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idiasweat · 15 hours ago

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the isekai equation

when idia said he wanted his favorite character for his birthday, he didn't mean IN HIS BED! ft. fem!reader warnings: like two slightly suggestive lines, lonely loser reader do I even have to say that anymore, switching POVs, suspension of disbelief, more notes at the end word count: 4.5k

Idia had seen it all.

RPG, MMORPG, sandbox, otomes, fighters, puzzles, gacha, FPS, tycoons, you name it, he's played it, replayed it, and reviewed it, too. And he's never gotten bored of it. If you'd ask him, there's nothing that beats wasting money on a poorly-written piece of junk he'll completely forget about in a few months... er, anything to keep his hands and mind busy is good by him.

Recently, he's gotten back into gacha. He started off with some girly dating sim that was recommended by a mutual, but he found the concept unoriginal and the dialogue grating (seriously, how many of these magical schools can creators milk until people get tired of em? Geez). And then he tried a gacha advertised towards the male gamer demographic, but all of the female characters were painfully boring and made from the same model- tall, thin, and huge boobs... which, believe it or not, did get old.

He finally settled on an obscure beta he saw mentioned on one of the gaming forums he frequents- a foreign language indie gacha with no coherent theme or plot. Mundane, magicless high school. Almost an immediate no, but his last hyperfixation had worn off and he was starting to feel the pull of reality again. He was desperate.

...And now he's here.

Idia doesn't want to reminisce on how much money he's poured into this "hobby". He's probably personally funded the entire thing for another five years, and then some. His walls, decked out in posters, his bags covered in pins and charms, he even pre-pre-ordered the limited edition plush of the main character- he didn't even know you could do that! His name is first on the list of sponsors, because he's been funding every new chapter single-handedly for four months.

And it's all because of his girl.

This game, set in a strange country Idia was sure they'd made up, written in a language he had to rely on vigilante translators to read, caught his eye (and credit card) on account of three crucial differences from the first two:

It was an original idea; none of that "magic school hunky boy" crap,

The character models were all different enough to be interesting,

Idia's girl.

Because, see, all that it takes for Idia to tank his life savings is just one character he really, really likes. The plot of the game doesn't have to be good, nor does it have to exist at all. The graphics can be shit, the cutscenes can drag on forever, the fighting can be lame, all of this is excusable, as long as there's a cute character for Idia to sink his teeth into and throw around like a chew toy.

And there are- characters, that is, cute ones and funny ones and ridiculously entertaining ones, there's a stoner, a goth rocker, a pirate girl, a stereotypical nice blonde with big boobs and the highest HP in the game who the player character is no doubt supposed to fall for, and they were all fine, but they weren't Idia's girl.

No. No, she was a minor character, only one SSR, never featured in events, usually only there as a foil for the booby blonde.

And she's perfect.

Bitter. Always mumbling something mean about her classmates under her breath, her hands in her pockets and her posture awful, dark circles under her eyes (or is that eyeliner? no one can decide), hoodie hiding half her face. She hardly has any speaking lines, and most of them are unintelligible, nervous nonsense, and sometimes pitiful attempts at a joke. She's everything.

Of course, Idia didn't start calling her "his". That was Ortho's thing- once Idia started bringing a charm outside with him to calm his nerves, it was decided. Since then, even in the tiny online fandom, she's been "his girl". He's commissioned an embarrassing amount of art of his insert with this character, kept in a special folder on his computer. He's paid premium prices to have her voice actress read him custom messages. He's decked out an ita bag with fanmade merch- buttons, charms, pins, even photocards he had specially made. There is... a body pillow involved, and he won't share any more than that.

Now it's been four blissful, wonderful months. She- his girl- has single-handedly gotten him through his third year at Night Raven College. Through the humiliation, the rejection, the suffering, his orientation, his classes, every long, pointless lecture from Headmage Crowley, she's been there, in his pocket, or at his desk, or in his bed.

I don't need 3D women, he decided, some time ago, happily playing the latest chapter update. What I need is my girl to get her own event... I'd trade a thousand IRL dates for that!

And, as if the planets were aligning just for him (or because his begging in the official Discord server was probably getting really annoying), the game mods answered his cries. An event with a new SSR is debuting on his birthday.

Idia has, of course, been grinding non-stop for extra pulls, praying to the gacha gods, lighting candles, holding vigils, having Ortho run and re-run the statistic probability of pulling his girl.

The night before his birthday, Idia sits at the edge of his bed. He looks towards the ceiling, past the roof, past the ground above, past the simpleton plebes living their boring lives, and he begs- just once, to the planets, to the gods. Please, he says, All I want for my birthday is her.

...But Idia doesn't really believe in kiddy crap like making birthday wishes, so once he's done groveling, just to get it out of his system, he slumps over in bed like a dead body and goes to sleep.

EEEP! EEP! EEP!

7am already? he groans, turning over in bed and trying to tug the blankets closer, but they're stuck between the wall. He swears, he just laid down...

It's cold. He tugs on his blanket a little harder, but no budge. Not even a little. Must be really stuck. Damn, he sleeps messy.

Idia yawns into his pillow, and then finally forces himself to sit up, if only to free the blanket from between the-

Oh... fuck.

He blinks. And then again. And then he rubs his eyes, as if the human being in his bed was just an afterthought of a bleary rest.

He looks around the room. Ortho is gone, likely getting him breakfast. The door is still shut and locked. He looks back down. Definitely a person. Yup. That's a person.

A girl, actually.

His stomach drops. He leans closer, if only to inspect that she's real and not a huge human-shaped rutabaga or something. He pokes her cheek. That's the real stuff, alright. Silicone doesn't get oily like that. Neither do vegetables.

She's lying on top of his blanket, not under it, curled up like a cat, her breathing soft and light and she's... kinda cute.

Almost reminds him of...

Squint. NO!

Idia's eyes widen, and in a moment of panic, he turns her onto her back to see her face, and it's-

NO, no, that's- NO.

Wishes don't come true for guys like him!

As far as you can remember, last night you had gotten into your bed at home, turned out the lights, and drifted off into a suspiciously restful sleep.

When you woke up somewhere completely different, you thought it nothing more than a weird nightmare. You don't dream all that often, at least not anymore, so there was some novelty to it- you'd never been in a room like this. It almost looked like... a boy's. Ha! Now you KNOW you're dreaming. You hadn't so much as spoken to a boy, let alone slept in one's bed.

At least you'll have something noteworthy to think about at the breakfast table.

You roll over, sighing contentedly. A more outgoing, interesting person might have gotten out of bed to explore this strange, new world, but you had other things to worry about. Tomorrow is the most important presentation of your life, and you can't waste any energy on a nightmare about being in a boy's bedroom.

Besides... this was a dream, after all. You didn't see the point in poking around your own subconscious... you do enough of that when you're awake. Too much, really.

Snrk. To think, dreaming about sleeping in a boy's bed. As if any boy would like you. It's almost laughable. As far as you're concerned, you are the most boring, unremarkable, bland, plain, depressingly loserish minor character in someone else's story, that could possibly ever exist.

No one would want you.

You toss and turn, trying to get comfortable in your unfamiliar dream room (it smells in here. Can you even smell things in dreams?) and your fingers brush against something warm.

...Which suddenly shoots away, and your primitive human mind can't resist the urge to look. Considering that you were expecting a giant spider, or a venomous snake, or your classmates, or something else mundanely nightmarish, when you see a hand next to your head, you panic.

"Eek!" or something like that, maybe it was more of a "HURGHK!" when you leapt out of bed, tumbling onto the cold, unfamiliar floor- covered in dirty t-shirts and boxers, abandoned magazines, candy wrappers, stray pieces of paper that all read I. Shroud in the designated "name" slots. Who, Shroud? You wonder, but only briefly, because there's suddenly a boy there.

"S-sorry! I didn't wanna wake you up!"

He's leering over you, eyes wide, hair... uh, blue. And moving- flickering? Like a fire? Though it's not burning, but his face is, bright red and embarrassed.

You blink, still on the dirty floor, stuck on your back. Boys don't have glowing blue hair where you're from. Unless that's some secret male power that they keep to themselves.

"A-are you- u-uh- h-haaaah!!" he squeals, voice trembling in a way you've never heard on a boy above thirteen before. He looks... afraid of you, which is understandable considering your just-woken-up face, but, it's not that...

He... he's... smiling.

...WEIRDLY. This is starting to feel like less of a dream, and more of a hostage situation.

"You're real!" he says, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I-I didn't want to believe it, I thought I was getting an insanely good android for- um- actually, haha, don't worry about that..."

Your gaze drifts over the discarded school papers you'd fallen on, and your eyes widen. 'History of Magic' 'Potionology' 'Incantations' this guy must be really into LARPing...

...Or...

No. You can't consider the possibility that you've been isekai'd into a fantasy world. You'd been pathetically begging the universe for that exact thing to happen to you for years, but there's no... no way... that you...

This guy has glowing blue fire for hair, you remind yourself. No one you know would go through the trouble of playing such a bizarre and elaborate prank on you.

"...Where am I..." you start, voice weak from sleep and a mysterious sense of anxiety that you only feel now that you know you're not dreaming.

The boy stiffens, and then suddenly looks quite serious, as if realizing that you have... no idea who he is.

He opens his mouth, and-

"Good morning, you two! I have breakfast!"

You both turn to the door, where a boy, much younger than the one above you, is... floating...?

"Ortho!" the bigger, bluer one shrieks. "You- you knew about- but-"

"I'm so happy to see you finally making friends, Idy! I thought you were having a sleepover!"

You blink. What the fuck is happening...?

"Don't- a-ah, um Idia, call me Idia, in front of company!" Idia says, his face as hot as the steaming breakfast Ortho had carried in. The younger boy, hovering over the floor and... made of metal, or something, sets down the tray of food and giggles.

"Whatever you say! Just let me know if you need anything else!"

You stared, wide-eyed, at the flying metal boy as he left, the sound of mechanical clicks, whirs, and the faint hum of a fan following.

"S-sorry, that was my brother," Idia mutters, slipping off the bed and almost extending a hand to help you up, but pulling it back before you can right yourself, as if afraid to touch you.

"U-uh... um... c-can I..."

He bites his lip, and then takes a deep breath, mumbling numbers to himself. And then:

"What's your name?"

You blink. Okay, maybe waking up in a complete stranger's bedroom warrants a question like that. But you're still not exactly used to being asked about yourself, and you almost look over your shoulder to make sure that there's no one else he could be talking to.

He exhales shakily when you tell him, twitching erratically, like a malfunctioning machine. Speaking of which...

As your eyes adjust to the dark of the room (even though a nearby digital clock says it's 7:23), a thought comes to mind: if this really is a magical world, as indicated by the spells printed on paper handouts as if they were math problems, then it's not a very impressive one. This room is pretty much how you'd imagined any normal guy's- the dirty laundry, the three monitors, the gaming consoles and empty candy wrappers, the lingering smells of sweat and something earthen and strong, shelves full of manga and figures, and then there's...

...Oh... oh... that can't be good.

Idia might just have a heart attack. But what a great way to die, huh? Of all the times he's imagined waking up in bed with one of his all-time faves, he never once entertained the possibility that it might actually happen.

But here you are. And Ortho had seen you, too, confirming that Idia isn't dreaming or hallucinating... but if he was, he would never want to stop. How many plebes out there have begged for their waifu to be real? And how many have had that prayer answered? Only one, that's right!!!!! ONLY HIM!!!

It's what he deserved, after all. Being dealt such a shitty hand in life gave Idia a bit of a complex about these things.

Now, he just had to contend with the fact that a human being from a non-magical, normal, mundane fantasy country just woke up in an arcane academy with no family, friends, worldly possessions, legal identification, or sense of self. Easy! He can feel the grin on his face again- he's gone over the logistics of this sort of situation in his head a thousand times, he even has an emergency isekai instruction manual and kit on standby. Not that he ever thought he'd use it, but, hey, his fanboy delusions are finally paying off!!! As long as you stick by his side, he'll have you a residency card from the Isle of Woe, and a room with your name on it!

What're you staring at?

Idia snaps out of his fanboy stupor for just long enough to catch the terrified look on your face. You're not afraid of him, are you? That would suck...

But, no, you're looking behind him. At the wall- no, the bed...

Oh... CRAP.

What's done is done, but Idia still throws himself over the body pillow in some valiant (but vain) attempt to protect your sweet, innocent eyes. It's no use. You've already seen it. And you don't stop there- you slowly rise to your feet, wandering the room and his possessions with your eyes- posters, prints, charms, pins, his wall of paper printouts...

Idia can't force down the lump of fear in his throat. He laughs, awkwardly. "I-I can explain,"

Well... you were... going to find out sooner or later... right?

"That's me," is all you say, your tone cold and distant, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head. That stunned look on your face isn't helping tamp the flaming anxiety in his stomach.

Idia swallows. "N-no, it's not like that, u-um- see! Wait, see!"

He says, his trembling hands reaching for his phone. The game has never loaded slower- and the second he's past the title screen, he pushes it into your face.

"This is your school!" he insists, though you already know that.

You stare at the screen, your lip upturned in that cute pout (just like your sprite... wow, this really is real!) and you hesitantly take his phone from him.

"S-see, here're your classmates, and... yeah, um, I don't have all the cards yet, but the system is- n-never mind. S-see? I'm not some creep!" Idia rambles. "Well... er, not the kind you probably think I am, anyway..." You blink.

"I... don't understand,"

"It-it's a game," he tries, tapping erratically at the screen. "You're a character in my favorite game. Your world is... this. Here. See? See? Um, this is your card, and..."

You suddenly grip the phone with both hands, your eyes widening at the screen, at the SSR with maxed-out stats and peak HP. The art, the gentle lighting, every detail in your clothing...

"This is me?" you ask, seemingly haven forgotten your fear, if only for a moment.

Idia nods. "Yeah, and there are some R cards here..."

"I look..." you start, your voice softening to its usual quiet tone and cadence... Idia could swoon. "I look so... good..."

"Yes!" he agrees immediately, giving you his phone entirely in a show of unrestrained trust and vulnerability. He knew you, after all- didn't he?

Your eyes widen as you tap through the cards, and then the ongoing event banner, the chapters, the sidestories, the stats, all of the hours and work that Idia has poured into your character, and, then... you smile. It's small, almost unnoticeable, identical to the somewhat unsettling face your sprite makes when you're feeling confident enough to show emotion in-game. Idia almost feels light-headed.

"I-I... ah..." you mutter. "I can't believe... someone actually... likes me..."

His smile drops. LIKES YOU?!

You couldn't really put a word to the feeling.

You've been othered your whole life. No friends, no close family members, no shoulders to lean on, no hands to take yours and pull you out of the muck. Even your classmates ignored you, in your tiny class of twenty, no one even knew your name. You've never been good at anything, or, at least, that's what it felt like watching as everyone around you succeeded.

The idea of someone liking you... or thinking about you at all... is almost laughable. A fantasy you reserve for restless nights in bed, tossing and turning and fussing with your blankets, the weight in your stomach dragging you down, deeper, darker into yourself, trapping you in the bottomless pit of your own mind. The thought, the daydream of being loved, of having so much as a friend to take your hand or tuck away your worst insecurities, was the wick of a candle, guiding you through the dark while hot melting wax pooled in your hands, the weakest of winds threatening to extinguish your only will to live at the slightest turn.

You were worse than nothing; you were only one thing. The flicker of misplaced hope in the hollow of your chest.

Most people are bursting with light and life and energy, storing their daydreams alongside their memories, making wishes for menial things like a thinner waist or better hair when they were already glowing with the bright, blinding light of acceptance, of a family who understood them, of friends who loved them, of a world who welcomed them with the warm, open arms of a loving mother. Most people didn't spend every day cursing under their breath and begging to be taken away, to be somewhere, anywhere but here. They had no reason to.

But you- you had nothing but the hope itself, that someday, things would be different.

That you would find a place that liked you, that understood you, that welcomed you.

And now you're scrolling your tag on some alternate-timeline Twitter, staring at the lewd art under your name.

This is a bit more than being "liked".

You look up at Idia- the boy who had, as he explained, "wished you here", and you hand back his phone. You'd have to get your hands on your own and continue your scrolling soon, but you've seen enough for now.

"Well?" he asks, hands still trembling.

You shrug. "I believe you,"

Idia exhales, the red draining from his face as he sits on the bed beside you.

"Told you," he mutters. "You're not like, the fan favorite, but you're definitely in the top ten. We ran a poll last month... uh... y-yeah. And I'm the top poster! See!"

He shoves his screen back in your face, proudly showing off his profile. Six thousand posts, you note. He gets out of the house about as much as you do.

"All of this is... me?" you ask cautiously, taking the phone from his outstretched hands yet again, scrolling through the thousands of text posts and retweets. You count at least three analysis threads, and that's just from this week.

"W-well, uh some of the main cast, too..." he says. "But mostly you- yeah. And I have a lot of mutuals who are in the same boat."

You glance away for a second. It's surreal; no one in your home world ever gave you a second glance, but here... hundreds if not thousands of young men are obsessively posting about you at every hour of the day.

Is this what it feels like to be famous? You can't say. There's a difference between being an actor or a singer and being a fictional character- these people are talking about you as if you're not real... which, you suppose you're not. Not until a few minutes ago.

Creepy. But you suppose it's a matter of perspective.

