so many years of deliberate disuse, a whisper from a life you thought you had left behind.

A hesitant, almost shy smile touched his lips, a far cry from the cool detachment and occasional sardonic smirk you remembered from high school. "It's been a while," he said, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made you feel strangely exposed, as if he could see past the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself, peering into the guarded spaces you rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. "You look… well. Successful."

Before you could formulate a polite refusal or an awkward attempt at small talk about the unpredictable autumn weather or the latest traffic snarl that had plagued your morning commute, he gestured vaguely towards the curb with his free hand. "My car's just around the corner. I'm actually heading in your general direction, I think, towards the financial district. Let me give you a ride back to your office. Save you the walk."

Suspicion, a familiar and unwelcome companion, immediately flared within you, its icy tendrils wrapping around your apprehension. Why? After all this time, after the abrupt and painful way your fragile connection had ended, leaving you feeling abandoned and misunderstood? What could he possibly want after eight long years of silence, years you had spent meticulously rebuilding your life without him, brick by painstaking brick?

You hesitated, weighing the awkwardness of accepting his unexpected offer against the even greater awkwardness of a prolonged conversation on a busy street, the risk of dredging up memories you had worked so diligently to bury beneath layers of professional success and emotional detachment.

There was a strange pull, however, an undeniable flicker of curiosity that you couldn't entirely ignore, a nagging question about the man he had become, the path his life had taken in the years since you last saw him. Against your better judgment, a small, almost imperceptible nod escaped you. "Okay," you said, your voice betraying a hint of your inner turmoil, the single word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history.

He led you not to a typical, anonymous sedan, but to a breathtakingly beautiful Pagani, its sleek, aerodynamic lines a testament to both artistry and engineering prowess, its low, guttural growl a subtle promise of immense power that vibrated through the very pavement beneath your feet.

The car turned heads as you approached, its presence a silent statement of wealth and refined taste, a world away from the battered jalopies that cluttered the high school parking lot of your memory. The passenger door swung open with a soft, almost theatrical whir, revealing luxurious leather seats that enveloped you in their rich embrace as you hesitantly settled inside, the scent of supple leather and something subtly, intoxicatingly expensive filling your senses, a stark contrast to the worn fabric of your old school backpack and the faint scent of your aunt's harsh cleaning supplies that still sometimes clung to your clothes.

The drive was short, punctuated by a strained, polite conversation about the unseasonably warm autumn weather and the general state of the city's ever-congested traffic, the mundane topics a flimsy shield against the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between you.

As he smoothly pulled up to your modern office building, its glass façade reflecting the crisp blue sky and the bustling energy of the city, a monument to your hard-won success, he mentioned the name of his investment firm, a brief, almost casual remark dropped into the otherwise stilted conversation as if discussing the morning's headlines. "Stratagem Capital," he said as you reached for the cool, brushed metal of the door handle, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second, a sudden premonition settling in your stomach.

"We're actually scheduled to have a rather important meeting with your company next week. Regarding a potential significant investment opportunity."

A sudden, chilling realization washed over you, cold and sharp as glacial ice, stealing your breath and sending a tremor of disbelief through you. "Stratagem Capital?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name echoing in the sudden silence of the car, a sound that resonated with an unexpected, almost ominous significance.

Your company, a promising tech startup you had poured your heart and soul into for the past few years, a testament to your resilience and your brilliance, had been working tirelessly for months, preparing meticulously crafted presentations, crunching complex financial projections that represented your team's collective hopes and dreams, pouring every ounce of energy and fragile optimism into securing a crucial investment that could catapult your small firm to the next level, finally allowing your innovative ideas to truly take flight and disrupt the industry.

The lead investor's name had been circulated amongst the senior staff, a prominent and highly respected figure in the tech industry, a name that carried significant weight, but in the whirlwind of deadlines and preparations, you hadn't paid it much attention beyond the professional implications, the potential for growth and validation.

You looked at Jisung, really looked at him, the tailored coat that spoke of power, the air of quiet confidence that radiated from him, the casual mention of multi-million dollar investments as if it were everyday conversation. The aloof, sometimes volatile jock of your past had metamorphosed into a powerful, influential man, a titan in the very industry you were striving to conquer.

And he was the investor. The key to your company's future, the man whose decision could make or break everything you had worked so hard to achieve, the man who now held your professional destiny in his hands. The unexpected, almost cruelly ironic twist hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken history, unresolved emotions, and the immense weight of a potentially very complicated, and possibly very high-stakes, future.

The past and the present had collided with a force that left you reeling, the comfortable distance you had cultivated shattered by the unexpected reappearance of a ghost from your past, a ghost who now held the keys to your future.

--

The meeting with Stratagem Capital the following week proceeded with an almost unnerving smoothness. You, as the lead engineer on the project, presented your team's innovative work with a calm professionalism that belied the turmoil churning within you. You fielded questions with clarity and precision, your deep understanding of the technology shining through.

Jisung, seated at the head of the table, listened intently, his gaze steady and focused, occasionally interjecting with insightful queries that demonstrated a genuine interest in your company's vision. There was a detached air to his professionalism, a stark contrast to the unexpected ride you had shared, making it almost seem like that encounter had been a figment of your imagination.

Yet, the occasional flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible softening of his expression when your gazes met, hinted at the complicated history that lay beneath the surface.

Weeks drifted by in a strange state of limbo. The investment from Stratagem Capital was still under consideration, a looming decision that hung over your company like a delicate balance. In the meantime, you found yourself running into Jisung with surprising frequency.

A silent acknowledgment in the building lobby, a shared elevator ride where neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. Occasionally, their paths would cross outside the office, and he would offer you a ride home, a proposition you initially met with hesitant suspicion.

The first few times, the drives were stiff and awkward. Polite inquiries about work and the city filled the silence, careful conversations that skirted around the eight years of absence and the abrupt end of your high school connection.

You remained guarded, observing him with a cautious eye, trying to decipher his intentions. Was this mere politeness, a byproduct of your professional entanglement? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a fragile sense of familiarity began to seep back into your interactions. The silences during the car rides became less strained, occasionally punctuated by a shared observation about a news report or a wry comment about the city's unpredictable traffic.

You found yourself, on a couple of particularly late nights at the office, accepting his offer of a ride without the initial surge of suspicion. There was a strange comfort in the shared journey, a sense of unexpected ease that surprised you.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had been meticulously piecing together the fragments of the past, recalling details from your brief time in high school. He remembered your quiet enthusiasm for a particular indie game, the way your eyes lit up when discussing a certain author, and, most surprisingly, he remembered your birthday.

A date that had somehow lodged itself in the recesses of his memory, a small, insignificant detail from a lifetime ago. As your birthday approached, he found himself making plans, a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a discreet, elegant ambiance, the perfect setting to finally ask you out, to see if the fragile connection rekindled by chance could blossom into something more.

Then, one afternoon, as you were leaving the office, he saw you standing outside, laughing with a male coworker. Your head was thrown back, your face radiant with genuine amusement, a carefree expression he hadn't witnessed on you in all the years he had known you, even in your brief moments of joy in high school.

A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy, unfamiliar and unwelcome, clenched in his chest. The easy camaraderie you shared with this colleague, the effortless joy in your expression, stirred something possessive within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.

That evening, as you were packing up your things, preparing for the quiet solitude of your apartment, Jisung was waiting for you in the lobby. Instead of his usual quiet offer of a ride, he stood near the reception desk, his presence drawing the attention of several of your colleagues who were also leaving for the day.

He waited until your eyes met his across the bustling space, and then, his voice carrying with a newfound confidence that echoed through the lobby, he addressed you publicly. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze holding yours. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night?"

All eyes in the lobby turned to you, a mixture of curiosity and speculation in their gazes. Caught completely off guard by the public invitation, a blush creeping up your neck, you felt a wave of awkwardness wash over you. The memories of the high school rumors, the sting of your aunt's accusations, flashed through your mind.

Yet, there was also a strange pull, a reluctant curiosity to see where this unexpected turn of events might lead. Under the scrutiny of your colleagues, their hushed whispers filling the sudden silence, you managed a hesitant, "Yes, Mr. Han. I would." The agreement felt both inevitable and incredibly awkward, a step back into a past you had tried so hard to leave behind, under the watchful eyes of your present.

-

A nervous energy, a fluttering anticipation you hadn't permitted yourself to feel in years, stirred within the carefully guarded chambers of your heart as you prepared for the unexpected dinner. You stood before your closet, a meticulously curated collection of professional attire in understated hues that spoke of competence and control, and sought something that felt both comfortable and hinted at the special occasion, a subtle rebellion against your usual reserved style, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of the evening.

Your gaze finally settled on a cherry red top, a vibrant splash of color that always seemed to inject a bit of defiant joy into your spirit, a bold statement against the muted tones that often mirrored your inner landscape. You paired it with a denim skort, a touch of casual familiarity amidst the potential formality of the evening, a grounding element that reminded you of the woman you were beneath the polished exterior you presented to the world.

To elevate the look, you chose a pair of sleek cherry red heels, adding a confident lift to your stride and a subtle statement of intent, a silent assertion of your own worth. Finally, you adorned yourself with delicate gold jewelry – a slender necklace that rested at your collarbone, catching the light with a subtle shimmer that drew attention to the graceful curve of your neck, and elegant stud earrings that framed your face with a touch of understated grace, adding a hint of warmth to your otherwise cool demeanor.

The reflection staring back was a woman you had painstakingly built, piece by painstaking piece, strong and independent, a far cry from the invisible, shrinking girl of your past, a testament to your resilience and unwavering spirit.

A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the quiet of your apartment, a sound that both quickened your pulse and filled you with a sense of nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, a silent promise to yourself to simply relax and enjoy the evening, regardless of where it might lead, you opened the door to find Jisung standing there.

The black satin shirt he wore accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fabric catching the soft hallway light with a subtle, almost liquid sheen that hinted at a quiet luxury. The wire-framed glasses added an unexpected intellectual air to his already handsome features, making his sharp, intelligent eyes seem even more thoughtful and perceptive, and you couldn't help but notice how undeniably fine he looked, a refined elegance that was both familiar, a ghost of the intense, sometimes volatile boy you once knew, and entirely new, a testament to the years that had sculpted him into this composed, intriguing man.

The ride to the restaurant was initially filled with a nervous tension, a subtle undercurrent of awkwardness that mirrored your earlier encounters, the silence punctuated by the gentle hum of the Pagani's engine.

Polite conversation filled the gaps, careful inquiries about the day's events and the surprisingly mild autumn weather, neither of you quite venturing into the deeper, more turbulent waters of your shared history or the uncertain territory of the present.

You found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to reconcile the composed man beside you, radiating an air of quiet confidence, with the memory of the intense, sometimes volatile teenager who had defended you in the crowded school cafeteria.

The restaurant was perched on a rooftop, offering a breathtaking panorama of the city lights twinkling below like a million scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth. The ambiance was sophisticated and intimate, soft jazz music drifting through the air, the murmur of hushed conversations a gentle hum that created a sense of secluded elegance, a world away from the noisy chaos of your high school days.

The initial awkwardness during dinner slowly began to dissipate as the conversation drifted towards lighter topics – shared observations about the dazzling city skyline, a brief, surprisingly engaging discussion about a thought-provoking documentary you had both recently watched, revealing unexpected common interests that bridged the years.

Then, as the dessert arrived, a delicate chocolate torte adorned with a single, flickering candle, casting a warm glow on his face, Jisung's eyes met yours with a soft intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Happy birthday, [Your Name]," he said, his voice a low, warm murmur that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, a simple acknowledgment that held a weight of unspoken understanding.

He then presented you with a small, exquisitely wrapped box, the paper a deep, rich burgundy tied with a silver ribbon, the weight of it surprisingly substantial in your hand. Inside, nestled in soft, black velvet, was a heavy crystal perfume bottle, its facets catching the candlelight.

You lifted it, your breath catching in your throat. The delicate, floral and slightly musky scent that wafted upwards was instantly, achingly familiar, a nostalgic echo of your high school days, a fragrance you hadn't encountered in years, a scent that held within it the ghost of a younger, more vulnerable you.

And then you saw it – your name, [Your Name], elegantly and intricately carved into the smooth, cool glass of the bottle, a personal touch that resonated with a profound intimacy. A wave of emotion washed over you, a poignant mix of profound surprise and an unexpected tenderness that resonated deep within your carefully guarded heart.

He remembered. He remembered the small, seemingly insignificant detail of your favorite scent from a lifetime ago, a scent that evoked bittersweet memories of a time when simple pleasures held a greater significance, a time before the weight of the world had settled so heavily on your shoulders.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a raw vulnerability exposed that you rarely allowed anyone to witness, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of your independence.

"Jisung," you began, your voice trembling slightly, the carefully constructed walls around your heart momentarily crumbling under the weight of his unexpected thoughtfulness and the poignant memories the perfume evoked. "This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. More than I could have ever expected. Thank you."

You paused, gathering your courage to voice the deeper turmoil that had plagued you for so long, the insecurities that still whispered in the quiet corners of your mind. "But… I need to be honest with you. I… I don't love myself. Not really. Not in the way someone should. And if I don't love myself, how can I possibly let anyone else truly love me? I'm… I'm afraid of that. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of not being enough."

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken pain, ingrained insecurity, and the deep-seated fear of repeating the hurts of the past, a truth you had carried like a secret burden.

He reached across the table, his larger hand gently covering yours, his touch warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that transcended words.

His gaze was earnest, unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding that surprised you with its depth, a knowing look that seemed to see past your carefully constructed defenses. "Then I'll wait," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, his eyes conveying a patience you hadn't anticipated, a steadfastness that offered a glimmer of hope.

"I'll wait until you do, [Your Name]. Because I know, deep down, the incredible woman you are, the strength and resilience you possess. And I believe you'll see it too, eventually. And when you do, whenever that may be, I'll still be here." His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, an unexpected promise of unwavering support and a profound belief in you that resonated deep within your heart, planting a tiny seed of hope in the barren landscape of your self-doubt, a fragile promise of a future you hadn't dared to imagine.

--

The rooftop dinner, bathed in the soft glow of city lights and punctuated by the raw vulnerability you had dared to share, marked a subtle but significant shift in the long, unspoken narrative between you and Jisung. The confession, the hesitant unveiling of your deepest insecurities, hung in the air not as a source of awkwardness or a point of retreat, but as a fragile, newly forged bridge spanning the chasm of years and misunderstandings.

In the weeks that followed, slow, deliberate progress began, like the tentative unfurling of a tightly closed bloom. A simple goodnight text evolved into a brief, thoughtful exchange the next day. A casual inquiry about the challenges of your workday led to a late-night phone call, the comfortable silence that occasionally fell between you gradually replacing the nervous tension and unspoken anxieties of the past.

He didn't push, didn't make demands or issue expectations. He simply offered his quiet, unwavering presence, a steady anchor in the sometimes-turbulent waters of your emotions, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.

He would text a simple "How was your day?" or share an interesting article he thought you might find engaging, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his attentiveness. Occasionally, he would suggest a late-night study session, the pretense of academic pursuit now a comfortable backdrop for shared interests – a complex documentary that sparked a fascinating debate, a classic novel you had always intended to read but never found the time for, its pages becoming a shared landscape of discovery.

Slowly, tentatively, you began to lower the carefully constructed walls around your heart, brick by painstaking brick. You found a surprising comfort in his quiet understanding, the way he listened without judgment, his responses thoughtful and genuine, reflecting a depth of empathy you hadn't encountered before.

He learned your rhythms, the days you needed space to navigate the lingering shadows of your past, the evenings you might welcome a gentle distraction, a shared meal, or a quiet conversation. He even started suggesting you cook together at his spacious, modern apartment, his sleek kitchen a stark and welcoming contrast to the cramped, often tense atmosphere of the kitchen of your childhood.

These evenings were filled with a comfortable domesticity, the shared task of preparing a meal, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the simmering of sauces, becoming a silent language of growing intimacy and trust.

A year spun by, marked by the subtle shifts in the seasons and the more profound shifts within yourself. Jisung's unwavering patience and quiet, steadfast support had become an integral and comforting presence in your life, a constant source of gentle encouragement.

You found yourself laughing more freely, the sound echoing in your apartment without the familiar tinge of self-consciousness. Your steps felt lighter, your shoulders less burdened. The sharp edges of your emotional guardedness began to soften, replaced by a tentative sense of self-acceptance, a growing understanding of your own inherent worth.

You started looking at your reflection with a kinder, more forgiving eye, the critical voice within slowly quieting its relentless judgment. While the journey to fully loving yourself was an ongoing process, a path you were still navigating, you were undeniably more confident, more emotionally stable, the foundations of your well-being feeling stronger and more resilient than they ever had before.

Then, finally, came the day of the project launch, the culmination of months of intense work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication, the very project upon which Stratagem Capital's significant investment hinged. The atmosphere in the office was electric with a palpable mixture of nervous anticipation and focused energy, the air thick with the unspoken hopes and fears of your entire team.

You, as the lead engineer and the driving force behind the innovation, presented the final product with a quiet confidence that belied the subtle tremor of excitement within you, your voice steady and clear as you navigated the intricate technical details, your passion for the project shining through.

Everything went smoothly, the system performing flawlessly, its elegant functionality and groundbreaking capabilities impressing the stakeholders. A collective sigh of relief and a wave of triumphant exhaustion washed over your team as the launch was officially declared a resounding success, a testament to your collective hard work and vision.

That evening, a simple text message from Jisung arrived on your phone, the familiar name on the screen sending a warmth spreading through you: "Stratagem party tonight. Nexus. Consider it a celebration of a job well done."

It was a casual invitation, understated in its wording, but the underlying warmth and a hint of personal invitation were unmistakable, a quiet acknowledgment of your shared journey and your individual triumph. Hesitantly, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach, you decided to go.

-

The invitation to Nexus arrived with a subtly possessive addendum from Jisung, delivered via a late-night text that vibrated with an unspoken intimacy: "Wear black. It suits you, highlights the fire in your eyes, and makes those cherry lips look like they're begging for a taste."

Trusting his quiet confidence and the undeniably suggestive compliment, you chose a sleek black dress. Its simple elegance skimmed your curves like a whispered promise, a silent statement of newfound comfort and a daring hint of burgeoning sensuality in your own skin.

The fabric flowed around you like liquid night, a stark contrast to the vibrant, almost defiant red of your birthday dinner, yet equally, if not more, captivating, a subtle promise of the woman you were slowly, deliberately unleashing.

At the club, "Nexus," Jisung's sleek and exclusive domain, the celebratory atmosphere was thick with the intoxicating blend of pulsating music, unrestrained laughter, and the expensive, heady aroma of designer perfume and celebratory spirits.

Your colleagues, flushed with the heady success of the project launch, their usual professional reserve dissolving with each shared bottle of champagne, were in high spirits, their inhibitions lowered to a dangerous degree. You found yourself drawn into their revelry, the offered glasses of the effervescent liquid, each accompanied by increasingly suggestive toasts to your team's brilliance and your own pivotal role, proving utterly irresistible in the face of their insistent camaraderie and playful shoves.