So, you have adoring fans who would die in war for you, but to them, you're only pixels on a screen. There's a definite sense of anonymity in that, which helps with the existential dread. Somewhat.

You're still a little hung up on the "being adored" thing.

"What do they like about me?" you ask, scrolling the tag again. Lewd, lewd, meme, cute fanart, ship art of you and a girl you hate, ship art of you and a guy you don't even talk to, lewd...

"H-huh?" Idia asks, red-faced at the question. As if the reason was... embarrassing, or something. You can feel a fever of defensiveness burning in your chest, and your fingers tremble.

"It-it's not that simple... a-and, um... I'm sure it's different for everyone..."

"What's it for you, then?" you snap, without really meaning to- his weird attitude is freaking you out. Is it really so horrible to like you?

Idia blinks, his blush darkening, and he looks at his hands.

"F-for me... um... I guess," he bites his lip. "You're just... real."

Obviously. You shouldn't have to remind him that you are, in fact, a person, and one who's starting to feel a little pissed off.

He catches that look on your face and sits up straighter, coughing and wheezing awkwardly.

"I-I mean! The other characters, they're- they're great, but- they're characters, y'know? Perfect reflections of our imperfect reality... but you, um, you're real. You're not like those standard anime protags, all happy-go-lucky and likeable- er, not that you're unlikeable- w-well... I'm just... not so good at talking, either. And I'm kind of an outcast myself. I guess you make me feel less alone. Like I'm not some horrible unlikeable freak... if I can like you, then someone will surely like me... right?" he sighs. "Ugh, never mind. That's cringe,"

"No," you say, reflexively. You could only make out about half of what he was saying, but that half was all you needed to hear.

"It-it's okay. If I had a character like me... yeah. I get it."

Idia sighs, deflating, the fear and restraint fleeing from his body in a single breath. He pushes the hair away from his eyes, just for it to fall back into place.

The silence lingers a moment too long. Idia looks away, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie, his eyes still somewhat clouded and foggy from sleep. You shift, crossing and then un-crossing your legs, looking through the dark cavern of his room. Glowing blue boys from other worlds like me, you think.

"...And you're cute," he blurts out, refusing to let the silence continue for even a second longer.

You turn and stare, taken aback by his sudden declaration. He won't even look in your direction, his face (and hair) beet-red.

Glowing blue boys from other worlds think I'm cute, you think.

Idia's heart pounds painfully in his chest, as if trying to make its own escape from the uncomfortable situation.

He had to say it. How could he not? And just let you sit there, thinking all those mean thoughts about yourself... he wouldn't stand for it! Or, uh, sit for it. His legs feel like wet noodles right now, like if he tried to make a break for the door he would melt into a sad Idia-shaped puddle on the first step. Besides, what good would that do? You wouldn't leave his room without knowing what's out there, so you'd be waiting for him to come back. There's nowhere he could go where you wouldn't be- not now, anyway. And he's got a tiny plastic version of you in his pocket.

But you're staring at him now, eyes wide and intense, face blank, and he can't do anything but sweat through his palms and then wipe that sweat on his pants, as discreetly as possible.

Cute... why couldn't he say "well-designed" or something? What's with him and making everything weird?!

After a moment, you look away, at your feet.

"...Yeah... I figured. I saw all the porny art," you say, crossing your legs. Idia sighs, releasing his tension to the wind for the fifteenth time that morning.

"O-oh... right... sorry," he mutters. "I should've put the filter on first..."

"It's okay," you say, quickly, your hands in your lap.

Another moment of silence. Idia's sweat is starting to seep through his sleeping shirt. Not good.

"...Do... you... think I'm cute?" you ask, the tightness in your tone making it rather obvious that you think it's a cringe thing to ask him. Idia blinks.

"Uh... yeah... of course I do..." why else would his home page have been full of-

"...Would you... touch me?"

ACK. You also seem to mentally kick yourself for asking, forcing Idia to recover from his momentary shock and grab your shoulders with an intensity that he usually only reserves for his console.

"YES!" he announces, his hair emoting with him, flaring a fiery red.

You stare, taken aback by his insanity (or enthusiasm) but he doesn't give you the time or breath to question it, suddenly pulling you against him as he had imagined doing thousands and thousands of times before. So much better than a pillow, he thinks, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you, but awkwardly, in the way someone who's only experienced hugs through his screen might have.

Some would say it was an unusual sight, the shy, withdrawn Ignihyde housewarden, curled up against a stranger. But he knew you.

Maybe only though a screen, but that was good enough for him.

AN: I fucking love this genre of fanfiction, whatever it's called, where the reader is a fictional character in the fictional character's world. I've read a few fics like this but I don't think idia was appropriately panicking/geeking out enough in any of them. there's really something so good about the thought of our mundane, ordinary lives being an outside spectator's entire world. I've always been jealous of fictional characters in this way. I want to be lovingly analyzed in a twitter thread once again the cover image and the inspiration for the fictional gacha game is from stu.massa-senpai everyone say thank you!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader

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fenikorg-talks · 2 years ago

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I just read the last bsd chapter and... what??? what the actual heck is asagiri plotting here??? damn, I'm still stuck in this panel like dude...

I havent recovered from this i got stuck I cant think normal after this. fuck dazai's holes may atsushi go to hell I WANT BRAM'S BACKSTORY

i would REALLY appreciate it if JUST BEFORE AYA DIES he gives us the REASSON. yk I had already resigned with asagiri keeping her alive, the man keeps doing whatever he wants with his children BUT AYA MY GIRL I KNOW BRAM CANT MOVE BUT DO SOMETHING MAN she doesn't even have enough weight to pull that sword out HEPL

and is this...? this is obviously the introduction of someone, c'moooooon

please,,,,,,pleaseee,, pleeaaasaseee im not asking for much but.... verlaine......adam....... someone pleaaaseeeeeeee

IS THAT THE MASK ASAGIRI WAS WEARING LAST TIME IM CRYING

#YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #bsd #bungou stray dogs #there is not enough panels for me to cope with the story yet #the anime has already reached the elevator scene #like come oooooon #there are too many things in that tiny amount of chapters???#how????#aya koda #bsd aya koda #bram stoker #bsd bram stoker #there is no way in hell verlain is still in that basement and not knowing YACKSHIT whats happening outside #and adam is a cyborg???#so why not???#wasn't he created to protect humans??#this is his chance go get him #fenikorg talks

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ohbo-ohno · 3 months ago

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bunny ears and devil horns

summary: Since being discharged, your life has been mundane. Safe. Boring. One night in a church with your best-friend-with-benefits Johnny changes that, dragging you into a horror story that leaves the both of you spiraling out of control.

wc: 5.9k

cw: nothing too big yet - light violence, possession, ouija boards, overall ooky spooky vibes

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

The world is going soft at the edges, the taste of smoke staining your mouth as you squint to read the tiny text on the back of the bottle of Oxiclean in your hands. You’re not eager to create some sort of mustard gas in this old, filth-caked toilet, but you’re also not sure you care much about digging around for other products.

Eventually you decide that you’d rather risk it than spend any more time in the cramped, damp room and pour a good amount of neon goo around the bowl of the toilet, telling yourself that you’ll check the time so you remember to go back in ten minutes and knowing it’s a lie.

You’d never imagined yourself as a glorified janitor, of all things. When you’d been a child you’d wanted to join the military like your mothers both had, and never once through boot-camp or the decade of tours following did you ever think this is where life would take you. Scrubbing years old shit off toilets in an abandoned church and gritting your teeth against the seemingly never ending pain in your body, just counting down the hours until you could take another pill.

It’s miserable. But it’s work, and if your time in a post-military life has taught you anything, it’s that you need work. You need a reason to get off your ass and do something, even if that something is hours of dusting and scrubbing.

Johnny’s wired the same way. It’s what has made you such good partners – professionally and personally – your ability to know what the other was thinking instinctually. You’d never had to guess what Johnny was planning and he always had this seemingly innate way of knowing where you were, even if no one had given him any hints.

It made you some of the best sergeants in the military.

It got you both so fucked up that they kicked you out.

Whatever suit was high enough in rank that even Price hardly tried to hold onto you two had seemingly dusted his hands off and turned his back. No one wants a demolitions expert with a fucked leg and shaky hands or a K-9 officer with a shiny new metal spine regrowing half her damn skin.

You were kicked to the curb, just like that. Your entire adult life gone in a snap.

Even now if you think about it too long the anger starts to build. It rests in your chest, always ready to be called up when you need it, which unfortunately isn’t often these days.

You’d give anything for the feeling of a rifle in your hands, a dog at your side, and miles of dusty nothingness around you. A target, an order, a team.

Instead, you get cheap sponges and thin rubber gloves that rip when you pull them on. The unfairness of it all leaves you wanting to bare your teeth and snarl, but there’s no one to blame.

(Uusally, you blame John Price anyway. You blame him for not killing Makarov when he had the chance, for not letting you kill Makarov, for letting Johnny back into the field before he was ready just because he’d bitched a few too many times about the sick bay, for letting the two of you go like you meant nothing. Like you hadn’t followed his every order for fucking years. He didn’t even fight for you.

You haven’t seen your ex-captain since you left base in a medvac. Johnny always tries to goad you into going with him to his meet-ups with the man, but you shoot him down. You think you couldn’t resist throttling Price if he even hinted at his new team, the sergeants he’s surely replaced you with by now.

Instead you stay home and drink yourself into a coma, usually ending up swearing at the walls and stumbling to the bathroom so you don’t make a further mess of the carpet. Johnny hasn’t stopped asking, no matter how much you bitch at him for going to see John in the first place.)

The Oxiclean is making your nose hairs burn, and you curl your lip as you look unsurely down at the toilet bowl. The filth is dripping with the cleaning product now, creating a somehow even more disgusting sight than before you’d done anything.

“Bonnie?” Johnny calls, voice bored and echoing through the building. “Ye done in there yet? I wanna get home before it starts pourin’.”

You go to rub a hand over your face before remembering that it’s caked in what’s probably considered a biohazard, and instead pull the gloves off and abandon them on the floor to deal with tomorrow, shoving out of the rusty bathroom stall.

You go to run your hands under hopefully-clean water at the sink when you’re stopped at the sight of a box blocking the bowl, the faucet dripping onto its lid. Your brows furrow for a moment, sure it wasn’t there when you first came into the room. You must be higher than you realized if you didn’t even bother glancing around before getting to work.

You can’t help but laugh a bit when you realize what it is, grinning as you imagine the way Johnny’s face will scrunch up in disgust. You grab the box and tuck it under one arm, not bothering with washing your hands, and turning to head to the nave where Johnny waits for you. The box heavier than you expected, but you don’t bother to peek inside.

Johnny’s smoking a blunt in the front pew of the small cathedral, toying with the heavy crucifix around his neck between puffs. He stares up at the matching rood hanging above the altar, the moon casting an eerie shadow through the stained glass high above it and leaving the main aisle dark. You can’t help but smile when he jumps at a loud boom of thunder outside, endeared.

“Check this out,” you say, scuffing your feet on the floor as you head towards him. That’s one thing you don’t miss from your missions in the service – the constant need to make yourself totally silent. These days you step heavily and drag your feet, luxuriating in the sound. “Found a game for us.”

You hold the box up proudly and give it a shake, endeared when Johnny squints to try and get a better look through the smoke.

“Oh no,” he says when he reads the cover, shaking his head firmly. “Ye ken I dinnae fuck around with tha’ shite.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, sliding into the pew beside him and holding your fingers out for the joint. “You’re all grown up now, your ma isn’t here to catch you.”

He narrows his eyes into a glare, but dutifully passes you the weed. “Ye get switched enough times as a lad and ye learn no’ to mess around with tha’ kind of stuff.”

“What kind?” You take a long drag from the blunt, leaning forward to blow the air into his face, smirking when he takes a deep breath despite his annoyance. “Demonic? You think we’ll see a devil, Johnny?”

“Aye, dinnae joke,” he chides, shooting a look at the hanging savior above the altar like he’s about to climb down and smite the two of you for your impudence. Johnny would probably throttle you outside the pearly gates before you could even meet Peter. That’s if the both of you weren’t thrown down to the pit before you could even get to the gates.

“Bud, come on,” you goad, passing back the joint and pressing it between his slightly trembling fingers. “We both know it’s just a game, what’s the harm?” There’s another rumble of thunder, and you quietly hope that the rain holds off until the morning, when you’re safe in your bed and not stuck in the downpour.

He sniffs, glaring down at the box where it rests between you two. The word Ouija is faded and stained, dust coating it in a thick layer except for the small points where your fingers pressed. He eyes it like it reads How To Summon Satan In 3 Easy Steps and the look on his face is enough to make you glad you didn’t leave the box where you found it.

“Why do ye even want to mess around with it if it’s just a game?” He pitches his voice insultingly high to mock you with the last three words, pursing his lips and making a face. “Cannae find any other way to get your adrenaline goin’?”

You level him with an unimpressed look. “What’re you so afraid of, Johnny? You think the girl from The Ring is gonna crawl out of the box and eat your face? Worried you’ll catch a ghost and start singing Harry Belafonte?”

Johnny’s lip curls and he crushes the joint against the back of the pew instead of passing it to you when you hold your fingers out. “If ye dinnae think anythin’s gonnae happen, wha’s the point in even botherin’?”

“I like to watch you squirm,” you say, smirking. And it’s the honest truth, nothing more to it – Johnny’s always had a hair-trigger temper, but it’s hard to get him genuinely unnerved. Getting under his skin has always been one of your favorite past-times, even more so now that there’s no Captain looming over your shoulders to chide your unprofessionalism.

“Fine,” he huffs after a moment, lip curling up at the corner when you don’t bother hiding your excitement. “But if somethin’ comes crawling out of the shadows, I’m lettin’ it take you and runnin’ to the car.”

“Deal,” you laugh, already reaching to shake the box open. You resent the fact that it keeps you from pressing against Johnny’s side, thigh-to-thigh like the two of you usually sit, but figure it’s worth it to see the way he shifts uncomfortably as you set the board up between yourselves.

The Ouija board isn’t flimsy cardboard like you’d expected, but instead real wood, thin but solid. The letters of the alphabet are all indented across the board, stained dark like they were pressed in with a brand.

The filigree twisted around the edges of the board must have been painstakingly carved by hand, though it’s gone neglected long enough that bits of the border are filled with dust. The numbers at the bottom of the board are all slightly uneven, the 3 flipped backwards. For some reason that detail strikes you as funny, and as you giggle you suspect maybe Johnny’s blunt was stronger than you’d realized.

“Seems easy enough.” You hold the planchette up to your eye and peer at him through it. Unlike the board itself, this is made of plastic and warped from age. The place where you assume glass once rested is empty now, letting you see Johnny clearly. “Wonder who’ll pick up the phone.”

“No one.” He shifts to fold one leg on the pew and face towards you fully. “Don’ tell me ye actually believe in this shite.” He knocks on the board with the back of his hand, and you can tell he’s as surprised as you to find it's not cheaply made.

“You were the one who was scared to play,” you say, setting the planchette at the top of the board and reaching for Johnny’s hands. “C’mon.”

“Wait.” He tugs his hands away from yours, pulling one of the necklaces from around his neck over his head, wrapping half the length of the rosary beads around his fingers. “Here.”

You somewhat reluctantly let him twist your fingers around his with the beads until you’re practically tied to each other, the wood already warmed from his skin. Your fingers, calloused and crooked as they are, look downright dainty next to Johnny’s.

The beads are thick and unforgiving, uncomfortably pressed against the swollen joints in your fingers, but you let Johnny shift you as he wants until he’s satisfied. In the end, the crucifix rests pressed between your palms, and neither of you can fully extend your fingers.

“Good thinking,” you drawl. “I’m sure this’ll protect us from the demons hiding inside a hunk of wood.”

He scowls, tongue pinched between his teeth as he glares. “Dinnae joke about that shite with me ma’s rosary in yer hands.”

You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down, acquiescing even though you want to roll your eyes. Johnny’s always gotten tetchy when someone brings up his mother or his half-dozen sisters. He’d gotten into more than a handful of fights in the service about it, especially after one of his sisters came to visit the base and the boys got a good look at her.

“Ready?” You ask, pulling your intertwined hands towards the board. He follows easily enough, scooching closer to you on the bench, his jean-clad knee covering the hand-painted sun on the corner of the board. His fingers tremble the smallest bit, like they always do, but it’s not enough to knock the planchette aside.

“Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Then you shouldn’t be worried,” you chirp, rubbing the tip of your pointer finger against his palm. “Now: are there any spirits in the room with us?”

The church is dead, the only sound the wind brushing tree-branches against the stained glass lining the walls. The planchette rests still on the board between you.

“If there are any spirits, feel free to come say hi,” you try, biting your lip to keep a straight face. You can tell Johnny is trying to look unamused and annoyed, but there’s just enough tension in his shoulders to tell you he’s not as unbothered as he’d have you think. “Johnny here would love to talk to you.”

He scowls, jerking his hands forward and forcing the planchette over the NO on your side of the board. “Yer no’ funny.”

You don’t bother stifling your giggle this time, moving your hands to hover over the YES instead. It moves smoothly across the board despite the indented letters and numbers, making it nice and easy to move the tool where you want it.

“C’mon,” you call out, raising your voice. “Nobody wants to come talk to us? I promise we’ll be real nice.”

To be quite honest, the dead silence feels more awkward than anything. Of course you don’t believe in ghosts, and it’s not like Johnny thinks you really buy into this shit, but there’s no real way for you to talk to nothing without feeling like at least a bit of a fool. Still, you don’t suggest quitting.

“Maybe they’ll only answer questions,” you say, glancing over at Johnny only to be met with a raised eyebrow.

“Dinnae look at me,” he says, tugging his hands so the planchette rests in the center of the board again. “This is yer game, no’ mine.”

“Killjoy,” you tease. “Let’s see… if there is a spirit here with us, will you let us know?”

There’s a flash of lightning that lights the room suddenly, then a crack of thunder hardly five seconds later. You keep from flinching through force of will alone, sharing a quick smile with Johnny.

“Alright… how about something simple, give us your name.”

You feel a bit embarrassed as you stare at the board, Johnny huffing in impatience when nothing happens. There’s enough of a chill in the room that you shiver, having left your jacket in the van to keep it away from all the dust inside the church, a decision you’re only just starting to regret.

A loud crash tears you from your thoughts, making you jump and your heart leap to your throat. You and Johnny both jerk apart at once, but the rosary doesn’t let you get more than a few centimeters of space.

“Fuck,” Johnny swears, both of you staring wide eyed at the altar.

The sanctuary lamp, previously unlit and caked with the same dust covering every other surface on the altar, now lies in at least a dozen pieces scattered across the tile. The red glass shines in the moonlight, the larger pieces quivering in place on the ground.

“Jesus,” you breathe, unable to look away from the glass. It’s still moving, the edges making a soft noise as they shiver in place.

“Watch it,” Johnny scolds, but his heart isn’t in it. He follows your lead when you tug his hands a bit, turning to face you fully, but shoots another look over to the still tinkling glass. “No’ here, yeah?”

“What, you don’t like me saying Jesus?”

He scowls, twisting a finger around yours. “Don’ be a brat. ‘S no’ funny.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “Whatever, choir boy.”

“I’m no’-”

“Quiet,” you hush. “I wanna ask another question.”

“Yer not bored of this yet?” He’s trying to sound annoyed, but you know Johnny well enough to tell when something’s got him spooked.

“Not when it’s getting you all scared.”

“I’m no’ fuckin’ scared!”

“Then you shouldn’t care if I want to keep going!”

“Fine!” The planchette jerks towards you pointedly and Johnny glares. “Get it over with then.”

“There’s no need to get so pissy,” you mutter, shifting your fingers to press against the plastic more firmly. “Alright, ghostie – was that you who broke the glass? You got us pretty good.”

The planchette shifts over to rest firmly on YES and it’s your turn to glare at Johnny. “Don’t fuck with this just because you’re all riled up.”

“I’m no’,” he growls. “Yer the one jerkin’ it around.”

You huff, using a nail to harshly scratch at one of his cuticles. “What’s the fun in moving it yourself? Leave it be.”

“I’m–”

“So, ghost, got any stories for us? Any omens to make us think the world is ending?”

The planchette shudders slightly between your fingers, and you figure Johnny’s got to be more upset than you realized if his trembling has gotten this bad. As fun as messing with him is, you resolve to give up the game in just a few more minutes.

“Alright, then,” you mutter, running your tongue over your teeth. “Well, I guess it’s time for us to go if you’re not gonna do anything else interesting.”

You’re guiding the planchette to hover over the large GOODBYE at the bottom of the board, Johnny moving with you, when your fingers jerk to a sudden stop.

You look up at Johnny, confused as the tool starts moving towards him. “What’re you doing? You’re the one who wanted to leave.”

He looks as confused as you do, blue eyes shining in the low light of the church. “I’m no’ doin’ anythin’.”

The planchette slides firmly over the NO, still shaking in place. You can feel the tremors in Johnny’s hands, skin rough against your own. There’s a soft pattering of rain beginning against the roof, echoing through the church.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, not sure why Johnny’s bothering to mess with you when he’d been the one rushing you out of the building earlier. “Let’s just get home, yeah?”

“Tha’s what I’ve been sayin’,” he mutters, but the planchette stays in place.

You frown, trying to tug your fingers away from his. Johnny’s fingertips stay glued to the plastic instead, and the rosary is looped tight enough to keep you from pulling very far.

It feels like the temperature is dropping by the minute, the hair on your arms standing on end as you shiver. You’re sure it’s the rain, and curse yourself for having left your umbrella in your apartment. “Johnny, come on, bud. It’s cold, I wanna get home.”

Johnny doesn’t respond, his head lolling forward and his eyes trained on your hands. He doesn’t speak, and you feel his fingers go still next to yours. Slowly, he moves the planchette towards the center of the board again.

You lean closer to him, head ducked to try and get a look at his expression. The only time Johnny’s hands don’t tremor is when he’s asleep, and even then he’ll twitch or jerk depending on the dream. You have a brief thought that he somehow fell asleep right there across from you, unrealistic as it seems. “Johnny? You alright?”

It’s cold enough now to make you shiver, and you glance around nervously. Your old instincts from the military are flaring, something deep in your brain that you’d thought you’d lost saying run. It’s not easy to shake the instinct off, but you do. You know there’s nothing but thunder and rain to run from out here.

“Keep going,” Johnny suddenly says, voice quiet but rough.

“What?” You ask, jerking your fingers again and starting to try and untangle them. “What’s wrong with you? Let’s just go.”

“No,” he says, voice firmer now, something in his tone that you don’t recognize. “Ask another question.”

“Seriously?” You scoff, annoyed. “It’s just a stupid game, Johnny. I’m done.”

“I’m not,” he hisses, and there’s something off about his voice now, an almost doubled quality that makes you question your own hearing. When he glares up at you, shoulders hitching high around his ears, the shadows make him look nothing like your Johnny.

“Bud…” You try, realizing that this might just be one of Johnny’s mood swings. They’re usually more noticeable – when he goes from laughing at a joke to launching himself towards someone else, fists cocked and teeth bared, or when he shifts from nearly catatonic to bouncing around like he’s done a line – but you can’t think of any other reason for the sudden clenching of his jaw.

Johnny’s fingers feel icy against yours but you stop trying to pull away, letting your hands go limp and heavy against the board. “Fine,” you huff. “Ghost, do you think Johnny’s being an asshole and should just let us leave?”

The plastic tool jerks so quickly to the NO that your fingers pop, your arms following and leaving you nearly headbutting Johnny.

“What the hell?” You spit, frustrated. “What’s your problem?”

“‘S no’ me,” Johnny insists, accent thick, but he keeps his eyes glued to the board and refuses to look at you.

“Of course it’s you,” you grit, thoroughly unamused. “Who the hell else would it be?”

You all but scream when there’s a sudden boom of sound, a horrible screech of glass shattering and crashing to the floor. It’s only luck that keeps you from knocking the Ouija board over as you jolt towards Johnny, nearly pressed chest to chest.

“What the fuck,” you breathe, staring wide eyed at the now gaping hole in the wall of the church. The massive stained glass window, easily as tall as you, lays in what must be hundreds of pieces scattered across the floor. The night sky makes it look like there’s nothing outside the window, just a wall of black with rain now blowing in and splattering across the floor. The wind is violent enough that it makes a horrible howling sound, gusting in through the window and leaving you even colder. “What the fuck.”

Johnny’s silent, but his trembling has picked back up – just not in his hands. Instead it’s his shoulders that quiver, his body curving in on itself and nearly pressing against yours as he shakes.

“Johnny, please,” you lower yourself to begging, your own shoulders hunching. “I get it, alright? I won’t bring this stuff up again, fine, can we go now?”

He’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence. “No, we can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Keep askin’ your questions.”

“What? Jesus, Johnny, what’s going on–”

“Don’t,” he spits, twisting to glare at you. It leaves him at an unnatural angle, hunched enough that he has to tilt his head to the side and up to make eye contact. It leaves the scarred side of his head washed in moonlight, the pale skin textured enough to cast slight shadows across the rest of his scalp. “Don’t say that.”

“Fucking hell, Johnny, get over it,” you snarl, pulling away. His fingers have started to shake again, and you hate that the familiarity of something he despises makes you feel more comfortable. “The damn windows are shattering and you’re worried about my language?”

“Maybe they’re breaking because of yer language.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, shocked. “Tell me you’re not being serious. Johnny.”

He only cocks a brow, eyes darting over your shoulder again. “Ye think it’s a coincidence?”

“What else would it be?”

Johnny looks back to you, then seems to crumple a bit. “Yeah,” he nods, glancing down at your hands. “Yeah, I don’ know.”

The wind feels like it’s being funneled right towards you and you shudder in place, glancing over your shoulder nervously. You could swear the rain is splashing against your back, your tank-top leaving you with plenty of skin vulnerable to the cold. “Can you get the rosary untangled?”

Johnny bites his lip, one of the cuts dotting them splitting open easily, the blood welling quickly. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way the red drips down his chin, slow but rich. “Yeah, we’re tied up good, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” you agree, looking at him closely. The dark red streak down his chin looks nearly black in the light. You go to reach up and wipe the blood away, but your hands feel too heavy, like cement blocks attached to your wrists.

The blood slips quickly from his chin, dropping to the board silently. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

A great crack of thunder shakes the building, and you can’t help but jump. Johnny is still across from you, staring down at the board.

The rain grows louder, and now you know you can feel water splashing against your back. You inch away from the wreckage behind you, nearly kneeling on the board now.

“You gotta help me out here, bud,” you mutter, trying to slither your fingers away from his. Johnny is still, though, almost eerily so. “Johnny, come on. What’s going on with you?”

He lifts his face slowly, head rolling to the side and then back, like it’s too much effort to lift straight up. He looks down his nose at you, eyes-half lidded. The usually striking blue is dark in the dim church, but it’s his pupils that take your focus. They’ve shrunken down to nearly nothing, though it’s hard to notice at first. The dark of the pupil almost blends with the dark of his iris.

Your only thought is that it must be the light, or maybe the shadows. You know Johnny has blue eyes – pretty blue eyes that used to help him get any girl off-base he wanted, you know because you’ve watched him use them to his advantage, nearly fallen victim to them yourself – but they’re a deep brown now, peering at you from behind thick lashes.

It doesn’t make sense.

There’s a tension in your shoulders that wasn’t there a minute ago, goosebumps covering what must be every inch of your body, a screaming sound at the back of your mind that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

But nothing has changed. It’s still just you and Johnny, alone in the church. You know that.

“Bud?” You ask, unable to fight the hesitance in your voice.

He blinks and pulls his chin down so he’s looking at you straight on. He sits up more fully, easily pulling your hands away from the board and with his. Your fingers are limp, still feeling weighed down.

He makes a grunting noise that’s just barely audible over the sound of the rain, now a downpour. He tugs his hands and makes another sound when he doesn’t get any distance, still tied to you.

“Hold on–” You say, but before you can try to carefully work at undoing the loops, Johnny rips his hands to each side, tearing the rosary and sending beads flying everywhere.

“Johnny!” You exclaim, flinching away to avoid being pelted in the face. You gape as you watch the little wooden beads roll all different directions across the tile floor, Johnny shaking his hands out and cracking his knuckles. “What the hell did you do that for?”

He looks at you again, chin angled just high enough that he’s looking down his nose at you. “Thought you didn’t want to be all tied up.”

Your face feels almost gummy from the expression you're making, brows pressed together and mouth pulled down and open, baffled by Johnny’s behavior.

He’s had those rosary beads since he was born. A gift from his mother to her first-born son – misogynistic, but traditional. He’d kept them on him since the day you met him. Through deserts and tundras, falling from helicopters and burying himself in swamps for days on end, you’ve never known Johnny to not keep those beads tucked around his neck.

You tried to steal them once, for a prank. It’s the only time to date that he’s attacked you outside of sparring.

To see him destroy them so callously, so easily…

It’s analogous to everything you know about Johnny. One simple movement, and you feel like you hardly recognize the man in front of you at all.

He plants both hands on his knees, heaving himself up like he’s about a hundred pounds heavier than he actually is. There’s a loud groan and you think it’s the beams high above you shifting, before realizing it’s just him.

The Ouija board is left abandoned on the pew as Johnny takes a few steps forward and you twist towards him, watching his back.

He looks around like he’s got no idea where he is, the moonlight streaming through the stained glass window casting him in a pale light. He looks like something plucked out of a black and white movie, all the color seeped from him.

You stand and begin to move away from the pew, though you linger several feet away from him. You curve around his side, standing to his right and watching as he looks up into the light, face stark.

“What are you doing, doll?” He asks, and his voice is gruff like he hasn’t spoken all day. You know that’s not true, though; he nearly talked your ear off on the hour-long drive out to the church.

“Getting ready to go,” you say, watching him closely. You come to a stop at the small, waist-high fence surrounding the altar. You’re nowhere near your bag. “That okay with you?”

It’s said sarcastically, but he nods like he’s actually giving you permission. You’d step forward and smack his arm if you weren’t so spooked by your own instincts.

Johnny turns back around, once again putting his back to you, and moves towards the pew. He reaches down towards the Ouija board, then snorts. Again moving slowly, he reaches up and knocks the board to the ground.

“Figures,” you hear him mutter. “You still tiptoeing around back there?”

His voice has lost its Scottish brogue, syllables still rough but his tone completely different. He sounds closer to British now – he still sounds distinctly northern, granted, but not Scottish. You can pick that out even from the few words he’s spoken.

“Not tiptoeing,” you say, sneaking backward slowly. You wrap your fingers around one of the heavy candlesticks sitting atop the altar, the candle long since lost. You hold it behind your back, parallel with your spine, and inch forward again. “Your hearing messing with you again, Johnny?”

He tilts his head to the side, keeping his back to you. You can see the way his shadow seems to stretch endlessly along the center aisle, a long, straight column of black. You inch forward slowly, making a liar of yourself and keeping careful to step with your toes first.

“Might be,” he rumbles, tone unconvincing. He turns towards you when you’ve just inched within arms reach, expression unimpressed. “What’ve you got th–”

You don’t let him finish.

The room is lit up by a vicious bolt of lightning as you swing the candlestick towards his head, his eyes widening for a split second before the silver slams into the scar covering his temple. You can all but feel the crack in his skull, blood pouring from the wound instantly.

He stumbles toward you, hand reaching up for your throat, then collapses. His whole weight falls onto you, sending you stumbling backward. Unable to keep your balance, you both go crashing to the ground. You can’t help but yelp in pain, your shoulders bashing painfully into the tile step before the altar.

You hold your breath as you stare at the ceiling, dazed. Another horrible crash of thunder shakes you out of your reverie, chest heaving on a gasp. Your body seems to suddenly realize that it can hardly breathe beneath Johnny’s bulk, and you shove at him desperately until he slides off.

You scramble to your feet, candlestick still grasped in your damp palm. You can hardly believe what you just did.

You acted on instinct alone. The old, predator part of you whispered protect yourself and it’s like the rest of your sane, rational mind completely disappeared. Never mind that you’ve never once needed to protect yourself from Johnny, or that he would have absolutely no motive to hurt you.

The animal part of you felt threatened, and you acted.

Still, it’s been a long while since you’ve had to do anything even resembling violent. Your months out of the military have left you skittish, apparently, because it’s your hands that tremble now instead of Johnny’s.

He’s as still as a corpse on the ground before you, the only sign of life the soft rise and fall of his chest, and even that is almost imperceptible under all the layers he’s wearing.

You’re struck, suddenly, with the memory of another time he looked exactly like this – the side of his face blown to shreds, bone visible if you could see past the endless blood, his eyes open but dazed and unseeing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, telling yourself this is nothing like then. It’s hard to believe when you look again and see blood drenching the same side of his face.

Taking a few long, deep breaths, you try your best to center yourself.

You stumble back a few steps, quickly falling to your knees and looking for the rosary beads. You’re frantic enough that you’re sure to miss a few, but you scoop up as many as you can and stuff them in your pockets. Once you find the hand-carved cross, you stand and rush to the door.

You leave the cleaning products behind. Those can be Johnny’s responsibility, whenever he wakes up. That, and finding a way home. The truck’s keys are in your pocket.

The rain soaks you to the bone the second you step out of the church, and it’s nearly impossible to see through it. You fumble your way to the car, feeling almost like there’s a force at your back shoving you away from the old building.

It takes ten minutes for the rain to slow enough that you feel comfortable driving, the windshield wipers finally able to do their job.

You look back at the church just once before pulling out of the parking lot. Lightning strikes in the long-forgotten graveyard to the side of the building, lighting the world up and making you flinch.

As you peel out of the parking lot, you’d swear the lightning lets you see a shadowy frame through a stained glass window.

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shaunasrabbit · 27 days ago

Text

Late Night Visit | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part IV.

Summary: You and Joel go to Bill and Frank's.