Your notoriously low tolerance for alcohol, a delicate secret you rarely shared, meant the celebratory drinks went to your head with thrilling speed, the edges of the room beginning to soften and sway, the bass of the music vibrating deep within your core, a physical manifestation of the delicious unraveling of your carefully controlled senses, igniting a reckless, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins.

Soon, a giddy laughter, a sound that had been long suppressed beneath layers of self-consciousness and ingrained caution, bubbled up from within you, a lightness you hadn't experienced with such uninhibited abandon in years.

Encouraged by your tipsy colleagues, their cheers and suggestive winks egging you on, you found yourself on the dance floor, moving with a fluid, uninhibited grace that surprised even yourself, a joyous, almost primal release of pent-up tension and newfound confidence.

Through the shimmering haze of alcohol and flashing lights, your gaze locked with Jisung's across the crowded room.

He was watching you from the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a polished chrome pillar, a soft, almost possessive smile playing on his lips, his gaze dark, intense, and utterly unwavering, a silent observer who seemed to find a quiet amusement and a palpable, smoldering desire in your uncharacteristic abandon.

His eyes held a dark, knowing gleam that sent a shiver of raw anticipation dancing down your spine.

A sudden, deliciously wicked impulse, fueled by the alcohol's intoxicating loosening grip on your inhibitions and a burgeoning, undeniable, almost desperate affection for the man who watched you with such quiet intensity, overtook you with a thrilling recklessness.

With a playful shout that was almost a husky invitation, you weaved through the dancing crowd, a black-clad siren navigating the throng with an unexpected agility, reached Jisung, and, with a boldness that made your own heart pound, yanked him down by the collar of his dark, subtly shimmering silk shirt.

Your cherry-red lips crashed onto his in a kiss that was anything but demure, a rush of giddy affection, uninhibited desire, and a playful, teasing exploration of the boundaries that had long separated you. Your hands tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until your bodies were pressed together, the kiss a heady mix of champagne-fueled impulsiveness and a genuine longing that had been slowly simmering beneath the surface for months, now boiling over.

You nipped playfully at his lower lip before deepening the kiss, your tongue darting out to tease his, a silent, brazen dare in your slightly inebriated state that made his breath hitch and a low groan rumble in his chest.

You punctuated the bold move by gently biting down on his lower lip, a playful yet possessive gesture, before tugging lightly, drawing a surprised, yet undeniably pleased, sound from him.

He recoiled slightly, a flicker of surprise widening his dark eyes before a gentle, yet firm, hand cupped your cheek, stilling your impulsive actions, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear with a tender possessiveness that sent a delicious thrill spiraling through you.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your swollen lips, a note of amused concern and a definite, husky undercurrent of arousal lacing his tone.

"Easy there, Ms. Y/L/N. Those cherry lips are getting a little… demanding, and you're swaying like a particularly lovely willow tree in a strong breeze. Though, I must admit," his gaze dropped to your lips, a dark heat flickering in his eyes, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken, "it's a rather… persuasive argument."

He carefully, yet reluctantly, disentangled himself, his arm remaining possessively around your waist, his touch a steady anchor in your suddenly unsteady world.

Gently but firmly, he steered you away from the pulsating crowd, his concern evident in his steady, unwavering gaze, though a hint of reluctant longing and a definite spark of desire still lingered in their depths.

He helped you into the cool, luxurious embrace of his Pagani, the soft leather a welcome contrast to the sudden heat that flushed your skin.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet, punctuated only by your occasional giggles and his soft, reassuring murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his fingers occasionally flexing as if fighting a fierce internal battle against the urge to explore further.

As you fumbled with your door, the city lights blurring through the alcohol-induced haze, Jisung patiently guided your unsteady hand to the keypad.

You punched in the code '14092000', the familiar sequence a jumbled mess in your slightly inebriated mind, the numbers swimming before your eyes. Then, as the lock clicked open, the realization hit you with the force of a sudden downpour, a wave of unexpected warmth flooding through the alcoholic haze.

The numbers… they were his birthday. A small, intimate detail he had entrusted to you, a silent gesture of trust that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings and the quiet intimacy you now shared, a secret language whispered in digits that now felt like a key to something much deeper.

Once inside your apartment, the lingering effects of the alcohol made you clumsy and endearingly unsteady, your movements a little too dramatic, your laughter a little too loud, each step a playful sway that threatened to send you tumbling.

As Jisung guided you towards your bedroom, his hand a firm, reassuring presence on your back, a wave of affection, amplified by the alcohol and the heady emotions of the evening, washed over you with an almost overwhelming intensity.

You turned to him, your movements slightly exaggerated, a playful glint in your eyes that hinted at mischief and a burgeoning, almost desperate desire. Reaching out, you tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down onto the edge of your bed with a soft giggle that bordered on a husky sigh.

You then proceeded to crawl onto the mattress, straddling his lap, your black dress riding up your thighs with a scandalous disregard for propriety, snuggling on top of him, your head resting comfortably against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart, your breath mingling. "Jisung," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but filled with a genuine warmth that radiated through you, "I think… no, I know… I love you. You're… you're so good to me. And you smell absolutely intoxicating," you added with a tipsy giggle, nuzzling closer and pressing a lingering, deliberately provocative kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck, your cherry-red lips leaving a faint, fleeting imprint.

You then repeated the playful bite on his lower lip, tugging gently and watching his eyes darken with a mixture of amusement and something far more primal.

A soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your ear, a sound filled with a tender amusement and a palpable, tightly leashed desire that made his muscles tense beneath you. He gently stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, his voice a heart-fluttering whisper against your temple, filled with a tender amusement and a quiet longing that mirrored your own, tinged with a hint of reluctant control.

"And I, [Your Name]," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist for a fleeting, possessive moment before relaxing, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your parted lips, then drifting down to where your hips subtly pressed against his.

"Am willing to wait until those beautiful, slightly tipsy words hold the same crystal clarity as the stars we saw painting the night sky. But darling," his voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that hinted at a barely suppressed hunger, "the waiting is becoming… an exquisite form of torture, especially with those tempting little nibbles."

He held you close, a silent battle raging within him, resisting the undeniable pull of the moment, respecting the vulnerability of your inebriated state, his own desire held firmly in check by a deeper, more profound affection and a gentlemanly restraint that spoke volumes about the depth of his character, even as his body betrayed a different, urgent story.

-- Next Morning

Sunlight stabbed at your eyelids, a brutal assault after the night's champagne-fueled escapades. A dull throb hammered behind your eyes, each pulse echoing the questionable decisions of the previous evening. You groaned, turning your face into the pillow, the lingering scent of expensive cologne a faint, comforting anchor in the sea of your queasy stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you pried your eyes open, the unfamiliar surroundings of your bedroom coming into focus.

Then, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and something sweet, like pancakes, wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the fog of your hangover. You pushed yourself up, the black dress from the night before a crumpled heap on the floor. Padding barefoot towards the source of the enticing smell, you found Jisung standing at your stove, effortlessly flipping pancakes, a comfortable domesticity radiating from him that made your heart do a little flip of its own, despite your pounding head.

He turned as you entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "Slept well? You were quite… enthusiastic last night. Though, I must say," he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze lingering on your slightly disheveled state, "you have a surprising stamina for someone who claims a low tolerance. You seemed to enjoy our… deep and slow… activities. And if I recall correctly, there were some rather insistent requests for… more."

Panic flared in your chest, hot and sharp. Had you? The memories of last night were fragmented, a blurry montage of laughter, flashing lights, and a reckless boldness you barely recognized. Your cheeks flushed crimson. "We… we didn't… have… sex?" you stammered, your voice thick with sleep and dawning horror.

His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, agassi," he chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Just teasing. Though your attempts to straddle me were… memorable. And your whispered demands were… certainly noted. I got you safely tucked in. All innocent, I assure you. Mostly."

Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, leaving you slightly breathless and acutely aware of the lingering heat in your cheeks. He moved towards you, his hands reaching out to frame your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. "Though," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, a familiar heat returning to his eyes, "that kiss in the club… and those little nibbles… those were definitely real. And rather… persuasive. You seemed to have a particular fondness for my lower lip."

Your brow furrowed, a wave of mortification washing over you. "I… I don't really remember…" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hotter.

He closed the distance between you, his gaze intense. He reached out, gently taking your hand, and walked you backwards until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. He placed a hand on either side of your head, effectively pinning you, a playful dominance in his stance. Leaning in close, his breath ghosting over your lips, he teased, "Those kisses were quite something, my tipsy darling. And those little bites… rather… possessive. Should I show you how you did it?"

To his surprise, instead of a denial, a hesitant nod escaped you, a flicker of curiosity overriding your embarrassment.

His eyes darkened, a spark of something primal igniting within them. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing prelude. Then, you surged forward, your hands tangling in his hair, your mouth crashing onto his with a desperate, sober longing. This kiss was different, grounded in a clarity that the previous night lacked, a heartfelt confession in every touch. When you finally broke apart, your breath catching in your throat, you looked into his eyes, the hangover momentarily forgotten. "Jisung," you said, your voice clear and steady, the words carrying the weight of a year of quiet understanding and burgeoning love. "I do love you. I really do."

His gaze softened, a profound tenderness replacing the teasing glint. Without a word, he swept you off your feet, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you to the kitchen counter, gently placing you on the cool surface amidst the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. His lips found yours again, this time with a fierce tenderness, a claiming kiss that spoke of shared desire and a love that had been patiently waiting. Hands explored, soft moans escaped your lips, the scent of bacon and pancakes mingling with the raw heat of your bodies. Finally, breathless and flushed, you broke apart, foreheads touching.

Han's voice, a low, husky whisper against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you more, my love."

-- The End

[sh4nksslvt]

shanks x reader with a cat-like or cat based zoan devil fruit?

sounds cool www

Claws, Cuddles, and Catnip Chaos

Shanks will do anything to win over the crew’s mischievous cat-like Devil Fruit user—even if it means competing with Benn and surviving a sneak-attack nap.

shanks x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, light romance, nap cuddles, clingy antics, catnip a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff a bit cringe, akward, and confusing word count: 991

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

There were exactly three things the Red-Haired Pirates learned about you very quickly:

You were a certified menace in a cat’s body.

You had zero respect for personal space—unless it was Shanks’s.

You absolutely, unapologetically favored Benn Beckman.

"She purrs for you, Benn?! I've fed her, I've scratched her ears, I even gave her that weird fish jerky from Dressrosa!"

Shanks was sulking—again—as you laid sprawled across Benn’s lap like a lazy feline sunbathing, flicking your tail with royal indifference while he casually stroked between your ears.

“She lets me pet her when she’s in a good mood,” Benn replied calmly, taking a drag of his cigar. “Maybe try not throwing her off your shoulder when she lands there mid-meeting.”

“She knocked over seven mugs in ten seconds!”

“I was clearing the table for snacks,” you muttered, not opening your eyes.

“You yeeted a map. Into the ocean.”

You rolled onto your back, belly up, tail flicking toward Benn’s arm. “Benny understands me. Right, Benny?”

Benn chuckled, slow and satisfied. “You’re a little gremlin, but you’re my gremlin.”

Shanks practically burst into flames from jealousy. “That’s MY gremlin!”

"Ownership implies consent," you said, still not moving.

“You SLEPT ON HIS DESK FOR THREE HOURS!”

“I was asserting dominance.”

Shanks’s eye twitched.

Flashback: The “Desk Incident”

You’d sauntered into the war room mid-strategy meeting, tail high, whiskers twitching with curiosity. No one questioned it. You did this all the time.

Except this time, instead of knocking over a globe or licking a compass like a weirdo, you simply walked across the table, plopped down on Benn’s open map, and curled up into a ball.

Then you snored.

For three hours.

Shanks tried to nudge you off gently at first.

You bit him.

When Benn reached over and scratched your chin, you purred like a motorboat and flopped onto your side.

"Traitor," Shanks muttered.

Back to the Present

"Alright, that's it," Shanks declared, standing on a barrel dramatically. "From now on, I'm enacting Operation: Make Cat Fall in Love with Me."

Benn raised an eyebrow. "That’s the name you’re going with?"

"YES," Shanks snapped. "Step one: catnip. Step two: fish. Step three: ultimate snuggles."

"She’ll see right through it," Benn said, but he was smirking.

You stretched and yawned loudly. “I can hear you, you know.”

“I’m not hiding it!” Shanks declared. “I’m wooing you.”

“Woo me and you die.”

“You’re saying that now,” he said, pointing dramatically. “But just wait.”

Operation: Catastrophic Success

Step one was—predictably—catnip.

You were wise to his games this time, narrowing your eyes at the sprig he dangled like a bribe.

“I’m not falling for it again.”

“Come on,” Shanks wheedled. “Just a sniff.”

“Nope.”

Shanks leaned in, holding it under your nose like a shady merchant. “High-quality, imported, no sticks.”

You hissed and batted it out of his hand.

Then you lunged and stuffed it in your shirt.

“…I said I wasn’t falling for it, not that I was above stealing it.”

Shanks blinked. “...Fair.”

Step Two: Fish Diplomacy

Shanks cooked. Personally.

The crew avoided the galley like it was on fire.

When you walked in, the smell of something vaguely edible reached your nose. Shanks stood with a crooked smile, apron inside out, face smudged with flour, and a suspiciously burnt fish in hand.

“For you.”

You sniffed it.

You stared.

“Did… did you use rum instead of oil?”

“I panicked!”

You padded over to Benn and took the jerky he always kept in his coat pocket.

Shanks’s soul left his body.

Step Three: Ultimate Snuggles

It happened completely by accident.

You were curled up on your usual sunspot near the helm, tail twitching softly as the Red Force cut through calm seas. You’d been lounging near Benn earlier, of course, but he’d gone to smoke and you felt… restless.

The sun was warm.

The wind was soft.

Shanks was lying in the hammock like a lounging idiot, one leg up, book on his face, softly snoring.

And for some reason, your legs just walked over. Your ears twitched. Your instincts went haywire.

And before you could even think, you leapt into the hammock like a heat-seeking missile and curled up on his chest.

Shanks woke with a loud OOF.

He froze.

He blinked up through his book… and found you, kneading his chest absentmindedly, eyes already half-lidded, clearly ready for a nap.

“Wha…”

“Shh,” you mumbled. “You’re warm. Good pillow.”

He nearly died on the spot.

She’s on me, he thought. She chose ME. Over Benn.

He let his arm slowly wrap around you like he was defusing a bomb. Then he just laid there, stiff as a board, trying not to breathe too loudly.

When Benn walked by and raised a brow, Shanks grinned like a victorious maniac.

“She came to me,” he mouthed.

Benn just puffed his cigar and said, “Try not to scare her off.”

“She’s purring,” Shanks whispered smugly. “She likes me now.”

“I give it five minutes before she sneezes and claws your face.”

Five Minutes Later

You sneezed violently.

Your claws came out.

“OH GOD MY NIPPLE.”

Later That Night

You sat on the railing, brushing your tail as the moonlight washed over the deck. Shanks sat nearby, nursing his dignity and some scratch marks under his shirt.

“…Still worth it,” he mumbled.

You side-eyed him. “You’re a masochist.”

“I like a challenge.”

You flicked his forehead with your tail. “You’re annoying.”

He grinned. “But you like me.”

“…No comment.”

You hopped off the rail and stretched. Then, casually, you flopped down and laid your head in his lap.

He froze again.

“…Are you trying to kill me with happiness?”

You yawned. “You’re comfy. Better than your fish, that’s for sure.”

He beamed.

“You like me more than Benn?”

“Don’t push it.”

“But—”

You shot him a glare. “I will go scratch his beard and nap in his bunk again.”

Shanks shut up real fast.

“…I’ll take the win.”

[6slux]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. THREE’S A CROWD!—poly!bfs! geto suguru & gojo satoru

.ᐟ +18, established poly, cunnilingus, comfort smut

you absolutely hated your job. you hated the way that place made you feel, you hated the way your body ached on the way to clock out. from your know-it-all colleagues to a rigid schedule that didn’t even allow you to catch a breath. you could go on and on about what you despised at work. the only problem was that their asses would owe you overtime by the end.

stumbling into your shared apartment, you’d slammed the front door particularly harsh one evening. the frame rattled behind you as you sashayed past the living room-right where your two boyfriends slouched off the couch.

it seemed each evening you got in later and later. the echos of your steps only becoming harsher against the floorpanels. what was once their overjoyous girl who used to leap into their arms and greet them with kisses became—this.

despite being in the next room, your movements are noisy and turbulent. one might’ve mistaken them for a fire evacuee collecting her belongings. what could’ve possibly taken your position from bad to worse?

two voices transcended into one as they called out to you. “what does she got going on?”, day questioned night, gojo then scratching at the side of his ruffled locs.

geto was the more assertive of the two. his fingertips long frozen over the pads of his black controller. rhetorical questions weren’t taken lightly around these parts, the dark-haired male already standing from a flattened cushion.

geto excused himself as he traced the hot trail you blazed throughout their home a couple seconds earlier. no more than five minutes later he returned with his baby in his arms.

he had to practically herd you back out to the couch. by time as your tired body curled up on top of his...you were sobbing into his chest.

“rough day, huh? let it out, sweetheart. we’re right here for ya. whenever you’re ready to talk about it…”, gojo idly sat by your side, now rubbing your back along with your other boyfriend as you wheezed up gibberish. clearly, a tsunami of emotions hit you at your most vulnerable. all it took was one soft ‘are you okay’ to release the floodgates.

nodding vigorously into a now damp crew neck, “thin ice. i’ve been working my butt off for three years now! then- that bitch had the audacity to just pop a head in and tell me- i’m on thin fucking ice”, like a record player your manager’s words were recited through a muffled cry.

“they should be lucky we don’t burn that place to the ground”

“fuck all of those assholes in that lame establishment. ive been telling you to just stay your ass in the house”

a string of passionate encouragement followed your words in shock. at this point your mind was blurry- you couldn’t quite distinguish who said what and which hand belonged to which. geto’s heavy chest whispered sweet nothings beneath the shell of your ear. thump, thump, thump—each heartbeat serenadingly calm against your tensed body. he had long wrapped you up in a wool throw, palm running along the flat of your back.

several silent moments passed, but it was clear that you were still deep in overthought. one sob too many led gojo to parting his soft pout, again.

“gonna cry ya’self into a freakin’ puddle, baby. c’monn, look at me,” two slender digits snaked around your chin, the calloused padding then wiped away runoff tears. “let us help you, m’kay? just wanna help our pretty girl out…stressing over a job she doesn’t even need”, geto chimed in beneath you, already peeling the covers off of your frame. it was as if the two were fused by the brain- the darker-haired man lifting your hips as gojo dragged your bottoms to your feet. the fabric is discarded into a pile on the carpet.

fat tears stilled at the brim of your waterline, allowing the two to adjust you until you were just in a pair of panties. geto helped ball up your shirt past your navel while his best friend thumbed at the wet spot between your thighs.