Tags: No use of y/n, canon-divergence (Bill and Frank are alive because I'm not killing my gays during pride month), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns (also wears a dress for like 2 seconds), some physical descriptions (has a bush because #bushnation and is curvy if you squint), age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his 50s), alcohol consumption, bratty reader and mean!Joel, dom!Joel, verbal degradation, like one tiny little sexy smack, choking, spit, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, use of good girl and other pet names, oral (f!receiving), spit, light biting, finger sucking, unprotected piv, the pullout method (don't try this at home), f!masturbation, uhhhhh sexy use of duct tape lol and subsequent breath play, cum eating. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~9.7K

Read on AO3

A/N: I was having a fuck ton of fun writing this chapter and I didn't realize how long it was getting so I'm sorry or you're welcome idk. It felt necessary to dive into the reader's backstory a little as so many things were brought up for her at Bill and Frank's. I hope you enjoy getting to know her a little more. I definitely did. Also, a massive thank you to everyone who has been keeping up with the series and reblogging/commenting. I appreciate you so much. Lightly proofread this myself, so my apologies for any typos. All on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are welcome. Thank you for reading! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

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After sleeping on the cold, hard forest floor for a night, you’re thrilled when Joel says there’s an old Girl Scout camp to crash at.

The two of you have been trekking to an unknown location for a day or so and you’re ready to just get to wherever you’re going. Joel’s being reticent about sharing details of the run you’re on which is out of character. He’s generally open about the logistics of a job, but you’re not pushing it, too desperate for the work after being blacklisted by Wade. Plus, you get to escape the crowded, stressful QZ for more than a day or two. Any amount of time away is a real treat.

The sun is tucking itself behind the horizon by the time you get to the camp. Tiny, wooden cabins create a perfect circle around a firepit, filled with ash and a few charred animal bones. A pang of nostalgia hits you like a punch to the gut.

“You know, I used to be a Girl Scout,” you whisper as you do a perimeter check alongside Joel. Talking helps you not think about the chance of seeing infected. You passed through a small town a few hours ago and had a run in with two clickers, but both of you came out entirely unscathed.

Joel hums before exhaling sharply through his nose. “Must not have been a real good one,” he retorts before putting his pistol back in its holster. “I’ve seen you tryna tie a knot.”

You roll your eyes, trudging up the steps to a cabin. With a soft grunt, he follows you up the short flight of stairs and you can hear his knees crack. It’s a miracle he can fuck you as hard as he does considering his age. Joel unlocks the door with a key that he fishes out of the inner pocket of his tan leather jacket. This must be a regular route for him and that calms any wariness you had about the job.

“Yeah, no. I kind of sucked,” you admit as you follow him inside. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches and you wonder if it’s a hint of a smile. “I quit when I was like…eight, maybe? Nine? Worst Brownie in my troop. I barely had any badges.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

When he turns his back, you give him the middle finger and another eye roll.

There’s a part of you that’s still pissed about what happened last week with Wade. Still embarrassed that Joel acted like your protector, like you couldn’t handle yourself, but there’s a bigger part of you that’s so turned on by the idea of Joel wanting to fight someone on your behalf, like he was telling Wade not to fuck with what’s his. You know you’re not his, not even sure you’d ever want to be, but each night for the last week, you’d play with your clit while thinking of Joel coming into your apartment with bloody fists and fucking you, smearing it all over you. Marking you. Your cheeks get hot just thinking about it.

Joel locks the door and shoves a rusty chair under the handle although it’d be useless considering the two massive windows in the cabin. At least the glass is intact so you’d hear someone, or something, coming. You scan the room. Two sets of dusty bunk beds, a wooden chest, a couch with torn upholstering, a dresser with peeling paint, a narrow nightstand adorned with two candles with crispy wicks. Joel lights the candles before heading to the dresser, pushing it to the side with great force and grit teeth. He reaches down and lifts the loose floorboard, pulling out a hunting rifle with a scope and a box of ammo. You watch as he loads the magazine, his face lit by the warm candlelight.

“We’ll—”

“—sleep in shifts. I’ll take watch, you take watch. Yeah, yeah. I know,” you finish for him, irritated that he bothers explaining shit you already know.

Shooting you a dirty look, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, Joel sits on the couch and spreads his legs wide. You think about crawling onto his lap, but restrain yourself, taking a seat next to him instead.

“Was gonna say we’ll leave when the sun rises. We’re makin’ real good time. Less obstacles than I thought,” Joel says, eyes flickering over to you as you pull your legs up and tuck them under you.

“Where are we headed anyway?”

“Bill and Frank’s.”

“That was really helpful. Great explanation, Joel,” you deadpan, giving him an exasperated look. You realize suddenly how tired you are. “Who are Bill and Frank, and where are we meeting them?”

Joel is visibly annoyed, sitting next to you with his jaw clenched and his arms crossed.

“People I trade with. Meeting ‘em at their place in Lincoln.”

“Lincoln,” you mutter to yourself as you get up and head towards your pack, pulling out a map. Tracing your finger from Boston to Lincoln, you purse your lips. It’s only about fifteen miles from the QZ. “This is like…a six hour hike. Why were we walking for a whole day?”

“Now, why the fuck d’ya think we’ve been taking the long way?” he spits.

“Raiders, infected, rubble, people like us.” Your face is hot, embarrassment settling in your throat.

Joel hums in response, giving a small nod as you walk back over to the couch, collapsing on it with a sigh. It can never just be easy. Nothing can. How nice would it be to be able to hop in a car? The drive would be what, forty minutes with traffic? Maybe less? You would be able to listen to music, stop for lunch at a diner, put your hand on Joel’s thigh while he drove. But you can’t do any of that. Not in times like this. Not when Joel is just a man you work with, a man you sometimes fuck. Nothing else.

“Get some shut eye,” he grumbles, standing up. Your eyes drift to the way his shoulders slump and his heavy eyelids. “I’ll take first watch.”

You shake your head and stand up, too. Joel spent the whole day guiding you with strict vigilance. Always alert, always on. You’re the same whenever traversing out of the QZ, but you feel like it weighs on Joel heavier for some reason.

“No, it’s fine. You rest. I can watch,” you say. “I got it.”

For a moment, you think he’ll protest, your eyes searching his face, but he doesn’t. He just nods and blows out the candles before lying down on one of the bottom bunks. Boots still on, pistol still strapped in its holster. Closing his eyes, he lets out a heavy sigh, giving in to his exhaustion.

“Get me up in four hours.” It's a demand, not a suggestion.

“Mhm.”

Four hours go by quickly, but you can’t bring yourself to wake him up despite the lethargy that threatens you.

To your surprise, Joel is fast asleep. You realize that you haven’t ever seen him sleep, generally back before the sunrises while working. The one time you spent the night together, he let you rest. Your chest tightens at the memory of the weight of Joel’s arm draped on you while you slept.

Joel mumbles in his sleep. If it were anyone else, you’d probably find it annoying, but seeing this gruff, hardened man babble complete nonsense and twitch with his eyes closed is endearing. You wonder if he’s like this in his apartment in the QZ or if his nightly glass of whiskey knocks him out hard.

While he rests, you keep a firm grip on the rifle, periodically scanning the outside through the windows, being sure to walk quietly across the weathered floorboards. They’re creaky, but you do your best not to wake Joel.

At some point, your mind wanders to the last time you fucked Joel. Maybe you’re bored, but you can’t stop thinking about Joel counting, only letting you come when he got to three. You think about being on your knees for him, the weight of his cock smacking your tongue before he came down your throat. Pressing your thighs together, you feel slick gather in your panties.

You look over and see Joel’s body limp with sleep, and figure he won’t wake up for a while. Okay, you have time. Just go in the closet and get yourself off before he wakes up. Considering how turned on you are, it won’t be that hard, right?

Fuck it.

Exercising extra caution, you get up, setting the rifle down on the couch. Your pistol is in your ankle holster, so you’re still armed. Slowly, you open the door to the closet, eyes closing tight and your lips curling inward when the hinges squeak. You slip in and carefully shut the door. With urgency, you unbutton your pants and shove them down along with your underwear, leaning against the wall.

Your middle finger slides down your slit and fuck, you are soaked. Holding back a whimper, you begin to rub your clit quickly, trying to make it fast. Shutting your eyes, you picture Joel’s hand instead, how it would feel for his calloused fingers to be playing with you instead.

He’d whisper things in your ear. He’d tell you it’s pathetic how wet you are for him, tell you to be a good girl, tell you that you look pretty while moaning for him. Right now, you do feel pathetic, getting yourself off while Joel is asleep in the next room. For some reason, that just gets you closer to your release.

What if you went out there and woke him up by straddling his lap? You want to kiss down his sharp jawline, grind on his bulge, and ask him to fuck you.

What you want the most, though, is for Joel to kiss you. It’s only happened twice during the same drunken night. Joel was wasted and so were you, practically falling into each other on the way to your apartment. It seemed like an accident when his lips met yours the first time. He hurriedly kissed you again like he was trying to figure out if it had actually happened.

As he was leaving, once the two of you were dressed, you went to kiss him goodbye. He turned his head, your lips awkwardly meeting his cheek. You brushed it off even though you were humiliated. What else could you do, though? You acted like nothing happened. Joel did the same.

Now, here you are, thinking of kissing Joel hungrily while riding him, watching his eyes shut as he groans and spills into you. It sends you falling over the edge. Your pussy spasms and you clamp your hand over your mouth as you come, trying to stifle your cries. You rest your head against the wall, panting with your eyes closed. If Joel had been the one giving you that orgasm, your legs would be trembling, but your own hand can’t compare.

You pull up your pants, buttoning your jeans, and slip out of the closet. Returning to the couch, you sit down and move the rifle onto your lap. Joel groans in his sleep and you continue to fantasize about hearing him groan in your ear as his cock plunges in and out of you.

Before you know it, the sun begins to rise. Joel jolts awake, his hand instinctively going to his pistol. When he realizes all is well and that you’re wide awake, sitting on the couch, the tension dissipates from his body.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you tease, a playful smile on your lips.

“Jesus.” Joel rubs his eyes. His voice is gravelly, heavy with sleep. “Why didn’t ya wake me up?”

“You were out like a light. Didn’t want to wake Sleeping Beauty,” you reply. Your eyes shift down to the obvious bulge in his jeans. Raising an eyebrow, you smile and nod towards his pelvis. “Good dream?”

Joel glares at you and then rubs his eyes with his palms like he’s trying to get knead the night away. You find yourself a little enchanted by him like this, tousled hair, hard cock, prominent lines between his brows from his face being pulled tight all night. You want to drop to your knees in front of him and beg for him to fuck your mouth.

“Jesus, it’s the ass crack of dawn. ‘Nough of that,” he scolds. “Y’should’ve gotten me up. What if you had fallen asleep and gotten us killed?”

“Well, I didn’t fall asleep and I didn’t get us killed,” you answer simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“Now I gotta deal with you being tired and grumpy all day,” Joel grumbles and stands up, his joints cracking. He walks over and rips the rifle from your hand while you shoot him an amused look. He mutters, “Piss me the fuck off.”

“I think you’re projecting, Joel. You’re always the grumpy one,” you say, brushing off his last comment. Joel’s snide remarks don’t hurt your feelings anymore, not when you know how he praises you when he fucks you.

Good girl. Did so good. Look so good like that.

Darlin’. Baby. Sweetheart. Sugar.

Your thighs clench just thinking about Joel’s gruff voice in your ear.

“Just shut up and lay down. Thirty minutes and then we gotta get movin’,” he says, slinging the rifle over his shoulder before moving towards the door to take the chair out from under the handle. “Gonna do a perimeter check. Thirty minutes.”

You roll your eyes but do as he says, taking off your jacket and lying on your stomach where Joel had been sleeping. It’s still warm from his body heat. You bunch up your jacket and use it as a makeshift pillow. Sleep takes you gently away.

“C’mon. Up.” Joel jostles you awake, earning a groan from you. Your eyes are narrow when you glance up at him. He’s much more awake now, pack already on and rifle slung over his shoulder. “Let’s go. You’ve already wasted our time.”

Rolling your eyes, you get up and stretch, shrugging your lightweight denim jacket on. Snagging your pack, you follow Joel out the door. Spring has arrived and the early mornings still have a bite to them, but when you step outside, the sun is higher than it should be if Joel had only let you sleep for thirty minutes. You let the warmth of its rays wash over you, smiling to yourself. Thirty minutes, my ass, you think before slowly jogging to catch up to Joel who has already started walking.

It takes you about two hours to get to your destination. The hike was fairly smooth, only stumbling upon a few stray infected. Nothing that you and Joel couldn’t handle. The two of you were quiet. Joel was annoyed with you, you could tell, and you were exhausted. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary.

You approach a small town, surrounded by a fence with barbed wire and a sign that reads DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE. Joel tells you to stay put as he walks toward the box with a keypad, typing in a code. As the fence opens, a burly man with maybe one of the biggest automatics you’ve ever seen comes barreling out of a gorgeous, white colonial style home with gray shutters and a large American flag above the porch. The man has shoulder length hair, a scruffy beard, and wide shoulders. He sports a scowl and his gun is pointed directly at you. For some reason, you don’t feel fear, just tension. Joel’s with you. You’re fine.

“S’me,” Joel calls out, waving a disarming hand in the air.

The man lowers his weapon and you trail behind Joel, shutting the gate of the fence behind you. It clicks locked. You’re taken aback by the sight in front of you, mouth slightly ajar. Shops, although empty, with fresh paint, potted flowers, meticulously cut grass. It’s almost like stepping into the old world. If you closed your eyes, you’re sure you would hear children playing, inane chatter, life before it all went to shit.

“Hey,” Joel barks, snapping his fingers at you. You didn’t realize you were in a trance. “Keep walkin’.”

The man meets you by the picket fence in front of the house with his frown and weapon, giving Joel a nod and a handshake. You’re not listening to whatever they’re talking about, standing behind Joel with your eyes still roaming your surroundings, in total awe of whatever the hell this is.

“Bill, this is—”

You cut Joel off and give Bill your name along with something that resembles a half smile. Bill nods. A man of many words, apparently. The three of you walk inside and the smell of apple pie lingers in the air, making your stomach quietly grumble. You realize you haven’t eaten yet today and apple pie, something you haven’t had in twenty years, smells divine.

“We freeze the apples,” a different man says as if he could read your mind. Frank, you presume, has walked in from the kitchen. His hands are on his hips, smiling, and his beard is well trimmed, a stark contrast from Bill. He steps towards you and takes your hand, “I’m Frank.”

You introduce yourself and smile, putting your other hand over Frank’s. Warmth radiates off of him and he reminds you of someone, but you can’t quite place who. You drop hands and Frank greets Joel, pulling him into a hug. You’ve never seen Joel hug someone before. You’re almost envious, wondering what it would be like to have Joel hold you outside of fucking you.

“Well, come on in. I’ll give you a tour,” Frank says, putting a hand on the small of your back to guide you into the living room.

It feels like a home. A real home with decor and tchotchkes, paintings and collages, records and a piano. You’re not sure you said anything besides holy shit and wow the entire time Frank was showing you around. Back in the dining room, Joel and Bill are sitting at the table, both looking incredibly stern, but there’s no tension, no malice. It’s just serious. It’s business. They’re checking things off of a list on a notepad and drinking whiskey—neat and on the rocks. Just how Joel likes it.

Putting your hands on your knees, you bend down to look at the various spirits on the brass bar cart. You can feel Joel’s eyes on your ass.

“Fuck, this place is incredible,” you gush. “You guys looking for a third?”

“You know, you’re not quite our type,” Frank chuckles softly, leaning against the archway.

You smirk at him and straighten your back. “Yeah, I figured.”

Joel’s looking at you from the table, pen idle in his hand. When you glance at him, you think you’re going to melt into those brown eyes of his. They look softer here, illuminated by the warm sun filtering in through the sheer curtains. What would it be like to sit across from Joel at a table like this and drink coffee in the morning? What would it be like to sleep beside him in the master bedroom with its canopy bed and venetian carpet? Is Joel wondering the same thing right now as he stares at you? You make yourself sick with these thoughts.

You almost forget Bill and Frank are there until Frank breaks the silence. “I’m going to take you to the boutique down the road, then you two can shower and freshen up before dinner. Does that sound okay?”

Nodding, you follow him out the door. The town is quaint and somehow so well-kept. You walk in silence, taking it all in, while listening as Frank explains how he and Bill met and how they fixed up the town. It’s a love story. An apocalyptic one, but still one nonetheless. Until now, you didn’t think those existed anymore.

Frank opens the door to the boutique and your eyes widen at the sight. Racks and racks of women’s clothes, a wall of accessories, a case of jewelry, boxes of shoes, and makeup.

“Holy shit,” you say under your breath for the hundredth time today.

“Take whatever you need, whatever you want. It’s free,” Frank offers with a wink, walking up behind you with his hand on his hips.

You turn to look at him, brows raised incredulously.

“Are you serious?” you ask. He nods. “I don’t even…thank you.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, just smiling as you start to look through the racks. The clothes are dusty and some of them have tiny holes from moths, sure, but they’re in good shape. Much better condition than anything you have back in the QZ. Plus, they’re actually cute. You were never old enough to go shopping at boutiques like this, your teenagehood soiled by the outbreak before you even got the chance.

“So,” you start, rubbing a silk dress between your fingers, “how did you guys meet Joel anyway?”

“Well, I started talking to Tess on the radio,” he says and you stop moving altogether. Tess. “Bill hated that, as I’m sure you can guess. When we actually met Tess, along came Joel. You know how that is, wherever Tess is, there Joel is.”