“satoru, it’s embarrassing,” you attempted to paw at his wrist which only earned you an icy-cold stare from below. “you know better than that, sweetheart. you’re way too sexy to be getting shy on us now,” the vibrations from the chest pressed against your back forces you to gulp up a groan. his wide palms slip down the backside of your thighs; right until he’s behind your knees. strong hold then pulling them up and apart to give gojo unabashed access.

your cheeks swell with warmth as the white-haired man peeled a corner of your center free. the thin fabric stuck to you like glue, a couple seconds of prying finally allowing him to drag it past your hips. “pretty ass pussy needs me just as bad as i need her”, a pointer and a middle finger spread your sticky lips apart. strings of syrupy arousal barricaded your slit.

gojo’s head eagerly ducks as his tongue flattened to swipe through the mess—right until he’s latching onto your swollen clit with suction. that’s when your limbs grow antsy, geto acted as an unfazed restraint. gojo was so unbelievably greedy when it came to eating pussy—your pussy. his thick tongue goes from swirling into a figure 8 to pistoning in and out of your clenching hole. he’s firmed the muscle up to penetrate past your weeping walls. then he’s softening the blow by pressing kisses all along your sensitive cunt.

geto, on the other hand, is so content with having your pretty face all to himself. his head cranes yours into his long neck. his wide lips repeatedly pressed peck after peck into your hot face. “satoru’s got our pretty girl squirming. let it out for us, pretty girl. fucking his tongue like that…chase that fucking nut, baby,”

he doesn’t have to tell you twice, a helpless croak came from your throat as you messily bucked your core to the textured friction. atlast that stubborn knot in the pit of your belly released down the sides of gojo’s dripping face. he laps and laps only asking for more as geto pressed down on your torso.

the air grew stuffy and muggy—all three of you now breathing hard as an attempt to calm down. your boys knew when their sensitive girl was exhausted,“you did such a good job for us. now let suguru go run us a nice hot bath-”

“wait why do i-”

“wit’ my lavender epsom?”

“with your lavender epsom, baby,” gojo added on, still pressing loving kisses into your supple inner thighs.

“i love you both so freaking much”.

[seungsluv]

the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; litgh degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮⋆˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish,” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me.

Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire,” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you — a word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom — but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections—sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a *little* less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me,” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. I then with that all my excitement died and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges. The way she glanced at Seungmin—almost too interested—made my skin crawl.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer— everything —but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel,” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan,” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N,” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs — a real, full laugh — and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it—I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Nick shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Nick nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company,” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chans's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that falls onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were—whatever—you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — *hated* — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation,

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges — just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal — slow and fast at the same time — until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, completely wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. — “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it — the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again — like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move — like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. — “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked wrecked — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open.— “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again — glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him — slow and deep — as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

[suksatoru]

despite being the adopted son of the greatest hero to live and attending the prestigious school known to the world as U.A. academy — tenko shimura was a bit of a shy hero.

it was only when you were partnered with the quiet boy who always sat towards the back of the class do you learn tenko has a bit of a... potty mouth.

"that fucking asshole shit-talking todoroki can dish it out, but i have never seen him take it."

your snort, taking another strand of tenko's raven hair between your fingers and rubbing his scalp with soothing circles

"uh huh... "

"i can't believe i got partnered with such a loser. you know, threatening to get the teachers fired on all might's behalf doesn't even work anymore! they know i hate his guts—and they still make me work with him." he goes on, folding his hands over his stomach with an angry huff as his eyes remain closed. his head shifts in your lap the slightest bit as he moves to get more comfortable.

your school's courtyard was somewhere you dragged tenko to often. he used to complain about the sun cooking him alive, but when you and him stumbled upon a wisteria tree towards the outer edges of the courtyard, he suddenly didn't mind coming outside as much anymore.

what used to be a homework spot transformed into a hang out spot. now, you and him catch up in between classes by sitting in the shade. his current dilemma was being partnered with touya todoroki for an english assignment — endeavor's son and all might's adopted one not getting along wasn't exactly a surprise.

"and you know what — i hate pretty boys like him. they think they're so much better than everyone else. egotistical pigs like todoroki can shove their sugar coated bullshit right up my—"

"i actually really like pretty boys."

tenko stills in your lap. half a second later, his eyes fly open, and he rises like jesus himself within a split second as he turns to you with an expression so mortified, you almost felt bad.

"wha—is this your way of telling me you have a crush on todoroki?!"

he squaks out the words like he can barely believe them himself. he glares at you, and you can only laugh

"no, i said i like pretty boys! you know, beauty is subjective. just because everyone else finds todoroki pretty doesn't mean i do." you grin, watching tenko get fired up even more by your words

"no way — you said you like pretty boys!" he whines, throwing an arm over his eyes like the confession physically pained him. you roll your eyes with a light laugh at your best friend's antics before gently nudging him

"ask me who i consider a pretty boy!" you beam, and tenko squints at you with a frown

"no."

"i promise you'll like my answer."

"there's no way i'm going to li—"

"you'll never know if you don't ask!"

tenko groans, dropping his head in his hands as he rubs his forehead. you watch his soft, dark locks flop side to side as his shoulders remained hunched in defeat. finally, he peers up at you—watching you pick at the grass beneath your fingertips with a sigh

"who would you consider to be a pretty boy?"

you hum, making a show of tapping your chin and pretending to be in deep thought. tenko tries not to let his eye twitch, but just the thought of you being attracted to another guy made his blood boil. whoever you ended up saying, if it wasn't him — tenko would personally make their life a living hell.

"if i really had to chose just one boy... " you trail off, furrowing your brows in faux concentration as tenko sits still — brimming with anticipation and expectancy before you send him a smile

"i suppose the prettiest boy in my world would be you."

tenko's eyes soften, so little that you barely notice it — before they harden.

"is this your way of trying to cover your slip up about liking todoroki from earlier? i don't care if you like him. half the school does, it's no surprise you do, too." tenko snaps, something sad and dejected just barely hidden in the dark shade of his eyes as you frown

"you don't believe me?"

"what the hell about me is pretty? nothing is," he mutters with an eye roll as he moves to sit beside you, resting his back against the tree you laid on as your frown deepens. you try to ignore the lack of warmth in your lap now that tenko's moved his head and focus on the situation at hand instead

"well... you don't give your physical appearance enough credit. for example—your eyes remind me of rainy days... the comfort and warmth they bring is unmatched!" you grin, tapping the side of his head and meeting his gaze with a smile — gray eyes peer back, and tenko blinks slowly at your sudden compliment.

"you have the softest hair ever, too — and you don't even have a good shampoo! i checked in your shower by the way, you're one of those 'three in one' wash people." you giggle as he huffs. but... he doesn't say anything. he stays quiet, but there's an unmistakable flush tinging his ears pink. you can see his resolve cracking with every word that leaves your lips

"it's not just your features, tenko. you're really smart, and i like how your face softens when you're really focused. like, on those video games you play—or when you're helping me study! you never get mad when i genuinely don't understand something, and you always help me whenever i'm in a tizzy! no matter what!"

tenko grunts in confirmation, eyes distant as he swallows the lump forming in his throat. his eyes widen a fraction when you scoot closer, and there's a mischievous gleam in your eyes that has him gulping

"but my favorite thing...the cutest and most endearing thing about you... would have to be this."

you tap the soft mole residing on tenko's chin, and his lips part as if he were about to say something — but not a sound comes out.

tenko's face feels like it's on fire. his fingers fist his uniform pants anxiously, and you're smiling so wide he thinks his heart might burst right out of his chest and fall right into your hands.

he suddenly drops his head into your lap, covering his face and muttering swears under his breath in a feeble attempt to cover his pink cheeks. your face falls to the side as you laugh, and the warmth of tenko's head in your lap returns — your fingers find his hair once again, and he seems a lot happier to be in your embrace than before.

[em1989ts]

𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

five hargreeves x fem! reader smut

masterlist

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ (reader and five are both 20), sex pollen so dubcon?, unprotected sex, breeding kink, thigh riding, fingering, oral (m recieving), hair pulling

summary: you and five, your best friend, get stuck in the apocalypse together. he's immune to the radiation that lingers in what's left of the world, but not you, so when you find a unique flower that sprays an interesting pollen at you, five is more than happy to help you out with its side affects

author's note: i have been reworking this fic for weeks because i just did not like where i was going with it every time but now i finally sat down and finished it, i think i was trying too hard to make it too detailed plotwise but now i really like it, its not proofread so i'll go back and fix any mistakes if i notice any but i hope you enjoy!

The world was different now, what was left of it at least. 

You were holding on tight to your memories of what life was like before the world ended, but your headaches, growing ever more constant, made them gradually slip away. 

The more obvious details were easier to remember: green grass, blue skies, animals, breathable air. You missed when nature meant beautiful, thriving life. 

Now, the only things growing were spiky weeds and vines, the occasional fungi. 

The air was too dry, filled with ash, and the radiation levels were too high for much to grow. 

You had your theories about what could’ve happened to the world, so did the only other human still alive: Five Hargreeves. 

~~~

Years ago, when you were just 8 years old, your parents believed it would be best to move directly next to the umbrella academy. They cared heavily about your safety, so heavily in fact that they homeschooled you, and almost never let you leave home. It was dreadful, for your curious nature wanted to explore your new surroundings in the city. You often leaned out your window, trying to get a peak at one of those superpowers kids who got to see the world. 

One night, as you read by your windowsill that overlooked the alleyway separating your apartment building from the academy, you watched as the children filed one by one out of a bedroom window, down a fire escape, all giggling with sneaky excitement. They snuck out for the first time in their young lives, noticed you and extended an invitation to join them, and the rest was history. You got along well with the Hargreeves children, particularly Number Five. 

He shared your love of retaining knowledge and the passion of wanting to explore the world, as well as prove your ability to sustain yourself independently. The two of you used morse code to speak through your windows at night, and you told each other just about everything. He told you all about his father, and how he wanted to prove him wrong about his time travel abilities. You encouraged him to try them out, to go to the future, and he agreed, as long as you came too. 

On that November morning in 2002, you were waiting in the alley for him to finish breakfast, and once he ran out and took your hand, your lives had never been the same. 

~~~ 

Now you were about twenty, realizing that spending the rest of your life with your super human best friend may be more difficult than you ever would’ve thought. 

Firstly, whatever ended the world resulted in nuclear fallout, which led you to believe a giant explosion abolished the Earth. While Five was genetically immune to the radiation, with the energy that emanated from his spacial jumps, you were a perfectly average human who couldn’t resist the symptoms of radiation poisoning. It was slow, with average headaches interrupting your already rough days and confusion messing up your already decaying memory, but you both knew you couldn’t last forever in this world. 

Secondly, being stuck with your childhood best friend who you happened to fall in love with was absolute torture. Somewhere along the way your immature intellectual astonishment turned to adolescent romantic admiration. Being the last two people on Earth made it so tempting for you to just tell him how you felt, but you couldn’t even fathom how’d heartbroken you’d feel if he turned you down as the last girl on Earth, you’d probably toss yourself into nuclear waste just to rid yourself from the embarrassment. 

The two of you had gotten quite close over the last ten years. He held you in his arms at night, just to protect you from the cold, he made sure you were the first to eat, just to make sure you don’t starve, and he did his best to make sure your sickness wasn’t worsening, just for your survival, of course. What you didn’t know was that he was constantly worrying about you, not that he didn’t want to be the only person alive but because he couldn’t imagine a world without you. You were the only one that listened to him, that believed in him when no one else would. The only one that made him feel like he was worth something in this world. His worst nightmare had already happened to him, as he had to bury the bodies of his adult siblings, but his new one was losing you. It killed him to watch you slowly but surely grow more sick, and he wanted to defer your inevitable end for as long as possible. He was in a race against time: time travel you both out of here before you took your last breath. 

~~

The weather was a sure sign that spring was finally arriving. You believed it to be April, the ten year anniversary of the apocalypse, with the back and forth sunshine and rainstorms. Currently, you and Five were walking down the side of the freeway, dragging along wagons full of your belongings and your apocalypse buddy, Dolores. It was almost dark and you were starting to look for a not too busted up car to take shelter in for the night. The fields looked like death. They were filled with dark, spiky vines and grass that looked permanently dried to a crisp. 

You adjusted the bandana over your nose, growing frustrated at its tightness, and pulled it off your face entirely. The air wasn’t as smoky as it used to be, the rain helped clear it out, and you could feel another storm on the way. Your lungs took in the air and whatever microscopic particles were floating about. 

“Put it back on, Y/n,” Five scolded, disappointed in your disregard for your health.  

“You tied it way too tight, it was getting uncomfortable,” you answered back. 

The two of you kept walking side by side until you came across a van that appeared large enough to store your belongings and to allow you both to stretch out comfortably. 

You followed this same routine every night: you’d scavenge, find a suitable vehicle or building, then break in. 

As Five used a swiss army knife in an attempt to open the back door of the van, you leaned against the side doors, your eyes scanned over the fields to examine to your surroundings, looking out at the vast field of dried up plants, not expecting to see anything different, until your eyes caught on a small, bright plant growing not too far from the road. 

Without a word, you immediately pushed off the van, quickly grabbing Five’s attention. 

“Y/N, what are you-”

As you ran through the field, you felt the dry plants scratching your shins, creating the tiniest, painful cuts, but you didn’t care. The fluorescent flora became clearer as you got closer, eyes entranced by its glowing color before Five blinked in front of you, causing you to crash into his chest and almost tackle him. He stabilized the two of you, grabbing both your arms and holding you tight to stop you from running off again. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Five started, “First of all, don’t run off like that. Second, you don’t know what that is.” 

“Oh, please,” you said frustrated, trying to shimmy out of his grasp, “It’s a flower.” “Yes, I know,” he deadpanned, “But there’s no way a normal flower could grow in these conditions.” 

You freed yourself and knelt down to admire the beautiful flower. Its petals glowed brightly as its orange pigments had you entranced. Five cautiously stood behind you, ready to pull you away any second, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

As you leaned downward to smell the flower, the anther puffed out quickly, spraying a cloud of glowy pollen directly into your face, before the petals closed in on itself and encapsulated the flower. 

“Y/N!”

Stunned, you fell onto your back, eyes wide and face burning as the pollen covered your cheeks and infiltrated your nose. Five quickly leaned over you, he had pulled his goggles down and used your bandana to wipe the pollen off your face before he noticed a drop. Then another. Then three more dripping onto your flushed cheeks. 

The rain snapped you out of your daze as you sat straight up. Five cautiously held up his hands and waited for you to say something, “You alright?” 

“I think?” You didn’t feel any different really, besides an oncoming sneeze. 

He helped you stand up and the two of you ran back through the field and to the van, where he continued to pick the lock. Once he got it open, you both worked rather quickly to get settled so as to not get drenched. You gently placed Dolores in while he tossed in any items from your wagons that couldn’t get too wet. The two of you covered them with a small tarp before he tied them together around the tire with a rope. You jumped into the back of the van, Five following suit, and quickly shut the door. 

It was dark in there. You tried the overhead light but you knew the battery ran out years ago. Other than that, the van was in good shape, with a couple dusty blankets in the back, a case of water and a small stash of granola bars which the two of you scarfed down rather quickly. 

“This might be our best find in a while,” Five said, leaning against the wall, looking down at you as you laid on one of the blankets, trying not to chug the water. 

He had been keeping a close eye on you since the flower, worried there was something you weren’t telling him. And he was right. 

Ever since you stepped out of the contaminated yet refreshing rain, your body had felt uncomfortably warm. A cold sweat covered your body, which felt like it was almost buzzing, and a growing sensation of desire was settling in your lower stomach. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, not waiting to catch another glimpse at Five, worried about the thoughts he would give you. With the two of you sharing the small space, there was no way to relieve the pressure between your legs. You could feel his eyes burning into you, of course he’d notice if you tried getting any friction. 

“Hey, look at me,” he said, breaking the silence. 

You still didn’t want to face him, you knew he knew something was off, that the flower did something to you. Instead of turning your head towards him, you faced the opposite wall and closed your eyes. 

When he reached over to take your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, the action alone dampened your underwear as you stifled a whimper. 

He knew something was wrong. Not only were you unusually quiet but you looked flushed and sweaty, and almost like you were in pain. As he started into your eyes, he could see how bloodshot they were, your pupils incredibly dilated. 

He kept his hold tight on your face, moving your chin around to inspect every angle before you took hold of his wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away. 

“That flower did something to you, I know it,” he stated, as if it weren’t already obvious, “How do you feel?” 

How on earth were you supposed to answer that? The pain of not being touched was increasing quickly, and the urge to jump his bones and ride his thighs to relieve the pressure was becoming harder to suppress. You could only hold back so much longer, but you knew if you let go, your friendship would be fucked. 

You finally peeled his fingers off your face, holding his hand in front of you, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from sucking his fingers right then and there – God, what was wrong with you? 

Groaning, you released his hand and turned over onto your side, sliding your hands down your face. Thankfully, your clothing was dark, so he couldn’t see the damp spot of your uncontrollable arousal leaking out of you. 

Your behavior scared him at first. If that flower was poisonous, and you died a slow agonizing death as your body slowly shut down, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he could have prevented it, if only he had been more careful with you. But as he analyzed you further, he became much more relieved to piece together what the pollen was really doing to you. 

The flush of your skin, the soft gasps you let slip from your throat, the way you indiscreetly squeezed your thighs together, the look of complete and utter desire and desperation swarming your eyes. 

He’d seen small glimpses of that look over the years, but he’d always thought it was his increasingly delusional imagination considering you were the only girl alive on Earth, and he was nothing but a hormonal boy. He thought of those years spent feeling ashamed of how his mind could turn you, his closest friend, into an image of his own desire as he would imagine your hand wrapped around him instead of own, as he got himself off while you were dead asleep next to him.

Selfishly, he was glad you were in pain, because he was the lucky last soul on Earth who could relieve you. Although, not without a little more teasing first. 

He combed his fingers through his shaggy hair, attempting to hide his smirk before grabbing your arms and sitting you up. 

The way he moved you with such ease made you think about how he could move you into whatever position he wanted, and how easily you would let him. 

He settled you upright against the wall of the van, you almost teared up at the feeling of his strong hands leaving you, before he started unzipping your sweatshirt. 

“Let’s get some layers off you before you overheat,” he explained. 

“Okay, that’ll help,” you quietly agreed, trying to keep your composure as if watching his hands undress you wasn’t torture. 

“Arms up,” he instructed as he slipped off the next layer, a grey long sleeve shirt, leaving you in a white tank top. 

You have to admit, you did feel much cooler, but the moments where his fingers would graze your arms was driving you insane. 

He then wrapped one arm around you to lift your hips up slightly off the carpeted floor of the van, so he could remove your cargo pants with his other hand. 

You could’ve screeched with excitement, though thankfully you buried your face into his shoulder to contain yourself. You had a layer of boxer shorts before your panties, but you felt exposed compared to him, as he was still fully clothed. 

“Any better?” he asked, still in close proximity to you. His face seemingly inching closer to yours. 

You nodded. 

Not trusting yourself with words. 

Not trusting yourself at all. 

He knew. 

Just from looking up at his face, you knew he knew. He wore the same face he always wore when he was right about something. That smug know-it-all face you’ve grown the desire to completely smother with wet kisses over the years. He knew what you needed and this son of a bitch was daring you by holding it over your head. 