Tess. You met Tess when you met Joel a few years ago. It had been a year or so after you started smuggling that you started working with their crew. Joel’s a damn good smuggler and you practically needed recommendations before he let you in on jobs. You were younger then, in your mid-twenties, and had to prove yourself to be an asset and you did. Tess recognized this, giving you credit where credit was due, but she was never particularly nice to you. Neither was Joel. Eventually, you started going on regular runs with Tess, Joel, Adam, and every now and then, a few others.

Adam was a few years older than you, but still much younger than Joel and Tess. The two of you stuck together if you ever needed to split up in pairs. So yeah, you get it. Wherever Tess went, Joel went. You could tell he was always particularly protective of her, but they had known each other for years. They trusted each other; it made sense. You never thought too much about it.

About six months ago, Tess stopped coming around. Joel’s moods were worse than usual after that, but you didn’t say anything to him about it. You wouldn’t dream of it. Frankly, it was none of your business, but you were curious. When you brought up Tess’ absence to Adam, he said that there were logistical and financial disagreements among some of the group members. You didn’t believe it, but you let it go. As long as you were getting paid, what the hell did it matter?

Something sour bubbles in your belly at the thought of Tess and Joel. You ignore it, trying to focus on the clothes in front of you with their bright colors, patterns, and soft fabric.

“I’m a little surprised Tess isn’t here with you two,” Frank says and you look up to meet his gaze, giving him a small shrug. He smiles and nods, dropping it altogether.

You pick out a few things to try on. Jeans, tank tops, t-shirts, a few blouses, new boots, even a dress and a pair of heels. You also snagged some new underwear and a lacy bra. In the dressing room with the emerald green, velvet curtain pulled shut, you strip. Trying on each of the pieces one by one, you admire the way they hug your waist and accentuate the curve of your hips and ass. When you get to the dress, your breath hitches. You haven’t worn a dress in years. The low, square neckline makes it hard not to stare at your own breasts. The black dress is short, landing above your mid-thigh and you notice how nice your plush curves look. You smile to yourself, thinking about how amazing it would be to have somewhere to actually wear this.

When you come out, Frank’s holding you a bag and you dump your findings in it. Before you leave, you stop and look at the makeup, grabbing mascara and blush.

“Do you think I’m going to get an infection from how expired this shit is?” you ask.

“It’s possible. I guess you have to decide if it’s worth the risk.”

When you get back to the house, you can smell whatever Bill is cooking. Some sort of meat. Maybe duck? You aren’t entirely sure, but it’s divine and you’re reminded again of how hungry you are. Frank tells you that you can shower as Bill makes dinner, pulling a fluffy bath towel from the linen closet and showing you to the guest bedroom that you’ll be staying in.

“Unless you and Joel are sharing a room?” Frank asks, uncertainty clear in his voice.

“Definitely not. Unless you want him to kill himself,” you reply with a short laugh and shake your head. The words tumble out of your mouth when you say, “Thanks for the clothes and the shower and for having me here.”

Frank just smiles, resting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a smile that says you’re welcome.

You head into the bedroom, noting all of the decorations and the matching furniture set. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the clean sheets, thinking about how you can’t wait to fall into the fluffy pillows tonight.

In the shower, you cry and you cry hard. It’s just overwhelming, being in a place that feels incredibly normal and reminiscent of a time that’s so far away, so far gone now. You let yourself drown in the emotion as the shower pelts you with hot water.

When you get out and wipe the condensation off of the mirror, you examine yourself, grateful that your eyes aren’t puffy. You attempt to dry your hair with your towel and put on a coat of mascara. That small touch makes all the difference and you realize that you haven’t felt this pretty in a long time. Sure, you know you’re desirable. You would fuck you, but this feels foreign. It feels luxurious.

You get dressed and pull on a new pair of jeans that hug your ass perfectly, pairing them with a tight, black long sleeve. It has three buttons by your breasts that you leave undone to accentuate your cleavage. You tie it all together with new boots and a dainty necklace. Stepping back, you take in your reflection. Again, you’d fuck you.

Stepping into the hallway, you see Joel leave his bedroom at the same time. Your pussy pulses and your chest tightens when you see him. His beard is trimmed and wet curls are falling on his forehead. The clean flannel he’s wearing hugs his biceps and you want to sink your teeth into them. He looks less rugged, more domestic in a way that makes your heart hurt a little.

Joel’s eyes travel down your body, lingering on your breasts for a moment and finally, he meets your gaze. Both of you stand there, just staring at each other before he clears his throat.

“Y’look, uh…clean,” he says, voice low, and he runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Yeah, you too. For once,” you tease although your tone is flat.

He motions towards the stairs. “We should—”

“Yeah.”

The two of you head downstairs and see Frank carrying dishes to the dining room table. It’s set with frilly placemats, wine glasses, and two long candles dripping red wax onto glass holders. Your eyes are wide when you see the food laid out in front of you. It’s duck, as you suspected, with mashed potatoes, gravy, and asparagus. Plus, an unopened bottle of Beaujolais.

“Ready?” Bill asks, uncorking the bottle and pouring everyone a glass.

You nod and approach the table, but before you can pull out your chair, Joel does it for you. Raising an eyebrow and glancing at him, you take a seat.

“Such a gentleman, Joel. On good behavior today?” you whisper so only he can hear.

“Will you shut it?” he hisses back, passing you a glass.

“There we go,” you say back, smiling more to yourself than to him. “That’s more like it.”

The four of you settle and Frank picks up his glass, raising it to initiate a toast. You’ve never even toasted to anything before and though you’re almost thirty, you feel like a child sitting at the adult table during Christmas dinner.

“To new friends,” Frank begins, nodding towards you before looking at Joel, “and old friends.”

Your face gets hot as the four of you clink your glasses together and mumble cheers. The first taste of wine you have is more of a gulp than a sip and if it weren’t incredibly rude, you would’ve finished the whole glass in one go. It’s better than any alcohol you’ve consumed in the QZ and while you could smuggle better shit in, you have other priorities like the medication for Susan. After tasting this though, you think you’ll ask Frank if there’s something you could trade for a bottle. Maybe two.

Frank, Bill, and Joel chat about supplies while you sort of listen, focusing mainly on the delectable food in front of you. Again, this meal is better than anything you’ve had in the QZ and truthfully, maybe even better than anything you’ve had in your whole life. You have to consciously pace yourself so you don’t scarf it all down in under five minutes.

At some point, Joel kicks your shin from under the table, grabbing your attention. When you give him a look that says what the actual fuck, he nods over towards Frank. You realize then, totally fucking embarrassed, that he asked you a question and you didn’t even register it.

“I asked where you’re from?” Frank smiles, patient and warm. When your eyes dart over to Joel, he’s biting back a smile while chewing and looking down at his food.

Asshole.

“Sorry,” you mumble. You take a sip of wine, your glass nearly empty. “I’m from Portland. Maine, not Oregon.”

As you speak, Joel’s eyes flicker to you and he stops chewing to listen to you. It’s the first time you’ve ever shared any personal information with Joel and even now, he didn’t ask, you’re just answering someone else’s question. Something about Joel knowing anything about you makes you uneasy. You figure it’s because all you’ve learned about him has been through other people.

“Beautiful place to grow up,” Frank says, pouring more wine into your glass. You smile to say thank you, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Did you spend a lot of time on the water?”

“Yeah, my dad was a fisherman.”

Bill nods in your direction. With his mouth full he says, “Great skill to have in times like these.”

It comes in flashes. The feeling of cold sunscreen on your back, the gentle sloshing of the boat that rocked you to sleep like a baby, lobster shells cracking like ribs. You think about your dad with his toothy grin. The scent of fish that lingers. You start to feel sick.

Maybe it shows on your face, the way you’re solemnly reminiscing, because Joel’s boot meets your leg and strokes it lightly, like he’s patting you on the back. When you glance over at him, he’s looking down at his plate. It was probably just an accident, you tell yourself.

You take another sip of wine like it’ll wash away your thoughts. It pools in your stomach, that deep warm feeling you’ve come to appreciate during times of discomfort.

“You think that until you eat so much fish that you’re pretty sure you’re going to get mercury poisoning,” you attempt to joke, but you know your tone isn’t convincing. It comes out more sad than anything.

“Guess there are worse ways to die,” Joel mumbles.

You laugh. You don’t mean to, but it just comes out. Frank joins you while Bill and Joel are silent, staring at each other like you and Frank have lost it altogether. When the laughter dies down, Frank changes the subject like he knows you’d rather not talk about yourself anymore. You mentally thank him for it.

Three bottles of wine later, dinner ends and you feel fatigue overtake you. After helping Frank with the dishes, you excuse yourself and head upstairs to the room you’re staying in. You strip off your clothes, only clad in your new matching bra and panties, before collapsing in the bed. You tell yourself that you can take your makeup off tomorrow.

Snuggling into the sheets, you take a deep breath. You hadn’t expected the day to exhaust you quite like this. Working as a smuggler usually meant life or death situations and risk. Here, you feel safe, but you feel like you’ve expended more energy than ever before. The entire experience of being in a place like this, a place so resonant of a life you could’ve had, has weakened you. Each step you took in this sanctuary weighed a hundred pounds. Your limbs feel heavy and you’re thankful for a few hours of uninterrupted rest.

The wine from dinner hit you so hard that you don’t hear him come in. It isn’t until the bed sinks in next to you that you realize you’re not alone. Waking from your slumber, you instinctively turn to reach for the pistol in your pack that you’ve strategically placed next to your bed. Even if this is the safest you’ve felt in years, you’re still on edge. Force of habit. A firm hand grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Stop,” he demands. Joel loosens his grip on you and says, softer now, “Just me.”

As you register his presence as safe, your heartbeat slows. Your arm drops and you sigh deeply.

“Fuck you—you scared the fuck out of me, Joel,” you hiss, closing your eyes. “What do you want?”

When the blanket is pulled from your upper body, your eyes open again, the same startled look from before. Joel’s hands land on your breasts, thumbs tracing the lines of the lacy fabric of your bra, eventually making their way down your sides. He digs his fingers into the plush of your hips. Your breath hitches, knowing damn well that you’re already getting wet.

“Pretty,” he whispers, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, hiking them up further. “You wear these just for me?”

“No.” You roll your eyes and let your head loll to the side. “I wore them for Frank.”

Joel grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. It’s dark, so damn dark, but you can see a sliver of his face lit up by the moonlight that’s creeping in through the sheer curtains. His eyes carry that lustful darkness that you know so well. Joel wants something from you and he’s going to get it. You want to give it to him. Whatever he wants, it’s his and you don’t need to say it aloud. Joel knows.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice quiet and unintentionally sultry.

“You playin’ dumb tonight? I think ya know what I want.”

“Then take it,” you reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. The look in Joel’s eyes makes your clit throb in anticipation.

“Wasn’t askin’ permission, sweetheart. I know you’ll gimme what I want,” Joel rasps, leaning down to kiss and nip at your pulse point.

He’s right and you almost hate it. Joel’s a smug bastard, always has been. He knows that whatever fight you put up, it’s all show. He knows you like the verbal sparring, the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you harder when you piss him off; you think he likes it, too, since he keeps coming back for more. Maybe it’s as much for him as it is for you.

You let out something between a dry laugh and a groan. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Y’real mouthy tonight.”

“Maybe something big in my mouth would shut me up.”

“I got other plans for you,” he mumbles, pulling your earlobe into his mouth and biting lightly.

You inhale sharply. “Hope they’re good considering you woke me up.”

“That how you talk to someone who’s about to fuck you good?” Joel’s breath is hot against your neck.

Your pussy throbs at the thought of having Joel deep inside of you. Eyelids fluttering closed, you think you mumble something like please or sorry or both. If you weren’t so aroused, you’d probably be mad at yourself for essentially giving in already. You orgasmed less than twenty four hours ago. What happened to your self control? If you’re being honest, you’ve never had it when it comes to Joel.

One of Joel’s hands leaves your hips to paw at your breast, flicking your nipple with his thumb and feeling it pebble under his touch. You bite back a moan, but your breathing is shallow and gives you away. Joel hums against you before sucking on the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder. The thought crosses your mind that he’s being forceful enough to leave marks and that there’s a chance Bill and Frank will notice tomorrow, but your mind quickly moves on from the topic when Joel tugs at your nipple. You let out a small squeak at the sensation.

“Think I didn’t notice the way these tits were hangin’ out a dinner?” he asks, breathless, although it’s not really a question. Joel pulls away to admire your chest and yanks your bra down, letting your breasts hang over the fabric. “And in front of strangers, too. Shameless little whore, huh?”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You heard Frank, I’m not their type,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t say anything about bein’ worried. Wouldn’t be anyway,” Joel says, sliding one hand down to your clothed pussy and cupping you. “Y’know who this pussy belongs to.”

You can’t help but think, yours, yours, yours. All yours Joel.

Squirming under his touch, you rut your hips into his hand to chase any hint of pleasure. Your brows are furrowed as you look up at him. He smirks, satisfied with himself, and rubs a torturously light circle on the soaked center of your panties with two of his fingers.

“Feel how wet she is for me, baby?”

Baby. You almost whine at the pet name. Joel calls you pet names all the time, but tonight it’s hitting you differently. You’ve been emotional, maybe that’s it.

Nodding, you sit up on your elbows and grind into his hand. It’s not enough and Joel knows it, but he doesn’t give you more than this. For now. It’s easy to tell he’s enjoying watching you like this, all desperate and needy for him. You still won’t give in and moan, so you just breathe heavily and chew on your lip as you take in the dull pleasure of his thick palm on your hot core.

“Play with yourself,” he instructs, removing his hand from you and standing up.

Your previously heavy lidded eyes are now wild as you stare at him and you make no move to touch yourself. He just stands there, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“C’mon, play with yourself,” he demands, voice low and laced with annoyance. “Y’look real dumb just starin’ at me like that. Haven’t even fucked you stupid yet.”

Cheeks heating up and pussy throbbing, you go to slide your hand under your ruined panties when Joel tuts at you.

“Over ‘em.”

“Joel, are you fucking serious?” you whine, almost sounding like a bratty child.

“Do I look like I’m playin’ games with you?”

You roll your eyes, but acquiesce and begin to play with your clit over your panties. It’s painful how muted the pleasure is. All you want is Joel’s fingers or his tongue or his cock. Really anything besides this. Looking up at Joel, you hope you can give him puppy dog eyes to convince him to fuck you, but you’re distracted by the way he’s palming his cock through his jeans. The hardened length is prominent even in the dark of the bedroom.

“Is this what you did the other night while I was sleepin’?” Joel asks as he undoes his belt.

Your lips part, your eyes widen, and your chest gets hot. Embarrassment spreads over you like wildfire. “I-I,” you stammer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel laughs quietly and takes his t-shirt off, revealing the salt and pepper chest hair that covers scars across his chest. Your eyes are glued to his abdomen, taking all of him in. He shucks off the sweatpants he borrowed for the night, stepping toward the bed.

“I-I-I,” he mocks you cruelly. His teasing goes right to your pussy, making you clench around nothing. “Please, darlin’. I heard you tryna muffle those pretty sounds a’yours.”

A small moan slips from your lips as you frantically rub yourself through your underwear. Your fingers are getting wet through the barrier of the fabric that’s thoroughly soaked by your juices.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” he asks, pulling the covers back and slipping in beside you. Heat radiates off of him and you feel yourself getting sweaty from arousal, embarrassment, and him.

You don’t respond aloud, but you tug at the waistband of his boxers, wanting nothing more than to see his cock. Joel shakes his head.

“Use your words. Y’love to run that mouth, so let’s hear it.”

“You, Joel,” you admit, whimpering. “Your tongue, your cock.”

He hums, pleased by your answer. Joel leans in and kisses below your ear before whispering, “S’what I thought.”

Joel slides his boxers down and kicks them off, his hardened length finally there for you to see. Your lips part as you stare while he strokes himself once and then twice, exposing the red, swollen head of his cock. You pick up the pace of your fingers as if it’ll relieve any ache at all.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He slides down the bed, positioning himself between your legs and pulling your damp panties off. “Since you need it so bad.”

When Joel places a sloppy kiss to your clit, you finally let yourself moan earnestly.

“Love hearin’ those pretty noises,” he mumbles against your cunt between licks.

Relief floods through you as Joel begins to flick your clit with his tongue. Light and fast. Just how you like it. Each movement is precisely what you want. Joel just knows your body at this point. You tangle a hand in his hair to push him closer, to encourage him.

The sounds he’s making as he eats your cunt are utterly obscene and you try not to contribute to the noise by biting your index finger, well aware that you’re in someone else’s house. Two people that were very kind to you and are letting you stay in their home. The least you can do is not moan and wake them up.

Joel makes it hard for you to keep quiet when he slips two fingers in your cunt and curls them upwards, hitting the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. A strangled sound claws its way out of you as you try to hold back your cries of pleasure. When a moan that’s a little too loud slips out, Joel digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your inner thighs and you get the message. Shut. Up.

You look down at Joel. His graying curls are a mess from you pulling on them, his pupils are blown lecherously, and he’s rutting his hips into the bed. The sight of him hurdles you toward your orgasm. Joel can feel you start to clench around his fingers. Knowing that you’re close, the hand that’s not inside of you shoots up and he shoves two fingers into your open mouth. You suck on his fingers as they move in tandem with the ones inside of you, hitting the back of your throat a few times, making you gag.