“Ready for bed?” he asked with an innocent voice, contrasting from the dark look in his eye. 

It felt as if all those years together led up to this moment. The moment where the two of you did nothing but sit next to each other. Inches away from the other’s face. Eyes staring into the other’s, occasionally breaking free to stare down at their lips. Daring the other to be the one to break over a decade of friendship. Once he saw that glowing twinkle in your eyes, amidst the darkness of dilation, he knew you’d break first. 

He caught you in his arms as you pounced on him, your last shred of composure was ripped away as soon as your lips met his. Five was the only thing on your mind. 

His lips. His hands. His arms. His fingers. 

Him. 

You wanted it all. 

The kiss wasn’t gentle at all. It was harsh and wet. The two of you had no patience, you had the rest of your lives to be gentle and loving. You wanted each other at this very moment. As you made out, he continued to peel off the last of your clothing. He lifted your hips, sliding down both your boxer shorts, tossing them into the passenger seat of the van. Before removing your panties, he moved to feel how damp you got them over the fabric. He almost growled into your mouth as he pulled his slick fingers away, finally pulling the soaked fabric down your legs. 

His arms moved to cage you against him, which felt like absolute heaven, and when his hands lowered to grab your ass, dragging you across his thigh, the moan you let into his mouth was angelic. 

That needy feeling between your legs finally being relieved was enough to make tears fall, cooling your flush cheeks, as his tongue continued to dance with yours. 

He moved to kiss your jaw, leaving a soft trail of saliva until he moved under your chin, and down your neck, leaving harsh intentional marks.

With your head tilted up, and your mouth free, all you could do was moan as he continued to drag your bare, slick cunt across his clothed leg. You were so sensitive that every time he pulled you across the fabric of his pants, you could’ve come. 

As he bit every inch of your neck, he brought his hands to lift up your top, already noticing how you’ve forgone a bra, and grasped your breasts. So engulfed in the pleasure, you’d barely noticed how you had been left to move yourself against his thighs. He swapped his hands for his mouth as he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed slightly, while taking a nipple into his mouth. 

You gasped, rutting your hips faster against him, with one hand holding onto his hip for dear life while the other was entangled in his hair, pushing his head into your chest. As your gasps and whimpers grew increasingly higher in pitch, you began to hump his thigh with more need, chasing your high that was steadily building up. 

You could feel him smiling smugly into your tit, then you realized you’d been moaning his name, begging and pleading for him to let you come. 

He moved his mouth back to yours, quieting your desperate pleads as he brought both his hands to your tits, pinching and twisting your nipples, stimulating you enough to finally push you over the edge. 

You shuttered against his thigh, your chest arching into his, and your moans losing themselves in his throat, you rode out your orgasm, gradually slowing down the pace of your hips until you were slowly dragging them through the puddle on his leg, sliding your slick across the fabric. 

Five buried his face into your neck as you slowly recovered, arms wrapped around your middle, moving you to sit closer to the bulge in the front of his pants. 

Instead of feeling relieved from the effects of the pollen, you felt the need rush right back between your legs. 

You leaned back in his arms to take him in with your eyes — his messy hair, his swollen lips, flush face. He was still fully clothed, contrasting your completely naked figure. 

Five noticed you scanning his jacket, coming to the conclusion that yes, maybe it was a little unfair that you were the only one completely exposed. He lifted you into his arms and brought you over to the other end of the van. Then he shuffled back a few feet and watched you sit there, naked and needy, waiting for his next move. 

He then carefully removed everything he was wearing – his jacket, his now stained pants, his two shirts – and before he could remove his boxers, you crawled over and did it yourself. 

You kneeled before him as you took him out of his boxers, and into your mouth. 

“Fuck-” he groaned as he felt your warm tongue under his cock. 

He was big. You almost choked when you tried taking him down your throat as far as you could, you just needed to taste him. He took your hair in his hands as he guided you, not wanting to push you too far, and not wanting to come down your throat just yet. 

When he felt the pressure building, he quickly pulled you off him by your hair, taking a second to admire your dazy eyes and the drool dripping down your chin. 

Five then tackled you, literally throwing himself on top of you, your head landing on your pile of clothes, as his lips once again crashed into yours. He quickly pinned you down and held your wrists together in his left hand, his other snuck down between your legs, sliding through your folds. You could feel his cock hard against your stomach, practically leaking onto you. His fingers were soaked as they slid back and forth, over and over, until you got fed up with his teasing and started moving your hips to feel more. 

“Hold still,” he said, trying to be assertive yet laughing a little at your desperation. 

“Please, Five,” you frowned, your neediness was no laughing matter, “Just put them in alread-”

You cut yourself off with a moan as he slid to fingers into you, immediately setting a strong pace, curling them to perfectly hit that spot inside you, making you squirm. 

He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles until your eyes rolled back into your head. Your orgasm was sneaking up on you, and he could tell by your more frequent gasps and higher moans, as well as your cunt tightening around his fingers. Before you tipped over the edge and the pleasure could wash over you, he pulled out his fingers, watching intently as the built up pleasure disappointed.  

“What- Five!” you whined, your hurt eyes met his as he sarcastically frowned, before he smiled once again, and lined himself up with your entrance. 

You’re lucky that you and Five are the only people alive, because that means the two of you can be as loud as possible. When he pushed himself in, the two of you groaned so loud it could’ve been heard from miles away. You both had to hold still for a few moments, as to not come immediately. The two of you were completely engulfed in each other, arms wrapped around the other, pulling them as close as possible. Once he started to move, you felt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Every time he thrusted into you, it sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body, as your cunt tried to suck him in. 

Five had never felt so good in his entire life. He’d imagined what you’d feel like before, but you were so much better than he’d ever imagined. So tight, with your wetness drooling everywhere. He buried his face into your shoulder as he rutted into you, appreciating the smell of sex that filled the van. You buried your fingers in his shaggy hair, occasionally giving it a tug that made his dick twitch inside you. 

“Ah — I’m close,” Five grunted, his thrusts sloppy. 

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling a familiar pressure that was begging to be let go. 

Five reached one of his hands between the two of you to circle your clit once more, giving you the stimulation to come one more time, knowing he’d soon follow. 

“Five, ahh – I’m gonna-”  

The wave hit you, your body completely let go. Your cunt spasmed around Five, coming harder than you ever have before. You barely registered it, as your brain went fuzzy, but you could feel your come squirt all over your legs, Five’s as well, as he kept thrusting through the sticky mess, moaning loudly before stilling. His body shook as he came inside you, face buried in your chest as he tried to pull himself as close as possible. His come was warm, filling you entirely. 

The two of you laid there on the itchy carpet of the van for what seemed like forever before Five slowly pulled out and sat up, hearing a hiss from you that ached him a little, before he watched his come spill out of you, as you laid there, completely fucked out. 

He dug through his bag to find the cleanest cloth he owned to clean the both of you up with. He made sure to be as careful as possible with your sensitive areas as he wiped the come off you. 

He went through your bag to find new underwear and a tank top to redress you with, before he put new boxers on himself and settled back by your side. 

“You better not forget this,” he grumbled playfully as he kissed your forehead. 

You smiled lightly with your eyes closed. 

“How could I?” 

~~~

taglist: @misakiisstupid @lveegsoi @groovydazephantom @tremendoushearttaco @spidermansfangirl @madscamp02 @beanzwritez (send a request in the inbox or comment to be added!)

~~~

[arkaiveofurown]

Glimpse of Us

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Zoro can’t stop seeing Kuina in you—her voice, her stance, her likes and dislikes. As the subtle comparisons mount, you’re left feeling like a shadow, never fully seen for who you are. Can he ever truly see even a glimpse of you, or is it always a glimpse of her?

Word Count: ~4,000

tags: angst, emotional distance

my masterlist here ♡

You joined the Straw Hat crew just after Dressrosa, your sword at your hip and fire in your veins. Zoro was the first to spar with you, his eyebrow raising as your blade nearly nicked his sleeve.

“Not bad,” he muttered. “What’s your name again?”

You told him, and when you smiled, something in his eyes flickered. You didn’t know it then, but he was remembering someone else.

Your face, the way your expression softened when you smiled, reminded him of her. The way your eyes sparkled with that fire, it was too familiar. It wasn’t just your face; it was the way it was framed with your hair, the way your lips curved when you laughed—something in your features felt like the ghost of someone long lost.

“She was strong,” he said under his breath, not to you—but to the ghost behind your shoulder.

Still, he trained with you every morning. He watched you eat three bowls of rice like it was nothing. He called you annoying when you talked too much and interesting when you didn’t back down. You’d catch him staring sometimes—his gaze unreadable.

You thought it was the beginning of something.

⸻

It was late, and you were both on watch. The Thousand Sunny rocked gently beneath your feet, stars swimming above you.

“You always stay up this late?” you asked, sitting beside him on the lion’s head.

“Yeah,” he said. “I like the silence.”

You looked at him, and he didn’t look away.

“I never asked,” you said softly. “Why did you become a swordsman?”

There was a pause. Then: “A promise.”

“To who?”

He was quiet again, gaze drifting to the sea. “Someone who meant a lot.”

You nodded. You didn’t press. But his hand brushed yours—rough fingers curling slightly—and when he didn’t pull away, neither did you.

You thought that maybe this was how it began: gently, gradually.

⸻

It started with little things.

Zoro offered you her favorite drink from the fridge. He mentioned her name once by mistake—Kuina—and froze like the air had been knocked out of him.

You pretended not to notice.

But then came the slip-ups.

“She used to hold her sword like that,” he said mid-training, watching you adjust your grip on the blade.

You paused, sword in hand, before nodding lightly. “Guess it works for me too,” you replied, though it stung.

“She hated fish too,” he noted over dinner one night, pointing at your plate when you hesitated to eat. “You like it, but… she never could stomach it.”

You gave him a forced smile, trying to ignore the coldness creeping into your chest. “I guess I’m different.”

At first, you smiled. You laughed it off, letting it go.

Until it kept happening.

“Kuina always said that.”

“Kuina used to hum that song.”

“Kuina—”

You slammed your fork down one night at the table, but you didn’t say a word. He didn’t notice your silence. Or maybe he chose not to.

⸻

Nami found you in the hallway after another awkward dinner, your arms folded tight across your chest.

“He doesn’t mean to hurt you,” she said gently. “It’s just… grief. Sometimes it sticks.”

You stared at the wall, trying to find something to focus on, but the words kept repeating in your head. Grief. Grief. Grief.

“I’m not her,” you said quietly, though you weren’t entirely sure who you were trying to convince—Nami, or yourself.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be her.”

“You’re not.”

You bit your lip, voice breaking. “Then why does he keep looking at me like I am?”

⸻

You found him in the crow’s nest, sharpening his sword.

“Zoro,” you said quietly.

He looked up, pausing mid-stroke. “Hm?”

You stepped closer, heart in your throat. “What did you see when I joined the crew?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Was it me?” Your voice trembled. “Or was it just someone who reminded you of her?”

Zoro sat up straighter, eyes narrowing like he couldn’t believe you were saying this. “Y/N—”

“You talk about her like she was everything,” you said, a soft ache rising in your voice. “And maybe she was. I understand that. But you can’t keep looking at me like I’m her. I’m not a ghost. I’m not your memory.”

He stood slowly, arms hanging at his sides. “I know you’re not—”

“Do you?” you snapped, stepping back like his presence burned. “Because every time you mention her favorite food, her stance, her voice—it feels like I’m being folded into a mold I never agreed to fit.”

Zoro’s mouth parted, but no words came.

You bit out the words, sharp and shaking. “I’m not Kuina.”

His voice came low and rough. “Yes. You are not.”

There was a pause, sharp as a blade between you.

“So then,” you whispered, “what about the people who are here? Who want to love you now? Do they even stand a chance?”

He closed his eyes like your words had split him open. “I never meant to make you feel that way.”

“But you did,” you said, voice cracking. “You made me feel like I was someone you were trying to remember—not someone standing right in front of you.”

Zoro opened his eyes again, pain flickering behind them. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is that you keep carrying her into every room we’re in and then wonder why I feel invisible.” You stared at him, your heart pounding. “Do you even see me for who I am? Or is all you see the parts of her that I happen to resemble?”

He looked stunned.

“Do you even know what I like? What I hate? What I’m afraid of? Or have you only been memorizing Kuina all over again through me?”

Zoro’s voice dropped. “I see you.”

“Then tell me something about me,” you challenged, stepping closer. “Not something I remind you of. Something real. Something only I would say or do or think. Tell me you see me.”

He opened his mouth—but nothing came out.

His lips parted, his brow furrowed, eyes darting like he was searching for the right words in the fog of his guilt.

But there was only silence.

Just that.

Your breath hitched.

“See?” you said, and your voice cracked like glass. Disappointment twisted your expression as you stepped back, something fragile and unspoken crumbling inside you.

⸻

You stopped training with him.

You laughed a little less. You avoided late watches.

He noticed. But he didn’t chase.

Sanji filled the silence in the kitchen. Luffy never asked why you stopped joining Zoro on the deck. The crew carried on. And maybe you did too. Maybe that’s what survival looked like.

But some nights, you stood at the rail of the ship, wind cold on your cheeks, and wondered if you’d ever been seen for you—not her echo.

⸻

One morning, he stood beside you. Quiet. Not saying a word.

You didn’t turn.

“I remember her,” he said finally. “Every day. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see you.”

You stayed still, unsure if it was comfort or cruelty to hear that.

Zoro’s voice was rough. “I saw how you always double-check the anchor chain before we dock. How you clean your blade like it’s a ritual. You hate lychee, love thunderstorms, and you always look out for Chopper when he’s scared. You stand with your weight slightly to the left when you’re lying. And when you’re angry, you chew your words like you’re afraid they’ll hurt.”

You swallowed hard.

“You were never a shadow,” he said. “You were vivid. And I—I was just too lost to hold you properly.”

A long silence stretched.

You breathed, voice soft. “I wish I’d been someone else.”

Zoro’s eyes lowered. “I wish I’d been someone better.”

You turned to face him for the first time in days. The space between you pulsed with the weight of everything you both had carried.

You turned to him, eyes rimmed with quiet hurt. “You said you see me now. But when I needed you to, you didn’t. And now… I don’t know what’s left to see.”

Zoro reached for a word, a gesture—anything—but nothing came.

You stepped back. “Maybe all we ever were was a glimpse of something that never had time to become.”

And then you walked away.

He didn’t stop you—not because he didn’t care, but because he finally understood.

Sometimes, love comes too late.

[feterradi]

I don't even fuck with this fandom anymore but lol the audacity to paint the showrunner as some supervillain whose goal is to hurt, manipulate and gaslight the fandom as if you haven't all but trained yourselves to ignore everything that doesn't feed your confirmation bias. The showrunner says fans shouldn't assume no one will ever die in this show? Clearly a joke, a main has never died before! Massive foreshadowing for a MCD at the beginning of the season? Bah, it's beneath our superior media literacy! A director tells us the door is closed on a potential storyline? Lalala, I can't hear it, they wouldn't have included it in the episode if it hadn't meant anything! A character says he's straight? Obviously, the opposite is true! His actor says he's straight? What the fuck does he know!

The absolute gall to lash out at people who tried to be honest with you for years only for you all to brush their words aside until they shrugged and settled into a routine that didn't disturb your fantasies too much because that's what you wanted. The gall to start screaming "foul!" when they dropped the routine and went back to honesty. The gall to blame actors for pulling a prank because it is hurtful when you all ignored a real fucking human being opening up about his suicide attempt and how it touches on the themes he wants to explore with his character because it didn't support your fanon agenda.

The sheer fucking audacity to even talk about ethics and morality when your flaming dumpster fire of a fandom has been chugging sociopathy juice for years and hurting very real people in very real ways left and right.

I can go on and on and on. You are not victims, as desperate as you are to paint yourselves as such. You latched onto misconceptions you created years ago and let them define your entire fandom persona until sunk cost fallacy has become so enormous that it is now easier and less hurtful to keep digging deeper and deeper rather than face reality and admit that you were wrong about so many things.

Your delusions exist in a vacuum of your own making. Don't go pointing fingers at everyone else.

[secretlittlerandezvous]

The Morning After You - William Eklund

Summary: The morning after their first time together, Will and Y/n wake up wrapped in each other’s arms, remembering the night before.

Words: 655

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the soft glow of morning was already lurking into the room through the curtains.

Y/n stirred first, slowly blinking her eyes open. Her cheek was pressed against William’s bare chest, her legs loosely tangled with his under the blanket. His arm was slung around her protectively, his palm resting against her back like it had been there forever.

She stayed still for a moment, letting the reality of it all sink in. The warmth of his skin. The light scratch of stubble on her temple. The steady, comforting rise and fall of his breathing.

And then, the memories came flooding back in quiet waves.

The night before…

William’s apartment had been filled with soft music and even softer touches. It started slow: fingers grazing across her waist as they stood in the kitchen finishing wine that they no longer cared about. His eyes never left hers as he leaned in, kissing her with a tenderness that made her knees weak.

Things blurred after that, all heat and breathless laughter as they stumbled into his bedroom. Clothes dropped to the floor one piece at a time. She remembered the way he had looked at her like he was trying to remember every part of her.

“Are you sure?” he had whispered against her lips, already half out of breath, hands resting gently on her hips.

“I’m sure,” she’d said, heart pounding.

He took his time, worshipped her like a secret, whispered things in Swedish and English that she didn’t fully understand but felt down to her bones. When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He just held her. Pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Tucked her into his arms like he never wanted to let go.

And now…

The sunlight found William’s face, and he groaned quietly, eyes fluttering open.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. “Morning?”

“Morning,” Y/n whispered, unable to stop smiling.

He blinked down at her slowly, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You're still here.”

“Of course I’m still here,” she laughed softly.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling her closer until her nose bumped his collarbone. “I was gonna be really embarrassed if I woke up alone after trying to seduce you with Spotify and fire hazards that come with my cooking.”

Y/n giggled, tracing her fingers across his chest. “You set the towel on fire. Very smooth. Couldn’t resist.”

“I panicked,” he said dramatically, burying his face in her neck. “I was trying to be romantic.”

She sighed into him, content. “It was. It really was.”

They laid there in the quiet for a few minutes, neither of them needing to speak. Everything felt solid. Like a turning point had quietly passed and now they were on the other side of it. Something new, something good.

William eventually lifted his head and propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her seriously. “Was last night okay? Not just the… you know. All of it.”

Y/n reached up, cupping his cheek. “It was perfect.”

A relieved breath left him, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and deep, like he didn’t want the moment to end. When he pulled back, he smiled, brushing his thumb over her jaw.

“I could get used to waking up like this.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

He sat up suddenly, stretching with a dramatic yawn. “Alright. You stay here. I’m gonna make you breakfast. I only slightly know what I’m doing, so lower your expectations accordingly.”

“Oh god,” she laughed. “You’re going to light something else on fire, aren’t you?”

He winked over his shoulder as he pulled on his hoodie and walked out of the room. “Probably. But it’ll be made with love.”

Y/n sank back into the pillows, heart full, still tasting his kiss on her lips and wondering how she got so lucky.

[risrambles]

I’ve seen Thunderbolts*! Here’s my full, SPOILER review!

STOP READING THIS IF YOU DONT WANT SPOILERS FOR MARVEL STUDIOS’ THUNDERBOLTS*

LIKE NOW.

OKAY.

Buckle up, i’ve got a lot of thoughts and a lot of word space.

Well, that was a pretty great movie! If you’ve seen my non spoiler review you’ll know I gave it an 8/10, and rightfully so. The first hour, hour and a half of the movie eats the rest of the movie up and if the ending had been as good as the first acts I would give it a 10/10. it kind of felt underwhelming and almost like it was a “power of friendship” moment—though none of these people are really friends, so maybe that’s the point.

First of all—Yelena and Bob. God, they were amazing, I loved the dynamic between them and it was really interesting to see the whole void thing come into play with how they felt about life. It was great.

The first scene when Taskmaster, Yelena, Walker, and Ghost all meet—that was amazing. my jaw DROPPED when Taskmaster got shot in the head, I wasn’t expecting her to get taken out so soon or by one of the Thunderbolts. I mean, we all knew she was a goner but I really wanted to see a little more of her. I liked her suit a lot!

Obviously, I have to talk about Bucky. I have two small complaints—one, I wish we saw a little more of him. Considering he was listed second in the credits I think he was a little underused and slightly nerfed but honestly not by much. to go off that, I WANTED TO SEE HIM IN THE VOID! the only thing we got was a nod to the fact that while he was in his void searching for yelena and bob (“i have a great past, so I’m fine” that whole thing) he obviously saw something to do with the winter soldier. call me crazy but i saw blue lights in the room behind him that he crashed through from and it gave very much cacw winter soldier flashback vibes. and i WANTED TO SEE THAT! i wished we could have seen more than yelena, bob, valentina, and walkers voids.

Oh, valentina. she was so horribly great, i was so ready for the thunderbolts to rock her shit but then she turned it around and called them the new avengers. oh i hate her so much they did so good. her assistant was kinda slay too but eh!

NOW ONTO MY COMPLAINT AS A SAMBUCKY ENTHUSIAST—WHY TF DID WE ONLY GET A MENTION OF SAM? AND IN THE POST CREDITS? Honestly, i find it crazier that sam and bucky talked off screen and they didn’t even show us. and that APPARENTLY the conversation didn’t go over well, and now sam is suing them… guys we might actually be in the sambucky divorce era im gonna crash out. can they just kiss hug it out and get over it. and considering how close they got in tfatws and we saw them talking the cabnw i just really liked their dynamic and how happy they seemed as friends and now that’s just gone (but it is funny that sam is suing bucky and co). although, it will make for an interesting dynamic come doomsday, which makes me nervous considering that bucky’s time in the mcu is coming ever so closer to an end… (someone start recommending me bucky fics NYOW)

honestly, i kind of don’t like the whole new avengers thing. i kind of wanted them to stay as the thunderbolts, as dumb as it might be. I don’t like valentina though and I really wanted them to kick her ass. it was a funny credits sequence tho, with the “new avengers? nope!” love that they’re still universally hated i guess.

BUT OH MY GOD I WAS GONNA GO FERAL FOR BUCKY IN THE POST CREDITS. GOOD LORD HE LOOKED FINE. OH EM GEE, HIS HAIR? OH THE WAVES. SOMEONE TAUGHT OUR BOY ABOUT CONDITIONER AGAIN AND HE LOOKED INCREDIBLE. PLEASE LET HIM HAVE THAT HAIR IN DOOMSDAY AND PLEASE DONT LET HIM DIE.

okay, i’ve gotten past how much i love bucky and must move on to the Other Things that happened.

now, about the INSANE DROP IN THE CREDITS? the second i saw the “fantastic four: first steps theme” in the music credits i was like oh it’s so over. AND THE SHIP? oh dude their world is so cooked, doomsday is gonna be fire AND ARE WE GONNA SEE THE THUNDERBOLTS (new avengers) AT THE END OF FFFS? ARE WE GONNA SEE THE AVENGERS AND THE NEW AVENGERS WITH THE FANTASTIC FOUR? see, that’s why thunderbolts* was a good movie! it’s got me actually planning to see Fantastic Four: First Steps because i NEED TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS!!! i’m hooked!!!

Walkers one liners were great and even though i hate him i kinda feel for him. Yelena and Bob and Red Guardian were stand-outs; I LOVE BOB! and red guardians entrance was incredible as well, along with the car chase scene up to bucky rocking everyone’s shit.

Like i said, the first half of the movie was a 10/10; the last maybe 45 minutes was more of a 7/10. i did love the thunderbolts getting applause in the street which valentina definitely liked once she got the idea to market them as the new avengers. also the fact that they operate out of the old avengers tower? the fact that yelena and bucky are lowkey leading? the outfits that kinda ate down? i kinda vibe with it, but like i said i would hav really liked it if they weren’t considered the new avengers. maybe it would have been better if sam had shown up in the end to rally them for his cause as the avengers or if they just stayed the thunderbolts and did missions more akin to what steve and nat did in the beginning of catws. obviously not with them unknowingly working for hydra, but them as undercover ops would be cool.

idk! i just got out of the movie like an hour ago and i can’t remember it all right now bc it was so much good content.

tldr: the characters were great, the movie was solid/great, the post credits were worth it/insane and the story was good. if i missed anything that anyone wants me to cover (as if im some prime news source lmao, i am not, im just a mcu blogger who has been waiting for years for this movie) then lmk!

I HAVE TAGGED THIS POST AS SPOILERS AND INCLUDED A CUT!!! IF YOU SEE THIS AND DONT WANT TO, I TAGGED IT AND MADE SURE TO PUT A WARNING AND A CUT!!! IF YOU DONT WANT SPOILERS FILTER OUT THE TAG!!!

[lila-lou]

✨Turning Heads - 5/5✨

Summary: You were just supposed to act. But from the moment Jensen Ackles knocks on your door, the lines start to blur. The chemistry is real, the scenes are intense—and he's... well, he’s married.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3450

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

You had spent the entire night tossing and turning, replaying everything in your head—the way Jensen had looked at you, the way he had touched you, the way he had tried to brush it off with that bullshit line:

"Don’t overthink this".

Too late. Because that’s all you had done.

And now, standing on set, forcing yourself to act normal, to keep it professional, to pretend that nothing had changed, you knew it was impossible.

The second your eyes landed on him, your stomach churned.

Jensen was already in full Soldier Boy gear, standing near the set, adjusting his gloves, looking frustrated about something. Probably the exact same thing you were. Because the second he felt your presence, his whole body tensed.

His hands froze mid-adjustment. His jaw tightened. And when he turned to look at you, Fuck. That look. That same flicker of hesitation, of tension, of want—just barely buried under layers of professionalism, forced indifference. But it wasn’t real.

You knew him well enough now to see right through it. Jensen was feeling all of it too.

And suddenly, this scene? This stupid, meaningless, non-intimate scene? It felt fucking impossible. Because now you had to touch him again. Now you had to look him in the eye while cameras rolled. Now you had to pretend that everything was fine, when you both knew it wasn’t.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to take steady breaths as you walked onto the set, forcing yourself to ignore the way Jensen was watching you.

But the second you stepped in front of him, the second you were close enough to touch, it hit you all over again. Yesterday. The way his body had felt pressing into yours. The way his breath had sounded when he lost control. The way his hands had gripped you, held you, like he wasn’t going to let go.

And Jensen felt it too. You saw it in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. You saw it in the way his lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but thought better of it. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened just a little as he looked at you, like he was remembering everything, just like you were.

The weight of it settled between you, thick and unshakable.

"Alright, places!", Kripke called out, snapping both of you out of it.

You blinked rapidly, stepping into position, forcing yourself to focus.

It was a simple scene—just you and Soldier Boy, tension brewing between your characters, a quiet moment of unspoken something before the chaos exploded around them.

No rough handling. No desperate kisses. Just a touch. A look.

But the moment Jensen touched you, your breath hitched.

His gloved fingers barely ghosted over your wrist, but it sent fire through your skin, memories slamming back into you hard. And when you looked up at him, really looked at him, Jensen’s eyes were not in character. They weren’t Soldier Boy’s. They were his.

The same ones that had been dark with hunger just last night. The same ones that had burned into yours as he pressed into you, as he filled you, as he whispered "You feel so fucking good".

The next few hours were torture.

Not because the scenes were difficult—they weren’t. Not because you weren’t used to long shooting days—you were. But because every time Jensen moved, you felt him. Every time he walked past you, you caught the scent of his cologne—rich, warm, a little smoky, so damn familiar now. Every time he touched you, even for something scripted, his hands lingered for half a second too long.

And every time you looked at him, every time your eyes locked for a little too long between takes, you saw it. The same fucking problem.

By the time Kripke finally called wrap, you were so wound up, so full of confusion and frustration and want, that you barely mumbled a goodbye to the crew before heading straight for your trailer.

You needed space. You needed to breathe. You needed to stop thinking about him.

But apparently, Jensen had other plans. Because the second you opened your trailer door and stepped inside, he was right behind you. Following you inside. Not even asking. Not even hesitating.

You barely turned before the door clicked shut behind him, sealing you alone together in the tiny space. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding, your whole body going rigid as you stared at him.

Jensen’s jaw was tight, his green eyes dark, his hands braced on his hips like he was barely keeping it together. "We need to talk".

You swallowed hard, your back pressing against the small counter behind you as Jensen stood there, taking up too much space, looking at you like he was barely holding himself together. Your pulse hammered in your ears as you mumbled, “We wanted to talk yesterday and ended up—”.

You cut yourself off. Because saying it out loud made it real. Because the second you said it, you would have to acknowledge that talking wasn’t what had happened last night. That whatever this was between you wasn’t going away.

Jensen exhaled through his nose, his hands still firm on his hips, his body tense, his jaw tight. “Yeah”, he muttered, voice rough. “We did”.

You swallowed again, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, forcing yourself to look at him. “So what do you wanna say now?”.

Jensen ran a hand down his face, inhaling sharply, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. And neither were you.

Jensen stepped forward, just slightly, just enough to make the space even smaller. His voice was low, rough, dangerous. “I don’t know”.

"You’re married, Jensen". The words barely left your lips, your voice barely above a whisper, but they hung between you, heavy, suffocating.

Jensen stilled. His jaw tensed, his hands flexing at his sides like he felt the weight of it, too.

Your breath hitched as the reality of everything you’d been pushing down came crashing in all at once. "I feel so dirty", you whispered, shaking your head, voice cracking as your chest tightened. "So fucking dirty".

Your fingers clenched around the counter behind you, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "I feel bad, Jensen. I feel so—". You sucked in a sharp breath, your vision blurring, your thoughts spinning. "I never thought I’d be a fucking homewrecker".

Your voice broke on the last word, your stomach twisting, the shame creeping up your throat like something toxic. Because this wasn’t just some affair. This wasn’t some drunken mistake.

This was you—falling for a man who couldn’t be yours. A man who was still going home to his wife.

Before you could spiral any further, before you could push him away, his hands were on you. Big, warm hands wrapping around your arms, steadying you, holding you in place. His grip wasn’t forceful, wasn’t rough, but it was firm—like he wasn’t going to let you drown in this. Like he refused to let you believe that’s what this was.

His voice was low, but strong. "You are not a homewrecker".

You shook your head, your throat burning, but Jensen’s hands tightened, his thumbs brushing over your bare skin.

"Look at me".

You didn’t.

"Look at me, Y/N".

You sucked in a breath, your body trembling, but finally—finally—you lifted your eyes to his.

Jensen exhaled slowly, his fingers still firm on your arms, grounding you, anchoring you. "You didn’t ruin anything that wasn’t already broken".

Your heart pounded. Because it was the first time he had admitted it. The first time he had said it out loud. That his marriage? It was already falling apart.

Your breath hitched, your stomach twisting, because as much as you wanted to believe him—as much as you needed to believe him—something inside you still ached. Because no matter how broken his marriage was, no matter how much he wanted you, it still wasn’t over.

He was still Jensen Ackles. Still a husband. Still a father.

“Y/N”, he murmured, voice softer now, lower. “You really think I’d do this if there was anything left to save?”.

Your stomach dropped. Because fuck—he meant that. The words weren’t just an excuse, weren’t just something he was saying to make you feel better. They were the truth.

You swallowed hard, looking up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. But there was none. Just a man standing in front of you, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him sane right now.

And fuck, that was worse. Because if he had any hesitation, if he had any guilt left, it would be easier to stop this. Easier to pretend this wasn’t what it was.

But instead, Jensen exhaled slowly, his hands sliding from your arms to your waist, holding you there, not pushing, not demanding, just keeping you close.

"But you’re still married". Your voice came out barely above a whisper, but it might as well have been a shout. Because the second the words left your lips, Jensen’s whole body tensed.

His jaw locked, his hands flexing slightly against your hips, his gaze flickering away for just a second—just long enough for you to see the hesitation. “Yeah”, he muttered, voice low, rough, strained. “I am”.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what you wanted him to say.

Did you want him to tell you it didn’t mean anything? That he was leaving her? That you weren’t making the biggest mistake of your life by falling for a man who wasn’t yours to have?

But he didn’t say any of that. Because Jensen wasn’t a liar. Instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, looking at you with something achingly raw. “You think I don’t hate myself for this?”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You think I don’t fucking know what this looks like? What it is?”.

Your throat tightened. “Then why did you let it happen?”.

Jensen let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head again. “Let it happen?”. He scoffed, his green eyes dark as they burned into yours. “You really think I had a fucking choice?”.

Your breath caught.

Jensen ran both hands through his hair, his whole body coiled tight like he was holding something in. “I tried, Y/N”, he muttered, voice quieter now. “I tried to push it down, to ignore it, to tell myself it wasn’t real”.

He inhaled sharply, his hands dropping back to his sides, his voice lower.

“But every time I looked at you, every time I touched you, every time I thought about you—”. He let out a slow, shaky breath, his jaw clenching. “It never went away”.

Your heart pounded. You swallowed thickly, your voice shaking. “Jensen—”.

“I know”, he cut in, his voice strained. “I know what this is. I know what it means. I know how fucked up it is”.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his whole body on edge.

“But tell me—”. His voice dropped even lower, his eyes locked onto yours, unblinking. “If I wasn’t married, would you still be running from this?”.

Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering. You didn’t have an answer. Because if he wasn’t married—if there were no vows, no wife, no mess—would you still be standing here, trying to convince yourself this was wrong? Would you still be trying to fight it? Or would you have already fallen?

Your throat tightened, your fingers gripping the counter behind you, your whole body trembling under the weight of his stare. “Jensen…”. You exhaled shakily, looking away, shaking your head. “That’s not the reality”.

Jensen’s jaw flexed, his fists clenching at his sides. “No, it’s not”.

Silence.

Your heart still pounded as you looked back at him, at the way his shoulders were tense, at the way his whole body looked like it was coiled too tight, like he was barely holding himself together. “Then why are you asking me that?”, you whispered, your voice barely steady.

Jensen exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face. “Because I need to know”.

Your stomach twisted.

“Know what?”.

He took a slow, deliberate step closer, closing the space between you again—not touching you, but close enough that you felt it anyway. “If this is just me”, he murmured, voice low, strained. “If I’m the only one losing my fucking mind over this”.

He was not the only one.

Jensen saw it, felt it in the way your body tensed, in the way your lips parted, in the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast. And for the first time, you saw it—how much this was wrecking him. How much he hated himself for it, how much he had tried to fight it, how much he was still trying to hold on—to what, you weren’t sure.

His marriage? His reputation? His self-control? Or you?

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “You’re not”.

Jensen’s whole body stilled. “What?”.

You inhaled shakily, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You’re not the only one”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, his head tipping down, his hands gripping his hips like he was trying to steady himself. Like he knew this was bad. Like he knew he should walk away.

But instead, he looked at you. "I like you, Y/N". He took another step closer, his green eyes locked onto yours, serious, weighted, real. "More than I should".

Your chest tightened, your fingers gripping the counter behind you just to stay grounded.

Jensen ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly, like he was still trying to process what the fuck he was even saying. “And with my wife, it’s…”. He trailed off, exhaling heavily, looking away for a brief second before his gaze snapped back to yours. “It’s more to the story”.

Your stomach flipped. You had suspected that much. That it wasn’t as simple as some happy marriage turned bad overnight, that whatever was going on between him and Danneel had been falling apart long before you were ever in the picture.

But hearing him say it?

It made your pulse race, made your breath quicker, made you feel a little less like the terrible person you had convinced yourself you were.

Jensen must’ve seen that flicker of hesitation, because he stepped even closer, his voice dropping to something lower, softer. “I want you to know that you didn’t destroy anything”.

Your throat tightened.

His green eyes darkened, his lips twitching slightly into something that shouldn’t have been a smirk, but was so fucking close to one. “Well”, he murmured, voice rough, teasing, “except sex with anyone else, maybe”.

Your stomach dropped, heat rushing to your face, your entire body going hot at the weight of his words. That was an admission. That wasn’t just some joke.

That was him saying it outright—that no one else had felt like you. That no one else had done to him what you did.

Jensen exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly, his voice low, dangerous, intentional. “You feel it too, don’t you?”.

You didn’t answer, because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Jensen took another step forward, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up just to meet his gaze. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to touch you, but his eyes—fuck—his eyes told you everything. “Y/N”, Jensen said, his voice quieter now, more careful. “Talk to me”.

Your breath was shaky as you forced yourself to speak. “I don’t know what to say.”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. Join the club”.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, you found your voice. “Jensen, I—”. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to not let them spiral again. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t know what this is—or what you even want from me”.

Jensen’s jaw tightened, and he ran a hand down his face, exhaling heavily before looking at you again. “I don’t fucking know either”, he admitted, his voice strained, raw, real. “All I know is that I’ve been trying to push this away for weeks, and it’s not working”.

Jensen wasn’t done.

“I know how this looks”, he continued, his voice lower now. “I know what people would think if they knew about this”. He inhaled sharply, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath of space between you. “But I also know that I can’t fucking pretend anymore”.

Your breath hitched as his fingers finally reached for you, brushing just barely over your wrist. The touch was light, hesitant, but it sent a full-body shiver through you.

“I tried”, he murmured. “I really fucking tried to shake this”.

His fingers slid up your arm, slow, deliberate, until his palm was cupping your jaw. His thumb traced over your cheekbone, his touch gentle but firm, like he was grounding you, like he needed you to hear him.

“I wake up thinking about you”, he admitted, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “I go to bed thinking about you. I get on fucking planes thinking about you”.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, your pulse pounding.

Jensen’s lips parted slightly, his forehead tipping against yours. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do about that”.

Instead of answering, instead of giving in, you let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Jensen… this is a really bad idea”.

Jensen chuckled softly, his breath fanning over your lips. “Yeah”, he murmured. “The worst”.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you stepped away. Because as bad as this was, neither of you wanted to stop.

Jensen's breath was warm against your lips, his fingers still cradling your jaw, his thumb brushing absently over your cheek. Your heart hammered so hard you swore he could hear it.