All the sensations at once are overwhelming when your release hits you. Thighs trembling and closing in around Joel’s head, you moan around Joel’s fingers and tears well up in your eyes, ultimately slipping down your temples and into your hairline.

Joel pulls his fingers from your mouth and your pussy at the same time before lightly smacking the inside of your thigh, conscientious of the volume of the impact. His tongue is still circling your clit and you can’t take it anymore, wriggling away from his touch. Finally, Joel relents, looking up at you with slick, swollen lips. He looks absolutely fucked. His thumb rubs a soothing circle atop of the hair on your mound, sticky and wet from your arousal and Joel’s spit.

You’re panting when he hovers over you, looking down at the sheen of sweat covering you from your orgasm. His cock rests on the soft part of your lower belly.

“C’mere, taste yourself,” he husks.

This is it, you think. He’s finally going to slip his tongue in your mouth and kiss you. You’ve been itching for it since the first time you kissed him and you feel excitement flutter in your stomach. Looking up at him expectantly, you hold your breath, but you’re surprised when Joel’s thumb meets your bottom lip and pries your mouth open. You stick your tongue out without even thinking about it, and Joel spits directly into your mouth. His warm salvia pools on your tongue and you close your mouth, swallowing the taste of both of you.

You can’t help but feel disappointed yet you try to remind yourself that Joel just made you come on his tongue and fuck, it was good. The aftershocks are still reverberating in your core.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice flat and gravelly. “S’that what you wanted?”

Inhaling shakily, you nod. Joel’s forearm rests by the side of your head, your chests pressed together, while he drags his cock through your slick. Every time the head brushes against your clit, you shudder, still so sensitive from your orgasm.

“What else did you say you were thinkin’ about?” he asks, still teasing your slit with his cock.

“Your—”

Joel sinks in without warning and his hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to quiet you before you wake Bill and Frank. It works, mostly. Despite your orgasm and his fingers, his cock still stretches you out. It amazes you that no matter how many times you take him, you still feel him work you open.

Once Joel bottoms out in you and stills, you finish your sentence through exasperated breaths. “Cock. Your cock.”

He groans at this as he begins to thrust into you, shallow yet fast strokes, his cock nearly pulling fully out each time. He’s fucking teasing you. Your moans are hiccupy little noises, not entirely satisfied with the fucking you’re getting. You know if you tell him this, he’ll stop entirely. Just to fuck with you. You also know how to get him going. Just start talking.

“I know you’ve brought other girls here. Is this what you do, Joel? Bring girls you like here?” His brow furrows at your question, still not fucking you quite how you’d like. You’re surprised that your words are coming out so smoothly. “Wine them and dine them, then make them come?”

Joel laughs darkly at this and picks up the pace, earning a quiet moan from you. You feel satisfied with yourself, knowing that you’re getting to him. Part of you wonders if he would’ve reacted differently if you mentioned Tess by name.

“Who said I like you?”

“I-I think—fuck,” you exhale as he starts to fuck you harder, kissing your cervix with the head of his cock. You close your eyes, telling yourself to pull it together long enough to finish your sentence. “You like me. Enough to be in my bed when you’ve got your own.”

Shaking his head, he buries himself deep inside of you and ceases any movement. You almost whine out of frustration, but you hold back. Joel uses his free hand, the one that’s not supporting him, to wrap tightly around your throat. You choke out a moan and clench around him.

“I like you when you shut the fuck up,” he says through grit teeth.

You smile and try to laugh, but it sounds more like a cough than anything. Joel loosens his grip ever so slightly as he starts moving his hips again, fast and deep. Just what you wanted.

“R-Really? Thought you liked hearing my pretty little noises?” you manage to get out with his clutch lighter than before.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groans, shaking his head. He stops moving and this time, you actually do whine. “Can’t keep that fuckin’ mouth shut.”

Joel releases your throat and leans over, still buried inside of you, to reach for your pack.

“What’re you—”

He pulls out a roll of duct tape you keep in the front pocket just in case the soles of your boots start to go. Your eyes widen and you swallow hard to try to get rid of the lump in your throat. Anxiety or excitement? You can’t tell.

“Fleshlights don’t talk,” he mutters before ripping a piece of tape off with his teeth, “and that’s all y’are to me.”

Before you get the chance to even think about something to say, Joel slaps the duct tape across your mouth. It’s primal—the way your breathing becomes heavy and frantic through your nose and your chest heaves, like prey being caught by a predator. At the same time, your cunt tightens around him and you feel arousal leak from you. You think that there has to be something wrong with you. This shouldn’t turn you on this much, right?

Joel doesn’t resume fucking you yet, still and sheathed all the way inside of you. His dark, blown out eyes search your face.

“Breathe, breathe,” he orders, but his voice is almost soft now, stripped of the edge it carried before. A hand comes up to cup your jaw and his thumb brushes the tape. “Breathe for me, baby.”

You close your eyes and focus on your breath and the gentle caress of Joel’s rough hands. Eventually, your breathing becomes normal again, consistent. When you open your eyes, Joel’s looking at you and you think you see a flash of concern cross his face.

“Y’okay?” he asks, waiting for your go ahead.

Nodding a little too excitedly with wide eyes, you lift your hips up and your hands fly to his lower back, trying to press him even close to you. Joel’s hand drops from your face and he wears a smug smile as he throws your legs over his shoulders, now impossibly deep inside of you. You moan, muffled pathetically by the tape.

“Good, ‘cause I gotta keep my word and fuck you real nice.”

Joel grabs a good handful of your thighs, digging his fingers into you, and starts pistoning in and out of your cunt. Your hands fist the sheets, trying to ground yourself as he fucks into you brutally, hitting that sweet, spongey spot deep inside of you. If the duct tape weren’t there to stifle your cries, you’re sure you’d wake up Bill and Frank.

“Much better,” he grunts. “Now I can focus on how fuckin’ nice and tight this cunt is.”

You whimper at his filthy words. Joel has such a mouth on him and you never, ever want him to shut up. Every time he talks to you in bed, you make sure to pay attention, commit it to memory so you can replay it over and over again when you touch yourself.

The tempo he’s set is merciless, his cock slamming into you relentlessly. Your cunt spasms around him and you close your eyes tightly, already feeling that familiar pressure building in your lower belly. Joel notices and he smiles. It’s crooked, smug and exposes his canines. He shifts his angle slightly and rolls his hips into you, groaning quietly. The change earns a wanton moan from you and you arch your back, trying to feel him as deep as possible.

“So damn needy,” he growls. “You were really thinkin’ about this all day, huh?

Joel spreads your legs into a wide V and begins to fuck you slower. You whine, brows pulled tightly as you feel your impending orgasm slip away. His eyes are trained on where his body meets yours, watching his cock, completely coated in your juices, slide in and out of your puffy lips.

“Fuck, sugar.” He exhales. “Look at that. She takes me so well.”

You nod, but you don’t look because you can’t pull your eyes away from Joel. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, broad chest glowing in the moonlight, and you wish you could lean forward and lick the perspiration off of the protruding vein on his neck. Joel’s fucking beautiful.

With your legs spread wide, you feel exposed, but you’re not self conscious. The way Joel’s looking at you, like he could devour you whole, is electric.

He’s still staring at your pussy, enamored, when he gathers his spit in his mouth and lets it fall from his lips, landing directly on your clit. You moan at the sensation, tilting your head back. One of his hands drops to your sensitive bud and he begins smearing the wetness around. The way he rubs your clit with intention is fucking divine and when he starts to fuck you again, you feel that white hot pleasure return.

Joel’s breathing is ragged and you can tell he’s trying not to make too much noise. At this point, you’re not sure if it matters. The bed is faintly creaking, the sound of skin slapping is unmistakable, and although your moans and cries are dampened, you can still hear them.

“Squeezin’ me tight,” he says with a sigh. “Gonna give me another, sugar? C’mon, gimme one more.”

The circling on your clit doesn’t stop for even one second and his hips rocking into you don’t falter—your eyes roll back as you come. Your cunt throbs around Joel’s cock and he groans in response, fucking you erratically through it. The high-pitched cries that pour out of you are softened, but not entirely squashed by the tape. As you come down from your high, Joel pulls out of you abruptly.

Fisting his cock, he mutters your name, sandwiched by expletives that you can’t quite distinguish as your ears are ringing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You manage to sit up on your elbows to look at Joel and the swollen head of his cock, glistening from your cum. With a final groan, he spills his warm, sticky spend on your lower belly and the hair on your mound.

Joel’s panting as he rolls over next to you, hands coming up to rest on his forehead as he shuts his eyes. You sit there and let him catch his breath, just watching the way his chest rises and falls. Once his breathing decelerates, he opens his eyes and looks over at you—lying there with your mouth taped, covered in his cum.

Turning on his side to face you, he lets out a short, dry laugh that could easily be mistaken as a scoff. In one quick motion, Joel rips the duct tape off.

“Ow—fuck,” you curse under your breath. Your hand comes up to rub the soft yet irritated skin in an attempt to soothe the sting. “That fucking hurt.”

“You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes and go to get up so that you can clean Joel’s mess off of you, but he stops you with a firm grip on your forearm. Annoyed and exhausted, you don’t bother fighting it, letting your head drop back onto the pillow.

Joel’s middle and index finger swipe a long stripe down from your belly to your clit, gathering his cum on his fingers.

“Open,” he instructs.

Without a second thought, your lips part and you let your jaw hang open. Joel sticks his fingers in your mouth and you close around them, eyes fluttering shut as you moan and take in the heady, salty taste of his cum.

“Suck.” You do.

“Swallow.” You do.

Fingers popping out of your mouth lewdly, you feel your cheeks get hot with arousal and a hint of embarrassment. Joel knows how much you liked that and you’re sure he’ll hold it over your head at some point.

“That’s my good girl,” he practically coos. You feel sheepish from the praise, forcing yourself to look away.

Joel reaches over and grabs the shirt he discarded earlier from the floor. Tenderly, or as tenderly as Joel seems to be capable of, he wipes the remainder of his spend off of you. His gaze meets yours and the moment feels charged. Your mouth is slightly agape and you notice his eyes flit to your lips. If there were ever a time for the two of you to kiss, it’s now. A few moments pass, and it doesn’t come.

“Such a gentleman,” you mumble, breaking the silence. “Guess you are on good behavior.”

Whatever trance Joel was caught in is broken and he snaps his eyes away from you. He runs a hand through his sweaty curls.

“Oh, fuck off,” he grumbles.

You smile and roll your eyes, adjusting your bra so it’s back in its proper place, covering your nipples that are still hard. For the first time all day, your mind is blank, too exhausted to think. So you let yourself melt into the bedsheets, pulling the blanket up to cover your mostly bare body. Joel doesn’t move. Joel doesn’t say anything.

The only thing you two can hear as you lie on your backs is the sound of each other’s breathing. At some point, you drift off to sleep.

When you wake in the morning to the birds chirping, Joel is gone. You swear you felt him place a gentle kiss on your temple before leaving a few hours ago, but you might have been dreaming.

311 notes · View notes

selfishdoll · 2 years ago

Text

❛ ..SO, SO MUCH.❜

I need you bad I can't take this pain | Boy I'm 'bout to go insane ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ♡ NEED U BAD.

ཐིཋྀ ⊹ 𓈒 SUMMARY.

you thought you were fine breaking up with your highschool sweetheart & avoiding him for a year. when, in actuality, you were not.

ཐིཋྀ ⊹ 𓈒 CONTENT WARNING.

angst (tiny amount), jaded reader (at first) exes to lovers, y’all were highschool sweethearts fr, tattoo artist! choso & college student reader (both 21+), “i missed you” type sex, choso being a sweetheart & very understanding, reconciling, multiple orgasms, oral sex (fem receiving ofc he’s a munch), soft dom choso, pet names & praise, excuse the amount of plot i got carried away, etc.

ཐིཋྀ ⊹ 𓈒 NOTE.

jasmine sullivan & yoci carrying most of my plot ideas. this took way too long omg. also, excuse any typos or grammar mistakes as this wasn’t proofread. also this is 4k+ words so yeah.

How did relationships work? How did love work? Relinquishing a part of yourself to someone, expecting them to cherish and take care of it; doing the same for them. It was something you found silly, maybe even a little arrogant. You’ve seen too many woman in your life give a part— even their entire selves to their partners, only for the relationship to fall apart. Cheating, lies, simply drifting away from one another; so many excuses, so many reasons on why you avoided relationships like the plague.

Until you met him, Kamo Choso.

You remember clearly as if it was yesterday. Freshman year, he was seated in the back of your shared English class. Boredly looking ahead as if he didn’t want to be there. He looked rugged, maybe even a little depressed; overall, you didn’t see yourself becoming friends.. let alone lovers.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Choso had somehow slipped into your life through your beloved shared friend Yuki Tsukumo. From then on things fell into place. You don’t know when or why you started falling for him.

Was it because he was so caring to his younger brother Yuji? Or maybe how sweet he was to you? Always asking if you were okay, always by your side when things got tough, always encouraging you..

You fell, and you fell hard. But Choso fell much harder.

To him, you were perfection. Carefully crafted with zero flaws. He wanted to get on his knees and thank your mother personally for creating you. That’s how much you meant to him.

The moment these thoughts entered his mind he acted fast, declaring his feelings for you sophomore year of highschool. Not even letting himself linger for a month. He wanted, no, needed you as his. And to his happiness, you returned the feelings. From that day, highschool was nothing more then a bliss-filled blur.

You two became known for your loving relationship, many believing you two would marry after highschool. It was silly, you two were teenagers— yet the thought did make you smile. Everything was just.. perfect. There was nothing more you could ask for.

Until, talk of the future entered the bond you two had.

You wanted to become a nurse, planning to attend a college that had an excellent reputation for its program. While Choso wished to become a tattoo artist in your city. One wanted to stay, and one wanted to go. Choso declared he could handle a long-distance relationship, but you couldn’t. As selfish as it was, you simply couldn’t bare the thought of being away from him for so long. What if he strayed? What if you did? You couldn’t bare it at all— something you tearfully confessed to him the week before you moved onto campus.

You vividly remember the scene, it burned into your mind with no chance of escaping. How Choso stood silently, patiently; listening to your concerns and worries— expressionless when you apologized and ended the relationship. And what did he do? He approached you, carefully wiping away your tears as he’s done for you before.

“Take care of yourself.. okay?” He spoke, taking your cheek in a gentle grasp and leaning down; kissing your forehead— sealing the deal.

That chapter in your life was over. You weren’t with Choso anymore, mind focused on your studies and nothing more. A relationship would drag you down anyway.. you didn’t need him.. you didn’t miss him.

“Shit..” You hissed softly, quickly pulling the wand away from your eye, blinking rapidly. It was your own fault; rushing to put mascara on. You should have better time management skills given you were in college and all— but no. Here you were, fighting against time while attempting to finish getting yourself ready for a block party. You hadn’t a clue who was throwing it, only told — or more like forced — to attend by Yuki.

You jolted in your seat when a loud honk come from outside your house, moving around your vanity to peer outside; spotting Yuki’s familiar car. You breathed softly, standing from your chair and fixing your attire. You wore a cute white ring halter top, along with blue jean shorts and black wedge sandals. Gathering your phone, keys, and purse; the gold chain around your ankle jingled as you exited your bedroom and soon house, locking the door behind you.

Yuki rolled down her window, grinning at you as you walked down your driveway. “Uber for (Y/N)?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her shenanigans, opening the passenger side door and entering, shutting it behind you. You buckled up after placing your things down, sinking into the chair. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem, I just wanted to see your face firsthand when I tell you Choso would be there.” The words came out of her so nonchalantly, messing with her radio for a moment all while you stared at her blankly.

You reached for your door, but the woman was much faster; locking and starting up the car. You whipped around to glare at her, “Tsukumo! You told me he would be working.”

“Guess the client cancelled..” She mused, taking the car out of park and beginning to drive away from your house. Yuki side glanced, catching your annoyed expression which caused her to sigh, rolling her eyes. “Look, there’s gonna be quite a few people there— maybe you two won’t speak.” She shrugged, raising her eyebrows in hopes you would relax. You only sucked your teeth, leaning into the car door.

An entire year, you’ve two been away from each other. Contact dwindling into nothing after the second month of college. You two were simply busy leading different lives, you told yourself.

But again, it didn’t matter it’s not like you, missed him anyways.

The rest of the car ride was filled with random radio music and brief chatter, Yuki catching you up on things. You had avoided coming back for any holidays, knowing it would be too much for you. Luckily, she was more than happy to tell you about all the dirt she had on your shared friends.

She soon slowed infront of an unfamiliar house, putting the car into park and soon shutting it off. You glanced around, feeling your anxiety lift when you realized you didn’t see Choso’s car. Good, you could somehow melt into the crowd without him noticing you.

Silently you grabbed your phone deciding to leave your purse and charger in the glove compartment, you exited the car and shut the door behind you. Following Yuki up the driveway, porch, and into the house; music quickly overtook you, with the sweet smell of the grill and alcohol. Some people were resting in the living room or crowding the dining room table, but most were in the backyard playing football, or simply shooting the shit.

You glanced around, eyes twinkling at the familiar faces and waltzing up to them. Laughter and hugs ensued, catching up on things given you haven’t seen each other in about a year.

Your arm was locked around Shoko’s waist, talking about nonsense whilst watching Gojo and Geto play beer pong. Or more like Gojo mocking his best friend for missing such an easy shot.

It was nice seeing everyone like this, the stress of seeing your highschool sweetheart leaving rather quickly. For now you were swept away in nostalgia, enjoying being around the people you cared for.

A cup in hand, you recalled the time you walked in on your dorm mate having sex, cheeks burning from the permanent smile etched onto your features. One that faltered the moment excited voices called out to the pink-haired male entering the backyard.

“You’re finally here, Yuji!” Nobara grinned at her close friend, walking over to him; Megumi close behind. The young man apologized, talking about traffic or what not. You weren’t too concerned about that, given your eyes settled on the person walking in behind him.

Anxiety spilled into you, heart thumping against your chest as you took him in, your ex— Kamo Choso. Nothing much had changed about him, still as rugged and handsome as ever; dressed in a simple black compression shirt and baggy pants. It seemed he decided to forgo his usual hairstyle, the black tresses resting on his shoulders in a messy fashion. One that suited him perfectly.

Your breath hitched, watching his eyes zone in on your instantly. You didn’t wait for a reaction, quickly turning away and busying yourself with your phone. Your eyes did lift a little however when the man passed you, the familiar cologne burning your nostrils and causing your stomach to stir. Before you could even think you were lifting yourself from the chair and waltzing back into the house.

Luckily no one noticed or either failed to comment on your disappearance.

You found yourself heading over to the kitchen, grasping ahold of the silver fridge door and opening it; eyes scanning for some water. You murmured to yourself while continuing to look, attempting to ignore the harsh beating of your heart. You sighed the moment you finally found one, grasping it from its place on the shelf and standing up, closing the door.

Taking the cap off you lifted the bottle to your lipgloss stained lips, taking a few sips whilst leaning against the counter— relishing in the cold beverage. Your eyes closed in thought, attempting to map out a perfect plan on how to avoid Choso.

The backyard was a medium size, yet he was bound to be around Yuji. So, as long as you avoided him, Nobara, and Megumi— you could avoid Choso too! It was foolproof and perfect, nearly bringing a smile to your face.

Leaning up you pulled the bottle from your lips, twisting the cap back on and lifting yourself from the counter, turning and freezing. Breaching the threshold of the kitchen was Choso in all his glory, face turning from talking to someone to stare in front of him, eyes landing on you.

A brief silence entered the kitchen, simply taking the other in. Finally, Choso was the first to speak; “Hey, (Y/N).”

“Hey..” You spoke, annoyed by how small you sounded. You watched as he opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and shutting it closed. The man leaned against the wall beside the kitchen’s opening, opening the bottle.

You glanced around, noticing there were no many exits. You were trapped.

“How’s college?”

“Huh—“ Your head snapped back to the man, spotting his raised eyebrows, awaiting your answer. You nervously licked your lips, leaning back against the counter. “It’s uh.. been good. Classes are a little hard but, ya know.” You shrugged, feeling a heat crawl from your cheeks to the back of your ears. You dragged your gaze from the ground to him, “How’s tattooing? I heard you got your own booth, congrats.”

Choso nodded slowly, a lazy smile pulling his lips. “Yeah, thanks.” He mused softly, placing the cap back onto his water bottle. “Clientele has been good. Been going to tattoo parties and special events.. and things.”

“That’s good.” You forced a little smile, gaze faltering the moment his eyes landed on you. You felt the way they carried down your form, a familar gaze, one that always made you feel far too warm.

Another silence entered the room, both of you refusing to speak.. or leave. You told yourself time and time again you hadn’t missed Choso, that you were done; stuck on the path you’ve chosen. Yet here you were, anxiously waiting for something, anything to happen. You just.. couldn’t let go.

You gripped the bottle you held, eyes drifting back to him, zoning in on the bracelet he wore. It had red and black beads, ones all to familar to you. Starboy, was the words etched onto seven of them. You knew this, given you had your own pink and white charm bracelet labeled Stargirl.

“You still wear that?” The words left you before you could think, Choso blinking from his thoughts and glancing at his wrist. The man breathed softly, nodding soon after. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

Choso went silent, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyes turned up to the ceiling. Finally he shrugged, “I don’t know.” He spoke lowly, causing you to bite your lip. Feelings you had pushed to the back of your mind began to flood within you, flashes of memories you had kept locked away following after.

You turned, rapidly blinking to eliminate the tears threatening to tread down your face. You were kidding yourself for months, thinking you hadn’t missed him. Thinking you were better then the woman in your life, able to cut a man off without a second thought. Yet your heart betrayed you in the most painful way, wanting nothing more to leap into his arms and cry.

His cologne became stronger, a gentle, familiar hand hesitantly being placed onto the one that held your bottle. Your eyes drifted to his face, spotting the concerned look he wore. That was enough for you, tears spilling and traveling down your dark brown cheeks, mouth opening but unable to speak.

But Choso knew what you wanted to say, knew how you felt. The man gently grabbed the bottle from your hand, placing it off to the side whilst his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He ignored the wet feeling that tainted his shirt, resting his chin onto your head all while continuing to hold you. Choso breathed as your shaky hands reached around, grasping his shirt as your buried your face deeper into his chest.

“I’m so sorry Choso..” You managed to whimper out, sniffling shortly after. The words escaped you again, delving into a soft mantra that caused the man to pull you even closer, softly shushing and soothing you. You stood there in his arms, feeling every bit of resolve melt away.

You missed Choso so much, it hurt. The pain rendering your whole body limp, using him for stability.

It took a moment to calm yourself down, soon pulling away, warming as the man reached over to wipe your tears. Just like he did a year ago and so many years prior.

“Why are you apologizing?.. You don’t have to—“

“I didn’t compromise. I was so stuck on myself, running at the first sign of conflict.” You spoke softly, leaning into his palm the moment held your cheek. “I want to try again.. I want to be with you again, Choso. You don’t know how much I missed you.”

The words had barely left you before his lips were covering your own, taking your breath away easily. The familiar, wonderful feeling took over your mind, hands sliding up to wrap around his neck; fingers curling into his messy hair. The moment his tongue swiped across your bottom lip you were parting them, pressing your body into him as a needy sigh escaped you. His hands traveled to the underside of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you on the counter— all while continuing the kiss.

Your legs opened wide, locking around him the moment he stepped between them. The kiss deepened, his hands resting on your ass as soft moans and hisses entering the atmosphere. Sooner then you hoped the kiss ended, pulling away as soft pants fanned on each other’s skin.

“I missed you too.. so, so much.” Choso murmured softly, gripping your plush form as if you would disappear in thin air. No other words followed, the man capturing your lips with such intensity you were tugging at his tresses. Languidly moving his lips, leaving you breathless, threatening to devour you. Your legs tightened around his form, feeling hot beneath your clothes.

His name fell from your lips in a soft whimper, pulling back and resting your head against the cabinet— gasping the moment his lips attached to your neck. Your eyebrows knitted close together, biting your lip as his teeth gently grazed your skin. “Choso, Choso.. not here— we can’t..”

While his lips didn’t stop he listened to your warning, sliding his hands underneath you and lifting you off the counter. You tightened your arms around his neck, face hot with embarrassment as he walked you from the kitchen and towards the back of the house— everyone luckily none the wiser given they were all in the backyard now.

Moving towards a random bedroom he opened the door, shutting and locking it behind him. Waltzing over to the bed he sat down, placing in you in his lap all while his lips continued to press gentle kisses against your neck, collarbone, and throat. Your hands traveled, finding the edge of his shirt and tugging on it, feeling his hands fall from your body to his shirt— peeling it off for you. Tracing his skin, feeling his sculpted sink in the moment your feathery touches reached low— gasped as Choso gently bit your neck, pushing to lay you down on the soft blankets.

“Missed this.. missed your touch, smell, how you taste..” His words drifted, catching onto the the edge of your shirt and slowly pulling off your body. Choso breathed, taking in your naked chest, leaning down. The cool, silver chain he wore tickled your skin as his lips ghosted your chest, a warm hand grabbing your breast to gently squeeze.

You gasped as his tongue glided across your areola and slowly hardening nipple, feeling his free hand flicking the button on your shorts, entering them shortly after. Choso began to suck on your hardened bud, all while his fingers breached your panties, two fingers slowly circling your clit. Your legs rose, hips rising into his touch as your head leaned back against the mattress. Soft breaths of pleasure escaped you, gripping his hair as your eyes were pinched closed.

“You missed this, pretty girl? Missed how easily I could drive you crazy from just my fingers?..” He questioned softly, fingers lowering to push into you, hissing at the way your walls clung to his digits all while his thumb busied itself, rubbing tight circles onto your hard button.

You nodded, clinging onto him as his fingers thrusted and scissored inside of you. “Yes.. fuck— yes.. Missed this so much, Choso.” You gasped, whimpers escaping you as another finger came to stretch you. Wet muffled squelches carried with each thrust and curl into your pussy, bruised lips parted as melodic moans escaped you.

The man hummed softly in enjoyment, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. Sweeter, softer then the way he was ruining you with his fingers, pushing against your gummy walls affectively leading you closer and closer to your orgasm. You whimpered in his mouth, nails dragging from his hair to his arm, feeling the muscles tense with each movement of his hand.

You legs tightened around him, pulling back to gasp, throwing a hand over your mouth the moment you came— muffling the moan that escaped you. Your mess soiled his fingers and your panties, legs shaking as you felt him slowly withdraw his fingers. You breathed into your palm, barely registering his hands latching onto your shorts and peeling them off your body, panties following.

There, his hands slid to the inside of your thighs, pushing them open to reveal the price between them. Choso moaned softly from the sight, hands rising to place his thumbs onto your soaked folds, spreading them. “So messy, princess.” The man teased softly, reaching to press his thumb against your sensitive clit, grinning at the way you whined.

“Choso, please..” You breathed, watching as his body lowered, breath hitching the moment his cool breath fanned across your wet cunt. You whimpered as his thick tongue dragged a stripe up to your clit, the tip circling the button. Your legs threatened to close, causing the man to pull you closer, legs stretched out and resting on his shoulders. Your fingers curled into his hair, crying out the moment his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and running the flat of his tongue against it.

The man pulled back for a moment, hands sliding under your ass and gripping the warm globes, lifting you a little just to smother himself in your pussy. His tongue moved wickedly, gliding up and down your slit before dipping into your warm entrance, thrusting and curling against your walls.

Your fingers clung to his hair, free hand placed against your mouth as you bit your palm, covering the desperate moans that escaped you. Your hips moved, grinding into his face as little tears built within your eyes. Slurping and lapping, enjoying every single drop that dripped from your pussy, moans escaping him. His hips ground into the blankets, chasing your orgasm with such intensity.

Your stomach clenched, arching up off the bed as a muffled swear escaped you, creaming all over his face, feeling his hands tightened as he licked you clean. Your limp body fell back against the blankets, breathing heavily as your legs shook. Soon enough he released you, rising from his spot between your legs and dragging his hands from your ass to your thighs, soothing the warm flesh.

Pushing forward he leaned over your body, hand carrying to your throat and gently grabbing it, pressing his wet lips against your own; you softly moaning at your taste. Slowly, the two of you continued to kiss, his other hand drifting to his sweats to push down his body, boxers following.

Choso pulled away, placing his forehead against your own, sliding his cock between your slit— rubbing against you slowly. Your fingers locked around his wrist, desperate pleas escaping you as your hips rose, searching for more. The man gave a breathy chuckle, smoothing his thumb against your throat. “Needy aren’t we?” The man mused, leaning to kiss between your eyes, hearing you whine.

“Need you, Choso..”

“You need me so bad, put it in yourself.” The man spoke, watching you bashfully blink at him, grinning as you attempted to shy away from his gaze. His hand rose, grabbing your wrist and carrying it between the two of you. Your much smaller hand wrapped around his cock, a hiss escaping his lips from the touch. “Go on, princess..” Choso breathed, gripping the sheets beside him as your hips rose, adjusting to line him up with your entrance before slowly sinking inside.

You never got accustomed to how Choso stretched you— not the first time and definitely not now. Your lips parted, soft moans escaping you as your hips continued to slowly rise. A choked cry escaped you however the moment he flicked his hips forward, burying himself deep inside. “Ch—choso! You..” You whimpered, walls pulsing around his heavy length, feeling him kiss your cheeks.

“Guess I’m just as needy as you baby.” Choso spoke, lip twitching into a subtle smirk. He rose, releasing your throat and resting on his hutches. Hands found the back of your knees, a steady grip as he slowly pushed them down to your chest, watching you breath sharply. Pulling his hips back until the tip was inside, Choso thrusted forward, taking in the way your body jumped and the prettiest moan escaped you.

His rhythm stared quickly, hips snapping back and forth, reaching deep inside; pushing against a spot that caused you to see stars. Your fingers balled up the sheets underneath you, moans escaping you. You had long forgotten the party going on outside, long forgotten the fact you two were separated for an entire year— your mind only focused on how his cock so easily ruined you, toes curling and anklet jingling with each thrust.

The man leaned down, folding you even more as he pressed a hand against the bed, the other curling in your hair, lifting you into a messy kiss. Tongues curling, teeth bumping into each other, eating up the other’s moans as pleasure consumed you. His chain tickled your heated skin, dragging across each time he rutted into you.

“Fuck..” Choso gasped, pulling back to breath, hand moving to gently grabbing your cheeks. “Keep your eyes right here, princess.. that’s it.. look so pretty like this.” He spoke, feeling you clench with each praise that left his mouth.

You felt so damn good, hugging him close; sucking him in each time he pulled back. Your arousal dripped down his length, a sticky ring forming at the base of his cock. Just when your hand rose to cover your mouth again, Choso was snatching your wrist, pressing it against the bed.

“No, no— waited far too fucking long to have you covering your mouth.” He hissed harshly, intertwining your fingers as he buried himself deeper, hitting your cervix.

The pain was quickly washed away with pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came around his cock— a high pitched cry escaping your throat. Tears trickled down your cheeks, other hand falling to his waist to push, and whine; the overstimulation becoming too much.

All for Choso to simply shake his head, pace quickening as he drilled you into the bed. “Know you got another in you.. come on (Y/N).”

You whimpered, head pressed into the blankets as sobs escaped you. “Cho—Choso! Hah.. Can..can’t think, fuck!”

“Then don’t.” The man chuckled in a breathy tone, leaning close as his lips ghosted your lips. “Let me fuck everything out of your mind except for how good I’m making you feel..” A groan escaped him shortly after, eyes glossing over as he felt himself getting close.

Thrusts became desperate, the two of you dissolving into pathetic fits of moans and whines, hands moving across the other’s skin to grip and mark up. Just when you felt your mind going blank you shook, convulsing as you came all over his cock again.

Choso was close behind, burying himself deep and coming; eyes pinched close as he gripped you tightly. His hips stilled, heavy pants escaping the two of you.

The man pulled out shortly after, rolling off your body and falling to your side. Choso didn’t leave you alone long, reaching for your waist and pulling you into his side, turning to place a feverish kiss to his forehead.

A blissful silence covered the silence, simply enjoying the other’s company and warm bodies. Soon though, you rose up slowly, ignoring the aching of your body as your hand found his cheek. “I love you, Choso.”

He smiled at you, thumb caressing your skin as he kissed you gently— mumbling the same on your lips. Moments passed before you two pulled away, you snuggling in his neck arm strewn across his body.

Until.. you blinked, glancing around the room. “Wait.. whose room is this?”

“It’s a guest room.” He murmured back, chuckling softly after. “Gojo might be a little pissed if he finds out about this.”

You shook your head a little, sighing softly. “Choso..”

#mani writes ━━ ★#black!reader #jjk x black reader #jjk smut #jjk x fem!reader #mdni #choso kamo x black reader #choso kamo x y/n #choso kamo x you #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x female reader #choso x you #kamo choso #choso x reader #choso smut #choso x black! fem! reader #choso x chubby reader #choso x curvy reader

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slaaverin · 6 months ago

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I'm in my bed crying over jikook again.

The thing is, I don't even have the proper words to express what I'm feeling.

It's all so..God I don't know. Improbable? Crazy? It's crazy.

You have two humans that have the most pure souls, with impossible high-stakes lives, that somehow found each other and also found the most beautiful love I have ever witnessed in my 32 years of life.

The probability of this happening is almost zero. It shows there are really bigger and smarter things than little us at play in life.

They went through so much, and so much more than any of us will ever be able to imagine, yet they remained pure at heart, with their love growing ever stronger and more potent by the day.

They let us in on everything, and showed us the true depth of their feelings openly (but even so, it's written all over their faces).

They simply care, a lot. The little things, the trips, the quiet moments, all of it, they really do care. It's not for show. It's real.

It's like we're getting a glimpse of something that doesn't belong to us at all. Yet, they are generous enough to let us experience it vicariously through them. Isn't it an act of love on their part? They don't have to do it. It's not even smart or safe or reasonable for them to do it. But they do anyway. Maybe because they wouldn't be able to help it, even if they wanted to?

How weird it is that our love for them is that strong? We've never even met them. Yet we feel for them something more unconditional than what we feel for some people we've actually met. How strange, don't you think? So we cheer on and support and we feel it all. We care too.

And I can't explain how witnessing jikook's love has been wonderful, how it has filled my heart with an immense amount of joy and reverence and beauty. It is a mystery.