Just then, his lips brushed against yours, soft at first, just the barest hint of contact, like he was waiting—waiting for you to stop him, waiting for you to tell him this was wrong. But you didn’t.

You leaned in, closing the space between you completely, letting him take. And shit, he did.

Jensen kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, like he had spent weeks fighting it, only to lose every ounce of self-control the second your lips touched.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, pressing your body flush against his. You felt the way his chest rose and fell, the tension in his muscles, the way his hands gripped you like he was afraid you might slip away.

Jensen groaned against your mouth, tilting his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers tightening on your waist. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow. Intentional. Like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. Like he knew this moment couldn’t last.

And maybe it couldn’t.

Maybe this was all it could ever be. A stolen moment. A secret. A mistake you both walked away from.

Or maybe, maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.

When Jensen finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven, his hands still holding you like he wasn’t ready to let go. And neither were you.

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt, your chest tight.

Jensen exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What the fuck are we doing?".

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a second, because fuck, you didn’t have an answer. So instead, you whispered the only truth you knew. "I don’t know. But I don’t want to stop".

"Me neither".

The End.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[lanalace]

Our Last Hunt - Part 2

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 1]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word count: 8.5k 🍏🍎

Chapter 2

The first thing Y/n registered was the insidious thrumming, a foreign vibration that pulsed through her veins, a sickening reminder of stolen life. Her skin still prickled where Caleb had touched her, a phantom sensation that sent a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over her. She blinked against the weak morning light, disoriented, her limbs heavy and strangely energized all at once.

Fragments of the nightmarish feeding tore through her mind, the shocking heat of Caleb’s blood, like liquid fire scorching its way down her throat; the raw, involuntary moan that had been wrenched from him as her fangs pierced his flesh. The memory was a brutal violation, twisting her gut with revulsion. She had crossed a line so deep it was unspeakable, staining their bond beyond forgiveness.

‘I used him. I came grinding on my brother like an animal. I forced myself on him. My own brother. I let that— that thing inside me defile him.’ The shame was a crushing weight, suffocating her with guilt. She had crossed a line so unforgivable, stained their bond in a way she could never erase. ‘How can I even look him in the eye after that? I’m a horrible sister…’ She covered her face with her hands, it felt as if her life was falling apart again within the span of 24 hours. 

‘Gege surely hates me. He probably thinks I’m some disgusting deviant after what I did. Ugh! How could I even do something like this?’ She whined, desperately wanting to disappear, have the bed swallow her whole so that she didn’t have to face him. Alas, that was impossible. ‘It’s all my fault for going out without gege. Now I’m this… monster. I hate it.’

In her distress, her tongue instinctively traced the subtle sharpness that still lingered where her fangs had extended. They were retracted now, thankfully, but the phantom ache was a constant, throbbing reminder of her new reality. And then there was the sound. A steady, rhythmic pulse, insistent and clear, emanating from the room next door. Caleb’s heartbeat. She could hear it through the wall, a horrifying intimacy, a constant testament to her irrevocably heightened senses.

The scent of freshly made rice and sweet aroma of braised chicken wings drifted under her door, a domestic normalcy that felt like a cruel mockery. ‘Caleb.’ He was up, moving, preparing food as if nothing monstrous had occurred between them. A fresh wave of shame, hot and searing, washed over her. ‘How am I going to face him? I don’t think I can…’

That thought was rendered useless because the moment it came, Caleb entered her room, carrying a breakfast tray with forced cheerfulness. He smiled, a gentle, nurturing expression that felt… calculated, his galaxy eyes holding a strange, unreadable depth.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I made your favorite.”

The sight of the familiar breakfast felt repulsive, despite the heavenly sight. It was now tainted by the memory of the night. ‘I don’t deserve his care.’ she lamented as she kept her head down, her hair falling in a way that exposed her neck to him. 

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the bandage he’d placed on her neck after she’d passed out, his fingers brushing her skin with a possessive tenderness as he set the tray on her bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, laced with concern. His hand felt warm  on her chilled skin felt so good, she almost leaned into it. Almost. But she remembered her place and stayed still, allowing him to assess her wound. The brunette’s touch lingered a fraction too long, a subtle affectionate caress that made her skin crawl.

Y/n mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as if to physically shield herself from him. “Tired. And… sick.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course, you are. Last night was… intense.” He paused, his gaze sharpening, as he replayed the events of the previous night.

 “You were so close to losing control, Y/n. You’d have killed someone if I wasn’t here to… guide you. We’ve got to get a handle on things. You're going to need me now, more than ever.” The words were gentle, almost soothing, but the underlying message was a chilling assertion of his control.

“We?” She said, trembling. “You want to help me even after what I did?” Her whole body began to quake as tears fell from her eyes. Caleb’s brows furrowed as the familiar scent of salt cut through the air. ‘She’s crying?’ 

Without warning, he gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed her damp cheek, her beautiful crystalline eyes were glistening. “Meimei.” His voice was unusually tight. “What’s wrong?” He questioned her. ‘What could possibly be troubling you, little one?’

Y/n’s face scrunched up before a pathetic sob left her lips. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She cried, her voice raw with self-loathing. Before he could respond, she rushed out, “After what I did last night…  I’m sorry gege. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that. I swear!”

Something inside Caleb snapped.

He hauled her small frame against his chest, wrapping his arms around her trembling body and holding her so tightly it was as if he could fuse them together. “You silly girl,” he murmured against her hair, rocking her gently. “I could never be mad at you. It’s not your fault. It’s just your biology now.”

His voice softened to a conspiratorial whisper. “What kind of brother would I be if I turned away from you in your time of need?”

He slid onto the bed properly, leaning back against the headboard, pulling her closer, cradling her on his lap like something precious. Something that now belonged entirely to him. ‘My sweet, naive meimei, of course you would blame yourself. Did you forget how much I enjoyed you that night?’ he thought bitterly. How easily she twisted the night into something shameful when, for him, it had been a revelation.

‘Only you would be more concerned about potentially upsetting me rather than the fact that you are now undead.’ He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head. 

“But I—I forced…”

“Ssshhh meimei.” He hushed her firmly, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressing her tighter against him. “Gege isn’t upset with you. You were hungry, that’s all.” 

He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He wanted to touch her like he did last night, he hoped for it— wished to feel her needy body come alive for him again. Alas, with her current state, he will have to take things at a much slower pace than he anticipated. ‘At least she isn’t fighting my touch right now. This is enough.’

“For now,” he murmured into her hair quietly.

“But—”

”That’s enough, meimei.”  Caleb said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n stiffened instinctively, understanding the warning. She knew better than to respond when he was like this. His voice softened a fraction. “I will never abandon you. Never.” He knew her well, knew that was really what she feared.

“No more crying, yeah?” he teased gently, wiping her damp cheeks with his thumb. “What kind of vampire cries?”

A broken laugh escaped her lips, small but real and Caleb’s heart swelled. He kissed the top of her head, a possessive gesture.

‘Soon,’ he promised himself. ‘Soon, you’ll realize I am the center of your world just as you are in mine.’

🍏🍎

A few weeks had passed since the turning. A semblance of routine had settled over Y/n's life, though it felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake. Caleb was a constant presence, a concerned shadow hovering just at the edge of her personal space. He found endless excuses for casual touches – a hand on her shoulder as he passed, a lingering brush against her arm when he handed her a book. Small gestures, carefully calibrated not to spook her, but Y/n felt them nonetheless, each contact a subtle reminder of the intimacy they had shared and the chasm it had created within her.

To her relief, she could still enjoy human food. A warm bowl of ramen, the sweet tang of fruit – they provided a small measure of comfort, a taste of her former life— of normalcy. But it was just that: a taste. A snack. The gnawing emptiness, the true hunger, only blood could satisfy. And on that front, Y/n remained firm. She refused to drink directly from Caleb ever again, the memory of that night still a raw open wound. 

Instead, he reluctantly poured his blood into a porcelain cup for her, a ritual he performed with a sigh, his eyes lingering on her lips with a frustrated longing. He was becoming more agitated as the days rolled by, though he hid it well. He treasured the forced intimacy of their feeding, a connection Y/n desperately tried to avoid. But his need to keep her alive, his possessive desire to be her sole provider, ultimately outweighed his displeasure. Still, it never stopped him from offering himself to her every so often.

One evening, the familiar hunger gnawed at Y/n. Caleb approached, his eyes holding a familiar, possessive warmth. He offered his wrist, a silent invitation.

Y/n recoiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, gege.” Her voice was firm, despite the tremor in her hands.

Caleb’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “But, little one, the direct way is the best for young vampires.”

“Please,” She interrupted, her gaze fixed on her hands. “Just… just put it in a cup for me.” ‘I can’t do that again. I can’t bring myself to… to bite him like that. It felt so wrong.’

Caleb sighed, a long, drawn-out sound filled with frustration. “You know I don’t like that, meimei...” He hated it, in fact. It lacked the intimacy he was craving. ‘She’s pushing me away. Doesn’t she understand what we shared?’

“I know,” Y/n mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. “But… I can’t help it. Please, Caleb.” She pleaded with him. Y/n wished to keep her relationship with him as siblings. She couldn’t bear to damage it any further. ‘I feel so ashamed. Every time I look at his neck… I just remember…’ Though his neck had healed up immediately, the memories still linger.

He relented, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine.” He turned away, a hint of wounded pride in his posture. He returned moments later with a small, ornate ceramic cup filled with his blood. 

“Here.” He offered it to her, his eyes searching hers. ‘She’s making this so difficult. Doesn’t she realize this is for us?’

Y/n took the cup grateful, her fingers brushing his. Even that small contact sent a jolt of unwanted awareness through her. She drank slowly, the coppery liquid satisfying the immediate craving but leaving a hollow ache in its wake. It wasn't the same as drinking directly from him. It lacked… ‘It’s enough. It has to be enough. I won’t let myself… need him like that.’

Days turned into weeks under Caleb’s watchful eye. He had long reported Y/n’s death to the guild, a necessary lie to protect their secret. But the past had a way of resurfacing.

One afternoon, as Y/n read, a sharp knock echoed. Caleb’s usual calm shattered. The door burst open, revealing Dalton.

“Caleb, I heard about Y/n. So sorry for your loss, brother.” Dalton began, his gaze sweeping over the living room before landing squarely on Y/n, who froze, the book clattering to the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed with suspicion. “Y/n? But… Caleb said…”

Y/n shot up from where she sat. Her mouth opened to explain, to lie, she wasn’t sure. But her panic was evident. However, she never got the chance.

Caleb moved faster than she could see. One second Dalton was standing. The next, he was writhing on the floor, a terrible gurgling noise escaping his ruined throat. Caleb straddled him, hands blood-soaked, face twisted in something that wasn’t human. It wasn't the controlled precision she knew from their hunts. This was raw, untamed savagery. He kicked the door closed, his hand shot out, fingers like steel claws, and clamped around Dalton’s throat. Dalton gasped, his eyes bulging in terror as Caleb lifted him off the ground. A sickening crunch echoed as Caleb twisted his neck with brutal force. Dalton’s body went limp, his eyes staring blankly.

Y/n screamed, the strangled cry escaping her lips. She had seen Caleb kill before, but never like this. The sheer speed, the unrestrained violence… it was terrifying. ‘Oh my god. What did he just do? Dalton… he just…’

She backed away, hands flying to her mouth, heart hammering out of control. Caleb had ripped the life from Dalton with brutal, casual precision as if breaking a rabbit’s neck. Like it meant nothing to him.

It was horrifying.

They had hunted together for years. She had seen Caleb kill—but never like this. Never so… savagely.

Caleb turned to her, his chest heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes blazing with a primal protectiveness that bordered on madness. “It had to be done, little one. He couldn’t know. He would have told others. I had to protect you.” He dragged Dalton’s lifeless body towards her, his grip surprisingly gentle now. “Now, you need to feed. Practice control.”

Y/n stared, paralyzed with horror. She had hunted alongside Dalton over the years. He was a good man, a dedicated hunter. Her gut twisted. She remembered Dalton’s stupid jokes around the campfire. His family photos. His rough, easy laughter. But now he is just gone. And Caleb was the one that ended him. So brutally. Caleb let his control slip entirely, his features contorted in a primal rage. He couldn’t allow Dalton to reveal her secret, to threaten their carefully constructed isolation. He had to protect her.

Dragging Dalton’s lifeless body towards Y/n as if it weighed nothing at all, Caleb’s eyes, still blazing with a feral intensity, softened slightly as he looked at her. “He can’t tell anyone now, meimei. It’s for your own good.” Caleb approached slowly, crouching beside the body, his voice low and coaxing. “You need to practice, little one. To learn to control it. It’s better if it’s someone you know. Easier.” 

He positioned the body before her. The scent of freshly spilled blood was thick and cloying, triggering an instinctive hunger. He gently took her hand, guiding it towards the still-warm flesh of Dalton’s neck. The scent of Dalton’s blood, freshly spilled, hit Y/n’s heightened senses. It was sharp, metallic, and undeniably enticing in a primal way. Her fangs descended instinctively, a horrifyingly natural reaction. Yet, revulsion warred with the burgeoning hunger. She knew this man. He had a wife, two young children. She couldn’t do this. Looking at Dalton’s still face, the vacant eyes… “How can you say that?” 

‘I knew him. We hunted together— laughed at his terrible dad jokes around the fire. He had a family waiting for him to come home.’

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Caleb’s expression hardened. “You have to, Y/n. It’s the only way to learn.” He coaxed her, his hand on her back, gently urging her forward. “Just a little. For practice. If you won't drink from me, you won’t know how to properly restrain yourself.”

“That will lead to deadly mistakes. It will land you on the guilds radar. You need to learn.” 

‘She needs to understand her new nature. And she needs to rely on me.’

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she reluctantly leaned down. “I’m sorry Dalton. I’m so sorry...” She whispered before sinking her teeth into someone she once considered a comrade. The blood smells sweet, but the moment it hit her tongue, it tasted wrong. It tasted metallic and bitter, almost rotten compared to the rich sweetness of Calebs.

She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and tried to swallow, her stomach churning. ‘It’s not the same. It’s… disgusting.’ She gagged, her body rejecting it. Bile rose in her throat, and she vomited, expelling the tainted blood and even the small amount of Caleb’s blood she had drunk earlier. It was barely palatable, a grotesque imitation of what truly satisfied her. Caleb watched from behind her with a strange mixture of concern and something akin to triumph in his eyes. Even after everything was out of her system, she still retched a few more times before collapsing, her body wracked with shudders. 

Caleb was there instantly, gathering her into his arms, his embrace tight and possessive. Though the state she was in tugged at his heart, hating to see the one he converted in sure dire need of care. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips with satisfaction. ‘It was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one. You won’t deny me anymore, will you meimei?’ He pulled her closer, nuzzling the top of her affectionately as he walked down the hall. 

Caleb carried her into his bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, as if the simple act of holding her was something sacred. The heavy curtains sealed the world outside, leaving only the two of them cocooned in twilight. Y/n trembled in his arms, her body weightless, her mind fraying at the edges from hunger and horror.

He set her down on the bed, lingering over her longer than necessary, his hand cradling her cheek. His thumb brushed the hollow beneath her eye, tracing the fragile skin there.

“You’re too weak,” Caleb murmured, his voice low and thick with something more than concern. “No cup this time. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart twisted violently at his words. She shook her head weakly, trying to push herself back, but he caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them gently against the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot against her ear.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered. “You need this. You need me.”

She tried to turn away, tried to close herself off—but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, possessive weight, his thigh slipping between her legs, anchoring her. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, tilting her face back to expose her mouth, her fangs, her desperation.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed.

Without giving her time to protest, he bent his head, baring his throat to her. The strong column of his neck pulsed just inches from her lips, the scent of his blood saturating the air between them—rich, dark, utterly intoxicating.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pull. But hunger gnawed through her self-control, stripping away every barrier she had left. Her fangs ached. Her breathing quickened. Her entire body strained toward him before she even realized she was moving.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, and with a low, commanding growl, he pulled her mouth against his neck.

“Now, meimei,” he ordered, voice trembling with restraint. “Drink.”

Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound. Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect.

Y/n moaned against his skin, the sound raw and broken. Shame and desire twisted inside her, a vicious tangle she couldn’t unravel. Every swallow sent heat blooming through her veins, spreading outward until even her fingertips tingled. Caleb’s blood didn’t just feed her—it claimed her, seeping into every crack and hollow space inside her soul.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough, wrecked. He shifted his hips, grinding her deeper into the mattress, keeping her caged between his body and the bed. “Drink, little one. Take everything you need.”

His free hand roamed her body in slow, possessive sweeps—tracing the line of her waist, skimming the curve of her thigh, sliding up her back to bury in her hair again. Every touch was a brand, a silent promise: You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.

Y/n clung to him, lost in the heat and closeness and the dizzying pleasure of his blood on her tongue. Caleb tilted his head back further, baring more of his throat to her, surrendering completely. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut as if he were barely restraining himself from doing more—taking her, binding her even tighter to him.

When she finally wrenched herself away, gasping for air, her lips were stained crimson, her hands fisted tightly in his shirt. Caleb cupped her face, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that wasn’t just physical.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.”

He kissed her temple, then the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent, tasting his own blood on her skin. His body still pressed hers into the bed, his hold firm, inescapable.

Y/n shivered beneath him, overwhelmed by the bond coiling tighter between them. There would be no escaping him now. No pretending she could survive without him.

And deep down, a part of her— the part that still remembered the terrible, aching loneliness of her new existence and didn’t want to.

🍏🍎

Caleb carried her into the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, each movement imbued with a strange reverence, as if the simple act of holding her broken form was a sacred rite. The heavy curtains sealed away the outside world, plunging them into a suffocating twilight that mirrored the darkness engulfing Y/n’s mind. She trembled in his arms, her body achingly light, her thoughts fragmented by the gnawing hunger and the lingering horror of Dalton’s death. Yet, a heavy silence clung to her, a refusal to voice the terror that coiled in her gut.

He sank onto the bed with her still cradled against his chest, the mattress giving way beneath their combined weight. He shifted, trapping her between his body and the plush mattress beneath her. His hand, surprisingly gentle, slid down the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse with a slow, possessive intent that sent a shiver of dread through her weakened body. Her pale face seemed to shrink within his grasp, almost lifeless.

“You’re so weak, little one.” Caleb murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her ear, thick with a possessive undertone that belied his concern.

“No cup this time,” he breathed against her temple, his voice deepening, roughening with a raw urgency. “You can barely move. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart lurched violently against her ribs, completely unwilling even in this dire state. She shook her head weakly, a pathetic denial. Putting her hands against his broad chest, she tried to push herself away, but his grip tightened, one hand snaking around her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the soft fabric of the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot and possessive against her ear, stealing the air from her lungs.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered, his voice a silken command. “You need this. You need me.” 

The words were a chilling echo of her own desperate thoughts, twisting her dependence into something sinister. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need him this way, that she could drink from a cup but her throat was so dry, it felt as if someone rubbed it raw with sandpaper. She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips as his words, it was all she could muster. 

She tried to turn her face away, to burrow into the pillow, to create some semblance of distance, but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, suffocating weight that stole her breath, his thigh slipping between her legs, a subtle invasion that anchored her to him. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, tilting her face back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, her parted lips, the faint, tell-tale lengthening of her fangs, her raw, undeniable desperation.

“Let me take care of you.” he breathed, his voice a low caress that felt like a brand.

Y/n squirmed weakly beneath him like a trapped animal. She was fighting against the inevitable, she knew, trying to turn her head away from the suffocating nearness of him but Caleb’s fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his determined gaze. The violet galaxy depths of his eyes held an intense hunger that mirrored her own desperate need.  The strength in his touch was undeniable, not overtly cruel, just a reminder of his control. He wasn’t asking; he was claiming.

“Don’t fight me, little one.” he said, a low growl vibrating in his chest, a primal sound that sent a shiver of fear and a reluctant stirring of something else through her weakened form. “You know, you can’t.”

Without giving her fragile mind a chance to resist him further, he made a shallow, deliberate cut on the side of his neck, the bead of crimson welling instantly, a stark invitation. He bent his head, baring his throat to her, the strong column of his neck pulsing just inches from her parted lips, the intoxicating scent of his blood saturating the air between them, filling the dark room with an irresistible lure. She shudders violently, desperately wanting to taste him again.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, a silent scream trapped in her throat, fighting the primal pull that threatened to consume her. 'I can't... I'll lose control again. But... I'm so weak. And he... he smells so good!’ Her body trembled, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. Her mouth opened, lip trembling as her fangs ached with need, her breathing quickened in shallow, ragged gasps. Her entire body strained toward him, an instinctual surrender that bypassed her conscious thought, shame a distant whisper against the roaring hunger.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull with firm tenderness, and with a low, commanding growl that resonated deep within her bones, he pulled her mouth against his offered neck.

“Now, meimei.” he ordered, his voice trembling with barely contained annoyance at her continued refusal. “Drink.”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, tears scalding the corners of her eyes as she obeyed, her body moving with a desperate will of its own. Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the suffocating silence of the room. 

Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and something else, something akin to pleasure. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer, molding her body to his. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect, a stark contrast to the vile taste of Dalton’s.

“Ah~ That’s it.” He groaned, his voice rough, wrecked, a tremor running through his body as he restrains himself from taking her this second. He shifted over her, seating himself fully between her thighs, his cock grinding up against the insistent heat of her core through the thin layers of her clothes, a blatant invasion that made her gasp. 

“Drink, little one. Take everything you need.” His other hand tightened on her captured wrists, keeping them pinned above her head in his large grip.

The heat of him, the weight of him pressing down on her, the suffocating closeness, the intoxicating scent of his blood was a sensory overload to her depleted body.  A blurring of pain and pleasure, of fear and a desperate, unwanted desire consumed her.

Y/n gasped, the hunger clawing at her insides now a maddening beast. It wasn’t just thirst, no. It was physical desire and it was tearing through the last fragile threads of her resistance. She was doing so good by ignoring the way Caleb was touching her.

‘Please… no. Not now.’ Her own body was betraying her, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. A shameful wetness pooling in her panties as she moaned prettily under him as he continued to roll his hips against her. She was about to cum and by the way he picked up the pace, he knew she was too.

Y/n stiffened, her body pressed tightly against him as her hips jerked repeatedly, using him to ride out her orgasm. ‘So good. So good!’ She couldn’t speak, only drink and with each pull from his neck, she sealed her fate. Y/n was no longer of sound mind. Now, a very persistent euphoric fog clouded her mind, stealing her will to do anything but respond to her body’s needs.

Caleb smirked. He felt it, felt her final, silent surrender. A low, triumphant growl rumbled deep in his chest and released her from his hold when her body went limp. ‘This is how it was always meant to be. She needs me like this.’ He had her right where he wanted, happily feeding, wet, needy and so pliant for him. He bent his head further, exposing the strong column of his neck, offering her lips more of him. The scent of him intensified, rich, metallic, utterly addictive. A siren’s call she never had the strength to ignore.

When she finally pulled her mouth away, fully satiated, her lips slick with his blood. Her hands fisted tightly in his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a terrifying storm. Her eyes were blown, unfocused, a blood-drunk haze clouding her vision. Caleb cupped her face with blood-smeared fingers, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that went far beyond feeding.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.” She didn’t respond. He knew she would.

“Tell me what you need, meimei.” he breathed against her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her lobe, dragging a low, involuntary whimper from her throat. He chuckled, bucking his hips against hers, earning him a louder, sweeter moan from her and she raised her hips to meet his. “Need more? Gege will make you feel so good.”

A weak mewl caught in her throat as Caleb pulled her in for a kiss. It was he twisted his hips against hers, the grinding pressure a blatant violation that sent a jolt of unwanted sensation through her weakened body, pulling a desperate, broken sound from her lips. Her gums itched as she nibbled her lip, instinct had long overridden fear, shame— everything. 

“Still thirsty?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation that sent a shivers down Y/n’s spine. She wasn’t, in fact she was full, her hunger for blood gone. She wanted something else, craved something more and he could feel it.

“I taste that good, huh?” He chuckled.

“Gege, I… need more.” She begged.

He guided her mouth back to his bleeding neck, his hand tangling in her hair, holding her in place, a controlling caress. Y/n didn’t hesitate to take from him again as she bit down again.

The reaction was immediate, violent. Caleb’s entire body shuddered, a raw, broken groan tearing from him, a sound that spoke of both exquisite pain and a twisted pleasure. His grip on her captured wrists tightened briefly before he released them, his hands flying instead to her hips, squeezing hard, dragging her hips up into his, a blatant demand.

He rocked against her hard as she drank. Quick, hard claiming thrusts made his breathing ragged with each movement. He was going to cum.

“Ah~ just like that.” he gasped when she licked his neck, refusing to let the trailing crimson go to waste. His mouth found the sensitive line underneath her jaw, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses against her blood-tinged skin.

“So greedy, little one.” He chuckled, a low, possessive sound, the tension pulled taunt in his body. 

His hand slid under her shirt, splaying across her bare lower back, dragging her even closer, skin to heated skin, blood mingling with blood. His fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to inflict pain, but enough to leave her trembling, aching for a connection she both craved and loathed. 

With one final thrust, he came with a long, torturous groan.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his thumb wiping a smear of his blood from her cheek, a possessive caress. “My good girl.” He kissed her then—messy, desperate, a brutal mingling of blood and breath and a terrifyingly possessive hunger.

“But I’m far from done with you.” 

Caleb barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were claiming hers again. Rough and unrelenting, the metallic tang of his blood stained both their mouths. He kissed her like a starved man and when he finally pulled back, a strand of saliva and blood connected them. 

Without a word, he dragged her shirt up over her head, baring her to him. Her tits bounces from the suddenness and her pert nipples quickly became erect from the slight chill of the room. He took in a breath at this sight.

“Beautiful.” 

He cupped the succulent mounds of fat in his hands, palms flattening over every inch of newly exposed skin before squeezing them, committing her to memory, claiming her body by touch alone.

He lowered his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat, pausing to lave his tongue over the bite mark, tasting the bits of dried blood that lingered on it. As his mouth focuses on her neck, his fingers circled and flicked her nipples, pulling and twisting just the right way to have her trembling with need for him.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, her fingers clutching helplessly at his shoulders. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue over the wound sent jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Caleb whispered against her skin. “The bond pulling tighter? You’re meant to be mine, little one. Meant to need me.”

He nuzzled against the bite, pressing his lips reverently to the broken skin, then bit down just enough to reopen it — not to feed, but to taste. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of her blood mixed with his own, and he growled low in his throat, shuddering with barely restrained need.

“No one else.” he said hoarsely. “If you ever drink from another… I’ll feel it. I’ll know.”

His hand slipped between her tights and her underwear, cupping her sapping wet cunt firmly through the thin barrier of her panties and groaned. ‘So fucking wet for me.’

“I’ll feel it.” he rasped, pressing his fingers against her clit, circling it gently, dragging a desperate moan from her lips. “Your body…your blood… everything belongs to me now.”

Caleb slid her panties to the side, wetting his fingers with her slick before plunging two long, thick digits within her. Y/n gasped and let out one of the prettiest, airy sounds he had even heard. It went straight to his dick, twitching and hardening in an instant. Coupled with how incredibly tight her leaking hole is, he would surely be unable to hold back the moment he was fully inside of her.

“Like that?” His voice held a smile as he began to fuck his fingers into her. She cried out, taking everything he was giving her with broken moans as he stroked her, scissoring and stretching her unused pussy. Caleb’s fingers found the small patch of flesh that felt different from the rest of her, changing the angle, he targeted it, focusing on pulling another orgasm from her. 

Y/n squealed, gripping his shirt and looking at him with confusion and pure ecstasy swirling in her eyes. 

“That good, huh?” Caleb grinned wickedly, feeling her tighten and squirt a little as he doubled down on his efforts. His fingers moved at an inhuman pace and thankfully she was dripping for him, allowing for him free reign to do so.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers so much, little one. You wanna cum for me? Cum for gege?” He teases, speeding up, bullying that soft spot in her. In an instant, she came, squirting and convulsing. Her silent scream didn’t go unnoticed by him as he stared at her pretty little face with a shit eating grin and he removed hand from between her legs. He was so impressed he was able to make her squirt. He licked his dripping fingers, sucking them clean as if he couldn’t enough, making the most lewd sounds she had ever heard. ‘Does she even know how good he tastes?’ He thought as he licked the corner of his mouth, swallowing the last bit of her.

“That’s two, meimei. Think you can go again?” 

He didn’t need to wait for a verbal response as he saw her surrender in the way her body shuddered. The subtle loosening of the tension in her muscles, the soft whimper she couldn’t choke back as he watched with her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He felt it, just as surely as he tasted her blood on his tongue.

And it broke the last fragile tether of his control.

A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed her back, forcing her down onto the bed. His body loomed over hers, caging her in, his hands spreading her thighs wide without asking, without hesitation. He was granted the mouth watering sight of her slick covered coral pink folds.

“Fuck, look how pretty she is. Were you expecting this?” His voice breathy as he admires the clean shaven, slick glistening rose petals. Truthfully, he knew she didn’t but he could not help teasing her. He lowered his face between her plush thighs.

Caleb tongue, ever so gentle, licked the strip of her drooling slit. His eyes nearly rolled back from the sweetness as he moaned in delight, savoring her taste on his tongue. Y/n soft gasp arching her back away from his hot tongue. 

Caleb narrowed his gaze and in a split second, “Don’t even think about it.” his hands wrapped around the fat of her thighs dragging her back to his waiting mouth. His lip latched onto her tiny bud, circling it and sucking hard as the slick intensified. Y/n’s back arced off of the mattress, her body trembling within his hold as he pinned her hip to the bed. 

“Be fair, meimei. I’m thirsty too.” He voiced muffled as he tried to drown himself in her leaking cunt. She didn’t protest when he did, doing her best to stay still while he continued his ministrations. Y/n’s hands shot out to tangle in his locks, pulling his face close.

Caleb was in heaven. He always knew she would taste good but this far surpassed his imagination. He released her reddened bud, swiping his tongue from her opening to back to her clit, once, twice, before teasing her little clit with the tip. He moaned, the sound reverberating through her core making whimper with need. He kept teasing her like that, enjoying the way her body writhed of his tongue, her little flinches before she rolls her hips forward, offering more of her dripping cunt for him to feat on.

“Gege… pl-please…!” She tried moving her hips, her body racked with need. But Caleb held her down so effectively that she couldn’t move her hips an inch. 

He paid her no mind, taking his time devouring her at his own pace. He could tell she was close by her incessant mewlings and by the way her legs were trembling in his hold. He lapped at her opening, collecting her pooling essence on his tongue and drinking her in. ‘Fuck… she taste so good.’ Caleb mentally cursed, before burying his face into her folded. 

He had a prominent, raging hard on, wanting to replace his cock with his tongue. However, he retained himself, he was a patient creature, he would finish his delicious meal before indulging further.  His tongue digging into her core, lapping at her velvety walls as he curled his pink muscle, earning him a high pitched squeal from her while he shoveled her juices into his hungry mouth. 

Y/n came violently on Caleb’s tongue, back arched and legs quaking, shaking the bed beneath them. Her finger pulled roughly at her brother’s silky hair. He grunted from the light pain but his tongue didn’t stop his assault as he fucked her tight hole with it through her orgasm. He kept at it, ruining her until she laid there, panting and flushed all over. 

He pulled back to get a good look at her, her chest rising and falling as she huffed in exhaustion. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as pride filled him. Licking his lips clean, savoring the remnants of her release before wiping the rest of his slick shined face with the back of his hand. He was tempted to keep going, to eat her sweet little pussy 2 or 3 more times just for his own pleasure. 

“You taste absolutely divine. I can’t tell whether I like your cunt or your blood more.” He muse, his eyes gleaming with amusement.  Y/n said nothing, she didn’t even hear him, her ears were ringing from the rush of her orgasm. All she could do is suck in air and gaze up at him with half open eyes.

Caleb chuckled to himself, realizing she was far gone. He stepped off the bed, ridding himself of his clothes in the span of a second before returning between her legs, eager to finally become one with the woman he desired. He covered her body with his own, his face mere inches from her as he leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I am going to take you now.” He stated plainly.

”Take me?” Dazed out of her mind from the aftermath of cumming and still high from his blood. 

“Yes, little one. I am going to fuck you into the mattress until you re full of me. And then, I’ll do it all over again. I’m not going to stop until my name is the only thing you can remember.” He smiled deviously. Normally, he would never be this crass but he knew she couldn’t fully comprehend anything he said so he spoke his mind.

He wasted no more time, nuzzling her neck affectionately, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down her neck as he gathered both her wrists into one of his much larger hands, securing it while using the other to stroke his impressive length. Caleb’s member sat heavily in his hand at 9.8 inches one and as thick as her wrist. ‘Thank goodness you are already turned, if not, this would hurt you immensely and I’d have to stop here.’

The warm blooded hybrid glided his stiff cock along her over sensitive folds. A shiver him, releasing a breathy sight at the feel of her warm, wet petals soaking the underside of his cock. He bit his lower lip, stifling the next sounds he continued to move along the lips a few more times. Deeming his length wet enough, he pulled his hips back, lining up the mushroom head with her entrance, he grasped Y/n’s jaw, forcing it open.

“Drink from me, Y/n. Pleasure yourself as I take from you.” He says as his hand slips to the back of her neck and forces her teeth into his neck, one again. They both groan in unison, Caleb throwing his head back before sinking both his fangs and his dick in one foul swoop, moaning loudly around the column of her throat.

This snapped Y/n out her lust filled haze momentarily. She squealed and whimpered, tears falling around from the corner of her eyes. She tried to dislodge herself from his neck, feeling the brain fog coming back the more his blood seeped into her mouth. To no avail as Caleb’s hand held her firmly, pressing her face harder the more she tried to struggle.

Y/n glance over to him, panic evident in her eyes. He felt her stare but ignored it, liking and sucking along the skin in his mouth with fervor. He pulled back slightly before slamming into her again, hitting her cervix hard. He couldn't stop himself from grunting and whimpering near her in pure bliss from her tight snatch constricting around him so hard. 

Caleb released her from his neck and withdrew from her as well, sitting back on his knee’s. His pupils were dilated, black almost completely consuming his violet irises and he sat back to look down at her with a love sick smile gracing his features. 

“You’re so tight— so hot— Ah~!” He moaned pathetically when her cunt spasmed, trying every which way to adjust to his length. He looked down, gaze focused on the place where his dick is plunging in and out her pussy. The site of a pink tinged ring forming at the base of his cock made him dizzy with excitement.

“Gege… we can’t! Wake up!” She seethed through clenched teeth, she was in great discomfort but also great pleasure. Y/n tried her best to fight off the effects of his blood, but she was losing fast. She couldn’t even force herself to struggle with the way her body began to relax for him.

“Still want to fight, little one?” He chuckled, caressing her warm cheek. 

“That’s ok. Gege is just gonna have to fucked the resistance out of you.” He grinned as if he just won a first place prize. 

With that, he used his free hand to grip her waist and began to fuck her, setting a brutal pace. Y/n’s back arched, mouth agape’s and unable to vocalize her feelings at her brother rammed into her repeatedly, stealing her breath away.

It didn’t even take a full minute for the pleasure to envelope her completely. Caleb smirked down at her when she attempted to match his pace, raising her hips to meet his every thrust.

Loud slaps filled the room as skin met skin, his hips meeting hers in a rhythemantic symphony. It felt unbelievable intoxicating, having her so willing to fucking him back so desperately, her blood, wet on his tongue and her drinking from him anytime he coaxes her to. It was the epitome of euphoria. He could die in this moment and would not complain. 

Y/n came without warning, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his hips flush against hers. “F-fuck..!” Caleb came a little, her cunt clamping down around him, milking him for his seed. His thrusts faltered for just a moment before deepened his strokes, fucking her into the mattress just as he promised with renewed vigor.  

Y/n whined, completely spent and sore. She didn’t want to keep going anymore— she couldn’t but Caleb continued to ram her swallow flesh, his tip bullying her poor cervix open. 

She tried to twist away, trying to resist the tide of heat and hunger that was beginning to build again as Caleb rushed over her g-spot with every move. Caleb only growled, low and dangerous, pinning her hips with bruising force as he fell over her body again. 

“Don’t run from me.” he snarled into her ear. “You’ll only make me chase you. And when I catch you…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, sharp and threatening. “I’ll mark you so deeply you’ll never forget who you belong to, just. Like. Right. Now.” He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust.

His mouth returned to the wound on her neck, suckling gently, coaxing another slow trickle of blood, savoring it with obscene pleasure. Every pulse of her heart fed directly into him, connecting them in a raw, visceral loop neither of them could break.

Y/n sobbed, half pleasure, half in shame. Caleb squeezed her hips hard, rutting into her like a wolf in heat. He needed to cum. Every fiber in his being screamed to fill her up, marking her as his so that she can never deny his love for her ever again.

“I’m close, meimei. So, so close.” He grunted out.

“Give me one more. Just..mmm~ one more. Let’s cum together.” 

His hand that was on her hip moved to her engorged clit, using his thumb to circle it quickly, trying to match the speed of his hips. Y/n choked and tried to wiggle away again. 

“To-too much. Too much, Caleb, please!” His dick dug impossibly deeper into her watery cunt, not allowing her to move away. He was too far gone to hear her out, not that he could stop himself, not when he’s this close to coming with her most precious girl.

“Be good. You can take it.” he growled, his voice rough with primal hunger. “You pretend you don’t want this. But I can feel you.” Dragging his nose along the line of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her arousal that coated the air thickly. 

Caleb whimpered like a pup, hips stuttered and as he pistoned into her sloppily. After three long and hard thrust, he came inside her, grunting out her name as a blinding white light obscuring his vision. His orgasme trigger hers as her body betrayed her, arching into him, seeking more contact, wanting to be full of him.

Y/n collapsed on the bed first, the corner of her eyes darkening as she willingly succumbed to it, fainting beneath him. Caleb fell onto her, panting into the junction of her neck as he tried to ready his breath. Once he did, flipped their bodies, making sure to keep his cock warm inside her, laying her upon his chest. He could feel his cum leaking out of her and trailing down his dick but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Caleb sighed in content, wrapping his arms around his lover in a warm embrace. ‘For the first time in my life, I finally  feel truly happy. Satisfied. I finally own you.’ He queened her. ‘After all these years, you are finally mine and now, you can’t hide it. Can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’ He thought to himself as he placed a kiss on the top of her head before drifting into a blissful sleep, knowing five things truths that ensure it would be restful.

‘There is no undoing this.

There is no hiding from the truth of their connection.

There is no going back to what they once were.

She is mine now, body and soul.

And I would never, ever let her go.’

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 5

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.8k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

"Being a Jedi means allowing things - even things we love - to pass out of our lives."

It had been four months since you were gone. You and Dev completed bounties over bounties, you made a name for yourself and Ani was heard throughout the galaxy. 

That didn’t mean you weren’t a target for others, hell, you had people sent out to kill both you and Dev. But you managed. You had a very specific skill set, you didn’t use your saber’s, instead you used vibroblades which you found to be pretty similar to your lightsaber. Your blaster pistol was attached to your gun belt as a backup option which was handed to you by Dev. 

If you were being honest, this life was completely different to how you spent your time back in the Jedi Order, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss it. It was new and you weren’t bound by the Jedi Code. Part of you still followed the commandments as it’s been drilled in your head. 

You pulled out your lightsaber from the same gun belt as your pistol and drew it out, the lapis blue light emitting from the saber. Squinting your eyes from the wind blowing sand, you clutched your saber tightly.

You began to do a senseless spin, the blade travelling in a circular motion in the front of your body, using the same momentum you brought behind your back, rotating your wrist to do rotations as you repeatedly brought it to your front and back. 

Using the force, you lifted up an empty and discarded can of food into the air, your palm concentrating the energy to the can before completely letting it go. You striked the can with your saber as it was falling down, the can splitting in half and falling on the sand. 

“Wow.” Dev said behind you, clapping his hands as he approached your figure. 

“That was nothing,” you sighed, shaking your head as you deactivated your lightsaber.

“Not like I can do it,” Dev gave you a sheepish smile.  

You placed your hands on your hips, “I’m getting rusty. It’s been a while since I’ve used my saber.” 

“So, that’s what you’ve been doing in your free time?” He shot you a pitiful look but was almost immediately masked. 

“You never know when it might come in handy,” You bit your lip, sort of embarrassed that he had caught you practising. 

“You’re holding onto your past, Ani. Maybe it’s time you forget about it…” Dev suggested, his arm brushing yours. 

His arm felt like fire against yours and you didn’t like it one bit. Crossing both of your arms together with your saber still in your hand, you looked down at the floor. 

“Don’t say that. The Order was my life,” You reminded him. 

“But they left you-”

“You don’t know that!” You interrupted him, narrowing your eyes at his muscular face. 

“The Republic is corrupt. The Jedi blindly follow their orders and serve a system that doesn’t support their values.” He said with his chest out and unblinking.

“You don’t know anything, Dev.” You pointed accusingly at his chest, it hurt that he was saying the truth, afterall, that was the reason you had left. The Jedi’s morals have been twisted and mended by those in power that everything they did had caused a contradiction.

“I know more than you’d think.”

“You were here-” You pointed to the ground, “-While the rest of us had to fight, win and lose. You were killing people and capturing outlaws while I lost my friends in battle. So don’t,” You sighed, rubbing your forehead and looking out, “dont, tell me to forget something that’s such a big part of me.” 

…

Dev fell silent as he watched you sit on the sandy floor, your legs spread out and your face pointed towards the sun, allowing the rays to warm you up. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologised, sitting beside you. 

You shook your head, “No… I just overreacted.” Avoiding eye contact, your fingers began to play with the grainy sand. “You’re right. I should be moving on.” 

As much as it hurt to say it, you knew Dev was right. The problem was you were just too attached, even after the trauma they had put you through, even after knowing how truthful his words were. You had given everything to the Order only for it to be completely shut down, your loyalty proving to be one sided. Sighing, you rested your head on Dev’s shoulder who immediately stiffened. 

“No, sweets. It was my fault for bringing up your past again,” His blonde hair tickled the back of your neck. 

You fell in comfortable silence as you both stared at nothing in particular. This is how it is now. Dev had become your closest friend, he had his moments but other than that, he’d help you in a heartbeat. 

He’s a nice guy, really, but he doesn’t compare. 

Not to Anakin. 

These four months had been the worst months of Anakin’s life. His padawan, Ahsoka, had left him and he now lost you. It wouldn’t be late before he lost himself too. 

Ahsoka left on her own terms, insisting that the Jedi Order wasn’t for her anymore and that her ideals would never truly be appreciated by the Order. Part of the reason why she had left was because Ahsoka knew that the Order was slowly falling apart, the Jedi were guided by the corrupt government and it wasn’t right. She didn’t want to be part of an already sinking ship. 

Anakin didn’t know that though. “What about me?” He asked her, believing that even Ahsoka, his own padawan, was out to get him.  

He felt like he had failed her. But you helped him. You took care of him, caressing his hair and rubbing his shoulders. Whispering words of comfort and reassurance. That her leaving wasn’t because of him. That he didn’t fail his one and only padawan. 

“Anakin.” Obi-wan’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Hmm?” Anakin looked over at his former Master in confusion. 

“Were you even listening to me?” Obi-wan asked in an offended tone, crossing his arms as he observed Anakin. His furrowed brows and the bags under his eyes proved that he was not doing as well as Obi-wan wanted him to. 

Anakin stayed silent, diverting his gaze to the other Jedi who chatted outside of the Temple, some had bright smiles on their faces while others looked like they were discussing important matters. But his gaze fell on one person.

Anakin could feel his heart drop. 

A girl with her back turned towards the pair, talking happily to another Jedi as if she had just reunited with them. She had your hair. She was the same height. Anakin’s mouth fell agape and instinctively took a step forward, wanting to touch you, yell at you, hug you, kiss you. 

He was locked in a trance, staring at you as millions and billions of emotions and thoughts ran through him. 

Obi-wan followed his gaze and felt his heart drop too, but not for the same reason. Reaching out to Anakin, he placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“That’s not her.” 

Anakin broke his gaze immediately, looking down at his feet in almost a shameful way. He could feel the disappointment running through his veins. 

Shifting his body to look over at Obi-wan, he felt embarrassment seethe into him as Obi-wan shared a pitiful look towards Anakin. 

“What?” Anakin asked, feeling more lightheaded than ever. 

“She’s not on Coruscant.” Obi-wan had to break it to him as if Anakin didn’t know it himself. 

Anakin sighed and ran his fingers through his auburn hair, “I-I thought…” He couldn’t even say the words out loud because he promised himself this.

That he would move on just like you did.

But it was like you were everywhere he was. In the shadows while he carried out missions. In his bed when he tried to sleep. And here again, while he spoke to Obi-wan. He hated this. He hated how attached he was. But he would give up everything for you in a heartbeat. 

“Do you still try to talk to her through the comlink?” 

Anakin whipped his head up, surprised that Obi-wan had even remembered, afterall he was the one who suggested he try it. 

Anakin inhaled deeply, “No. Not anymore.”

Obi-wan knew he could ask him questions like that as Anakin trusted him with his forbidden relationship, but even he felt uneasy. “When was the last time you tried to contact her?” He rubbed his beard, assessing the situation.

Anakin audibly exhaled. His heart and his chest were heavy and he didn’t feel like explaining himself. 

It was a month ago.

He didn’t stop altogether though, it was gradual.

His messages gradually declined in length, hopelessness was the only thing that reached the other end. You had noticed it. Sinking further in your bed every single time the message shortened, guilt eating away at you as he had no idea you were listening to them. 

Then suddenly, like a flip switched in him. Like whatever he was about to say he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“She left me. So I’ll forget about her.” He announced with a sudden determination to his voice. 

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow at this, “What in the heavens are you talking about, Anakin?” 

“She’s gone. And I blame both the council and her.”

“Anakin, Y/n wouldn’t want you talking like this.” Obi-wan tried to reassure him. It was unusual for him to talk ill of you, this was definitely something alarming in Obi-wan’s eyes. 

Anakin shot Obi-wan a look, “I don’t care what she thinks. She walked away from me. From us. She didn’t give a damn about me or you.” Anakin pointed towards the ground.

“She left to protect herself, Anakin.” Obi-wan reminded him. Obi-wan knew that Anakin’s words weren’t true and that he didn’t truly feel this way about you, instead it was just pent up frustration.

"So she leaves just like Ahsoka did? She knew how much that hurt me and still chose to do it." His snapped, his eyes blazing. Anakin said the things he would never say out loud, it was the things he would let fester in his chest. It was darker.

“I feel like my absence doesn’t bother her and that kills me, Obi-wan.” Anakin confessed, looking away as he reminded himself that you didn’t make an effort to at least reach out to him. It felt like the past years of your love and friendship were all for nothing. 

Obi-wan understood why you never returned to The Order. He knew that it was for the same reasons Ahsoka left and he would have loved to tell Anakin that but he’d be treading on dangerous territory. 

“Y/n wouldn’t work to deliberately hurt you. The force works in mysterious ways and maybe she felt it was right not to stay in the Order." Obi-wan said very carefully, afraid the wrong words would set him off.

"Being a Jedi means allowing things - even things we love - to pass out of our lives.” His words reaching Anakin’s core. 

He knew what Obi-wan said made sense, he knew it but he couldn’t help but have a distaste for the force.

Why would it be telling you to stay away from him? Why does being a Jedi have to force her to not love him? Why are his feelings forbidden? Taboo?

He found himself being more confused with every second passing by. Every answer he received brought up double the amount of questions he originally had. 

Anakin opened his mouth to answer before quickly shutting it when he heard Obi-wan’s wrist comlink make a chrr chrrrr sound.  Lifting his wrist up to his mouth, Obi-wan glanced over at Anakin's interested face before answering it. 

“Master Kenobi,” Mace Windu’s voice sounded through the device.

“Yes, Master Windu?” 

“You’re needed at a council meeting. It’s regarding…Sifo-Dyas.” 

Obi-wan furrowed his eyebrows, it was unclear why he would be brought up again as he had died years before. Obi-wan could sense Anakin’s confusion through the force as he observed him. 

“I’ll be there shortly.” Obi-wan said calmly. Mace Windu wished him a goodbye before disconnecting the call. Anakin could feel his shoulders slouching, knowing that he wasn’t part of the council and he couldn’t attend the meeting. 

“You’re going?” Anakin asked, his lips pursed together and his gaze set to the floor.

“Yes, Anakin.” Obi-wan knew that Anakin was hurting. He hasn’t told anybody else how he feels except for him and constantly putting his emotions off wasn’t helping him.

Anakin nodded and they both parted ways. 

The bar you and Dev resided in smelled of drunken bodies and despair. A sullen restaurant that you didn’t want to enter but you were pulled in with Dev’s grip on your arm as he shot you a careless smile. 

Drinking in a secluded bar on Corellia wasn’t your first choice as you wanted to prepare for the upcoming bounty but Dev insisted that it might be your last drink for a while. It’d actually be your first drink since leaving The Order but even then you wouldn’t drink as much as the Council always discouraged Jedi’s being intoxicated. 

You exhaled as both you and Dev dropped onto the chair that was seated across the counter. Dev’s booted feet began to excitedly tap against the wooden flooring as he waited for the Iktotchi bartender to look over at him which he immediately did as Dev’s anticipation was so loud it could almost be heard throughout the whole bar. 

“What can I get for you two?” The horned man who had a nice peachy colour to his skin asked, one of his eyebrows raised as he eyed us both down. Corellia was a luxurious place but even then the most well-known occupations for Corellian's were piracy and smuggling, giving you and Dev an advantage as you fit right in. 

“The best drink you can offer!” Dev exclaimed, slapping onto the counter multiple credits. 

The Iktotchi nodded as he began to work. You looked around the bar, it was neatly decorated with dim lighting. The tabled were packed as Corellians drank their alcoholic beverages while others played a game of Dejarik. Something inside of you stirred as you saw two people with their brows furrowed playing while a third excitedly watched the players. 

“You excited?” Dev brought you back from your trance. Looking over at him, you noticed the way his soulful azure eyes danced over your face. His golden locks had grown past his ears and he tied it in a manbun with the occasional strands resting past his red goggles. He was in a white crew neck shirt, his sleeves hugged his biceps tightly. 

You gave him a teasing smile, “What is ever more exciting than bounty hunting?” 

Dev threw his head back as his masculine chest shook with laughter, his smile lines drawing on to his face. “I’m glad you’ve gotten used to my lifestyle because you know-” He leaned over to you, his mouth nearing your ear, “-I didn’t think the Jedi one was cutting it out for you.” His voice was gruff but he had a playful tone to it, had it been in a different setting though, you would be sure there were other motives. 

He pulled back from you and watched you look away hiding the red hue that crawled up your cheeks from his close proximity and embarrassment.

You puffed out your cheeks and rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t know.” You looked over at Dev and watched the way his smile faltered for a second but before you could even process it, it was gone that same second.

You opened your mouth to say something but was interrupted as the Iktotchi bartender reappeared with two tall glasses filled up with liquor. 

“What’s the occasion?” The bartender’s thick voice made you look up to him as you took a glass from his hand. You didn’t really know what the occasion was. All you knew was that Dev really wanted to get drunk before his bounty and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Our one year anniversary together as partners!” Dev toasted, holding his glass high and towards you. 

One year? Already? It had been one year since you crashed on Jakku and became a Bounty Hunter. Wow. 

The bartender nodded and walked away, you held your glass high but not nearly as high as Dev and you shot him an uneasy smile. 

Dev brought the glass to his lips and let out a small groan as the sweet liquor travelled down his throat, a satisfied expression on his face. 

Has it actually been an entire year since you left the Jedi? Since Anakin and Obi-wan? Since you had been accused. A knot began to form in your stomach as you thought about how they probably didn’t think of you anymore. That you were simply a Jedi who lost her path and abandoned her future. You practised their beliefs but that was it, their beliefs. You weren’t strict on it, it was more like morals. Like a religion. 

“Ani?” You shot your head up to look at Dev, almost completely forgetting his presence. Dev watched you carefully as you stirred the drink in your hand as if you were deep in thought - which you were - and the way you nibbled on the inside of your lip, your eyes lost in liquid. You didn’t notice it. But Dev did. 

“Sorry!” You squeaked, trying to hide the fact that you were thinking about what he had said and let it affect you. You brought the glass to your lip and tilted it as the pure liquor ran through your throat. It was warm and had a sweet taste to it. It was Brandy. 

Brandy was often associated with snobbery as it was a luxury liquor and knowing that Dev had just paid for it with an absent mind made every droplet taste like guilt.

“Dev. It’s Brandy. It’s too much for us.” You and Dev had always been conscious of where your rewards go, money wasn’t a luxury for either of you. Dev had been in the game longer so it felt out of the norm for him to use his credits on drinks instead of supplies. 

“Today is a special day. Besides, luxury can still be afforded in war.” Dev said as a matter of factly.  

“That could definitely be debated.” 

You nearly choked on your drink as you head shot up to the HoloTv above the bar counter. The mention of their names couldn’t be missed just like it was hard to ignore the passersby who would talk about them. You pursed your lips together as you watched the figure of two men displayed on the HoloTv, one with wavy dark hair that resided just behind his ears, and the other with neatly combed chestnut hair and a beard that hid away his face. 

The Hero With No Fear and The Negotiator. 

Anakin and Obi-wan. 

Your stomach did flips as you watched the pair displayed proudly on the HoloTv, a man's voice commentating and discussing their recent battle. Several video clips and images of the pair were shown but none of them were actual ‘interviews’. They had become some sort of prodigy with every article on the HoloNet discussing the two, though even when you were with them, Obi-wan tried to stay out of it while Anakin indulged in the paparazzi. 

An image of Anakin appeared, a genuine smile on his face. You could tell it was recent too, noticing the difference in his appearance over a years time. He looked…happier. Happier than he was with you. Maybe it was the Brandy talking but you had completely forgotten what it was like to see Anakin that happy. The last time you saw him was during one of the worst days of your life. 

He moved on, hadn’t he? 

Your name hadn’t crossed his mind while his ran racetracks around yours.

“God…” you quietly breathed out, sinking further into your seat, the Brandy now having a sour taste on your tongue.

He moved on.

He moved on.

Anakin moved on and he was happier without you. 

He didn’t want you anymore. 

He stopped talking to his comlink. 

And he stopped talking to you.

Even if he didn’t know it, his words -his voice- gave greater comfort to you than anyone could ever realise it in the galaxy. It meant that he still thinks of you. That he was still in love with you. And that he still fought for you. But it made sense. You moved on too, hadn’t you?

You had a new job and you’ve met new people. You wanted to convince yourself that. But as you continued to watch, every little movement he’d make sent adrenaline through your bloodstream and you wanted to cry. 

“Did you know him?” Dev asked beside you, his eyes moving back and forth between your upset face and the HoloTv. 

You gulped, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“No.” You firmly said, pushing your chair back with your fists on the counter, a screeching noise was produced and all eyes were suddenly on you. Hastily walking out of the bar with your fists clenched and your head down, you pushed the door. 

“Hey, wait up!” Dev trailed behind your figure, his silhouette illuminated by the neon glow the cantina had. 

Clenching your jaw, you whipped your head to face him, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that Dev could easily see.

“What do you want?” 

He raised an eyebrow at your sudden attitude change, “Well you did just leave our one year anniversary, Ani.” 

“Stop calling it our one year anniversary!” You exclaimed, wanting to grab your hair and pull it out from frustration. “We are not partners. Just work-” You poked his chest, “work partners.”

“Who said anything about it being more?” He raised his hands up innocently, “Just because you’re piss angry at your past doesn’t mean you have to push it on to me.” His eyebrows furrowed and his body began to slowly tower over you. 

“I-I” You turned your back onto him, your arms wrapping around you as you were at a loss for words. “I am over my past, Dev.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.” He huffed, cold air escaping his mouth.

“Listen, Ani. I’m not here to fight with you.” He pulled out his datapad, his fingers dancing across the surface. “We have a lead on a bounty a couple cities down. We might be able to secure a big payday. I thought you might want to know.” 

Rubbing your head, your eyes met with your dirty boots before turning to look back at him. “Okay…Okay. I’m sorry, Dev.” 

Dev softly smiled at you before inputting the coordinates onto his datapad. His figure moved past you and towards the cruiser in a way that felt unusual to him. You couldn’t blame him. He wanted to do something special for the both of you and you had to end it on a sour mood. Sighing to yourself, you quietly followed behind him. 

A/n: HOPE U GUYSSS LIKED IT NEXT CHP ITS REUNION DONT FRET I JUST DONT WANT TO SPOIL IT LOOL i love reading all u guys comments hehe also after the whole reunion thing itll be expanding like adding additional characters such as padme, the clones etc

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

Also Dev inspo pic pretty sure his pic is a character from elsewhere but not correlated at all to the story