Somehow I feel it's not even about them, even if it is, obviously so. It's simply that love. Isn't something most of us miss? Long, crave for? Wish for everybody.

If all the people would be in love like Jimin & Jungkook are, there would be no wars in the world anymore. It would be completely different.

The lack of love produces incredible darkness, and it's only love that can fix everything.

So I think that's why I cherish their love so much. It is so very precious, so very important, in ways they might not even understand. The fact they have such an audience being exposed to their love, feeling all the feelings, it helps the world heal a tiny little.

It's not a small thing. It matters.

If we can all fill our little corner of the universe with that type of love, we would've won all the battles, done what we came here for, and call it a day.

They've gifted us the incredible gift of are you sure, where their love was quiet and peaceful and certain. They've given us the gcf. And Letter. And then there was Rosebowl, and MMA, and Black Swan. A thousand moments. Again and again they've showed us.

Now they are enlisted together, and I think that there's nothing more to add. Nothing to prove. Nothing to show. It is self-evident and we can only smile and be happy for them.

What an incredible journey it has been, full of laughs, of crying. So many tears (of joy).

When they will come out of military, we can say that a chapter of their life will close, and another one will open. Hopefully a even happier one than the one before.

So yeah I've decided to make a rather big edit about it, this first chapter, those 10 years of love.

(And you're not ready with some of the music I chose, it makes you feel ALL THE THINGS, prepare tissues)

Sorry for this post that is going nowhere.

Sometimes I simply need to scream my love for jikook. They truly deserve it.

Aren't they wonderful? Yes. Yes.

Take care lovely jikookers 💜

#jikook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook

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justbelievinginmagic · 4 months ago

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like a waltz⎯ part 5: aplomb. (pt.2)

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: with swan lake’s end approaching, you gain more free time and notice the changes within your port town – and your relationships with the bachelors of ateez house. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e rule of cool), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, canon typical violence, canon typical gore, sugar daddy themes, unequal power dynamics, polyamory, exploitation in ballet, intimacy, Korean honorifics, controlling & obsessive tendencies, infatuation, stripping, gambling, mafia things, alcohol, smoking, kissing, possessiveness, jealousy, stalking, sexual themes but no smut, alcohol abuse, partying, pain, medical drug usage, traumatic injury, injuries, reader discretion advised & 18+ readers only! Let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 30.2k previous chapter <- aplomb (pt. 1) -> next chapter series masterlist read on ao3! important note: hi! this part was too long for tumblr’s word count rules, so it has been split! please make sure you've read the first part of this chapter, here! or you can read it uninterrupted via the ao3 link ;)

It was the last show. The backstage was buzzing. Ballerinas ran about, preparing for the last performance with vigor. Murmurs of excitement flooded the room. Some of the male dancers popped their heads in eyes shut; after all, the space was forbidden to them as they chatted about the later activities. Wine and champagne had been bought; rumors of a cake were going around too.

YN was excited. She was ready for Swan Lake’s run to end – tired of the same routine. She enjoyed its monotony for only so long. Spring would bring new choreographies, new roles, new everything. She was excited to share it with her patrons.

Her patrons! Oh, she was so excited to see them tonight. It was a time to show off – though she wouldn’t risk angering the Madame again. Once was enough and she did want to be on her good side before auditions crept up for whatever show they’d perform next. Tonight, simply, had to be perfect. For them.

YN adjusted her top, making sure her strands of pearls laid nicely around her neck. Her makeup was perfect; she wiped at her lipstick to make sure, if she pressed any kisses to their cheeks, it wouldn’t stain too much.

Wooyoung and San would be there but perhaps even Yeosang and Yunho… they promised! And Jongho had hoped to see her again! Oh, she hoped to see them all. Wiping her hands from her lipstick she went to go warm up. Tiny ran up to her.

“YN, YN, YN!” she chimed. “You have a delivery!”

YN’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked up to the doorway to see a familiar unfamiliar face. A butler with that shared stoney expression stood there, blank-faced, with the largest bouquet of flowers she’s ever seen. All red and pink, vibrant blooming roses overflowed from the vase. A singular marigold stood out in its golden glory in the center. Odd, but not any less impressive. Fresh flowers in winter in such amounts were rare. No, they were expensive. Ballerinas around her gasped out, covering their mouths in awe.

“I’ve never seen so many flowers – not even for the prima ballerina!” a woman chimed.

“Who’s it from?” Tiny inquired.

“Her patrons, no doubt,” an older girl scolded the other.

Tiny stuck her tongue out before glancing up at YN with wide intrigued eyes. Taking the vase, it was almost too heavy for her to hold.

“Let me,” the butler said, voice muffled and tight. He barely even moved his mouth she noted.

YN nodded and guided him into the room to her shared vanity. Her vanity-mates glared as it took up most of their communal space.

“Thank you,” she thanked the butler who simply bowed respectfully and turned to leave.

“Who is it from?” Tiny insisted again. “I think Wooyo!”

“Okay, okay, let’s see!” YN laughed, grabbing the white card that was stuck next to the marigold.

‘Good luck, our treasure. I wish you the happiest closing’

The card was thick but the handwriting was unfamiliar to her. Not Wooyoung’s scrawl or San’s messy blocky letters or even Yeosang’s cursive. Could it be Yunho or Jongho? She wasn’t sure. There was no signature, no emblem, nothing.

“I’m not sure,” YN said. “I’ll ask them when they arrive.”

“They’re so pretty,” Tiny awed. YN agreed before telling the younger they should get ready for places.

The performance was invigorating. The orchestra was loud and booming; the lights were hot against her skin; the air buzzed with excitement. Familiar faces clashed with new in the crowd – a sold-out house for their last performance. She was beaming.

Her grin only grew more when she spotted her box – Box #8. It too was quite full. Wooyoung and San’s forms were familiar in their favorite chairs. But besides them sat four others. Yeosang was beside Wooyoung, a pair of opera spectacles in his grasp. Surprisingly, Jongho also sat there occasionally whispering to Yeosang about the performance. His smile and sparkling eyes caught her attention the most. Behind them, more shadowed in the darkness of the booth, was Yunho and Mingi, tall even in their seats. She could see the way their teeth sparkled when a light flickered past.

All of them came – well, all that she knew – it was such a pleasant sight. Her chin held high as she pirouetted, the correct number of times, and leapt off stage with the others.

“YN has a full box tonight,” a girl teased.

“At least she has folk here; Mina’s patron is a no show.”

Takahashi wasn’t here? Strange. She hadnt noticed in the crowd. She was too occupied with the thoughts of her six bachelors.

“Maybe someone else will go after her then,” a dancer commented.

“He pays well.” Another chimed. “No one would dare!”

“Stop talking about patrons; rude girls!” Julia scolded out of nowhere.

They all glanced aside, annoyance to surprise flickering over their faces.

Intermission came and went. It was the rare moment where the boudoir was closed. As if to make the appeal of it even more scandalous, more exclusive. She didn’t expect her excitement to tickle her stomach; for her anxious bones to miss the faces of her patrons. It was only an intermission but she still couldn’t sit still. Her eyes kept glancing to the settee – a settee that was vacant. Would it be able to seat seven? She wondered.

The show was at its closing. The music was crescendo-ing as the prima ballerina was curtsying and genuflecting to the crowds’ roars and cheers. Shouts of bravos cried out. The envious part of her cried out too; she wanted to be that. One day, one day….

Flowers were tossed on stage; mostly dried considering the chill that had encompassed the city. It only made her own pride bubble up at the thought of her large vase in the boudoir. She was special. She was better. YN watched the prima’s patron – an elderly man – struggle to stand and clap for her. It was so fascinating that with him the dancer had made it to the limelight. Glancing up at her box, she saw them all on their feet, applauding. Applauding for her.

Yes, she knew one day… she’d be in the prima’s spot – the way they applauded and made her feel it; she’d feel that spotlight. Just you wait.

And then the curtain fell; the bright lights of the stage dimmed with its closure. She turned to long-time friends hugging them and congratulating them on a well-done show. The prima, the featured dancers, and even Julia had all scurried off – the false ideation that they were somehow better than the others celebrating was laughable to YN. They all were the same – they all had to appeal to someone higher than them.

She squeezed Tiny into a hug, telling the girl how proud she was. The little girl beamed and chattered on about next season and her what ifs. She even claimed how she was going to get a patron next!

It made YN sick to her stomach a bit. She remembered when she was just like Tiny though. Wishing and hopeful. Perhaps she had gotten her dream; her patrons were polite and good and gentle.

“Champagne in the foyer de la danse!” Someone shouted out and there were cheers.

The boudoir had become a mix of people – the male dancers had snuck their way in, wiggling amongst the sea of women and girls changing out of their costumes into their street-wear. Giggling and stories and conversations bounced off the gilded-caged walls.

Makeup was shoved into drawers; champagne and cheap wine were placed on the vanities’ table-tops. A record player was rolled in, its needle sharp and scratching as a couple girls fiddled with it.

All YN could do as she waited, dressed-down into her day-skirts and blouse, was look around. The younger girls were ushered out by the elder ballerinas, insisting they could join next year (even if that was far from the truth for some). Patrons of old age and new came pouring into the room. Like a bunch of sardines in a can, the room was packed. YN remained close to her vanity; the table-top full of her flowers haloing her as she waited, fiddling with her jewelry.

It took too long she first thought. What if they don’t come? She could see the other patrons with their proteges. Drinking down wine and smoking cigars. Some danced, although too pressed up and scandalous for her taste. Where were her men? Her eyes glanced over the crowd again.

But when they did arrive, it was exciting. It was exciting to see them all enter the boudoir, side-by-side and glamourous in their dark, slick suits. Drawing eyes. Yet their eyes remained on her. All on her. All for her. She didn’t want it to be a status symbol but it surely felt like it. Six handsome bachelors all wanted her. Her attention, her hand, her affection. If she despised them, surely it would’ve been an arduous task, but each one was kind, sweet in their own way.

Wooyoung, her first – the very first of the Ateez Mansion bachelors to see something in her, strode ahead, pushing through the crowds and eager to congratulate her. A grin grew on his face as his fingers itched to hug her, spin her about.

San, her second – the courteous man who always made sure she was comfortable – wasn’t far behind but he did glance aside at the others as if making sure they remained by his side. A bouquet of flowers was held close to his chest.

Yeosang, hands clasped politely in front of him, beamed with pride – the same pride he wore when he won a championship. As if she was just as worthy of a prize.

Jongho, the man that saved her that night, shifted on guard, but his face warmed at the sight of her, as she was swallowed up in Wooyoung’s hug. Safe, happy. He wanted that for her. His smile on such a stoic face felt like an achievement.

Yunho and Mingi, side by side, glanced at one another as they grinned. This felt right, her with them. They both couldn’t deny it; she couldn’t deny the safe feeling that she felt with their gaze on her.

“You did beautiful, swanette,” Wooyoung whispered fondly in her ear, pressing a kiss to the cartilage.

Pulling back with the largest grin, he soaked up the celebrations all around. Popped champagne, giggling girls, and the sound of a record player playing nearby. It was a party for sure – and that happiest he had seen most of the girls in the boudoir.

San was standing over Wooyoung’s shoulder, smiling wide.

“Hello honey,” he hummed out.

Wooyoung shifted her in his grasp, arms swooping to rest around her waist. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the flowers. Red roses, dozens of them, were wrapped up in dark paper bouquet.

“You did well,” he praised, leaning forward to press a kiss to her temple and shuffled the bouquet into her arms.

“Thank you, Sannie. Thank you.”

He didn’t know how much she meant it. Their patronage, it helped. It helped her save money; it helped her gain a reputation; it gave her credibility. But it also… made her happy. They made her happy. She loved spending time with them; their company was something she cherished, almost more than their patronage.

San beamed at the sight of her and the florals in her arms. The tall figures of Yunho and Mingi shuffled on either side of San. Yunho handed over the flowers he held to his best friend. Mingi approached with a large bouquet, almost competing in size with San’s.

“Congratulations,” he rumbled out, handing her him and Yunho’s flowers – a collection of white roses, countless amounts of the blooms (somehow fragrant and flourishing in the middle of winter.)

“Thank you,” she smiled up at him even as he shambled the comically large collection of flowers in her arms. “Thank you for coming! Did you like it?”

Mingi smiled at her. “Of course; I loved to watch you.”

Her face flushed pleasantly and he couldn’t help but grin wider. YN shifted the bouquets around, trying to find an easier way to hold them. They nearly swallowed her whole. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get them home – alongside the ones that were delivered earlier.

“You look like a honey bee,” San giggled. Yunho smiled fondly at her.

“These are more flowers than I’ve ever had,” she fluttered, holding them closer. Mingi’s smile was pure like the smile he had shared with her when he bashfully went to open her door awkwardly when she visited the mansion for the first time. Genuine and boyish.

“You like them?” Mingi asked.

“I love them!” she replied easily.

Mingi preened at that; Yunho glanced over at him with a sweet smile.

“Shall I hold them for you?” Jongho was the one to speak up, taking a step forward.

She nodded. “Thank you.” He took hold of the bouquets. She was quick to squeeze his hand. “Thank you, all of you for coming. I’m so happy to see you all.”

The men shared a smile before murmuring out agreements. That they wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Her mountain of flowers was shifted to their settee, untouched in the wildness of the party. By this point in the season, they knew who claimed that part of the boudoir.

She asked who sent the vase; no one had an answer.

“Perhaps Seonghwa?” Yunho prompted, glancing at them.

“He enjoyed your work, love.” Jongho told her, nudging her with his arm.

“I’m happy he did. I wish I could’ve met him.” she admitted. Jongho shrugged a shoulder.

“One day, I’m sure.” He smiled reassuringly. She loved his smile she realized.

“Dance with me?” Yeosang tapped her hand to get her attention. An upbeat song was playing; similar to the music he was listening to while practicing.

“Oh sure!” she beamed.

He quickly took hold of her hands and the two began to dance alongside the other attendees. Wine was passed around; Yeosang sipped on it and let her drink some from his glass, pouring it into her mouth. Her hand eventually held a flute of champagne, something she easily drank.

At previous closing parties, she’d never celebrate so wildly. It was known to rarely accept alcohol from a patron – even if they insisted. After all, alcohol and wits don’t mix. But this was her patrons, her bachelors. She couldn’t help but feel the wash of safety over her.

So, she drank and danced and sweated and laughed. She was spun about, dancing in a sort of waltz between Yeosang, Wooyoung, and surprisingly Jongho! She was held close as they led the dance; not once did she step on their toes, the benefit of being a professional ballet dancer.

Jongho complimented what he thought were the most beautiful parts of the ballet, using ballet terminology she was surprised a man cared about. Somehow she was always the most beautiful part.

Yeosang enjoyed the socialite life; he would swoop her into the newest dances. Swinging her this way and that, others would look and clap at their dancing before joining in.

Wooyoung stole kisses, peppering her face. He rambled how he was so proud of her, so happy they’ve met, even that he loved her. She told him she cared for him too, pressing a kiss to his lips easily. It was all a whirlwind, spinning carousel of dancing, endless mirrors, and familiar patrons. She embraced the feeling, the wildness, courageously.

Meanwhile, Yunho, San, and Mingi stood nearby. Their gazes took in the entirety of the hall. As the night crept onwards, the debauchery grew. Patrons manipulated ballerinas this way and that. Yunho gritted his teeth. They may trade in alcohol, money, diamonds, and threats – they didn’t trade in people or sex. It had been that way since the beginning.

“I hate them,” Yunho grunted out to San as he raised his glass to his lips, faking a sip. Someone had to remain sober.

Mingi mumbled out an agreement, staring at how a man twisted a woman around to press a hot kiss to their mouth.

San’s brows twitched in agreement, his gaze stoney as he reached out to tug YN closer by her hips. She was in half-conversation with a ballerina, her smile bright as she remembered a dance memory. Wooyoung’s arm was slung around her waist as he raised his glass to his mouth, drinking down expensive liquor.

San hovered over her shoulder and she naturally turned.

“Oh, hello,” she chirped out and he couldn’t help but smile, features softening.

“Hi honey,” he replied quietly. “You having fun?”

YN nodded. “I never celebrated like this,” she admitted. “It wasn’t ever safe.”

Nearby, Jongho’s firm lip rose into a scowl. He understood why as he saw a man grasp a ballerina’s thigh. He looked over his clan and stood firm.

“You’ve got us,” Jongho promised.

Wooyoung giggled, pressing kisses to her throat. “Yeah, swanette!”

“Are you having fun?” she asked, doe-ishly looking between the men sat on the settee. Mingi immediately sensed she had more to drink than he thought.

“Of course, baby,” he replied. “You have fun.”

“I want to dance,” she reached out for his hand. Wooyoung, a giggly drunk, let her walk towards Mingi and pull him to feet. The taller man smiled and carefully wrapped her up in arms. Embracing the way, she leaned into his chest near immediately.

Wooyoung leaned back into San’s chest; the muscle of the two pressed a kiss to his own neck making him giggle out.

“No more to drink for her,” Yunho warned Mingi as he watched on loyally.

“Alright,” Mingi replied, spinning YN easily.

“No more drink for you either,” San rumbled, stealing the rest of Wooyoung’s drink and downing it in one gulp.

Wooyoung’s eyes burned, staring at the mouth that had gulped down his liquor.

The night crept on until she was wiped out, half asleep in Yunho embrace. Shockingly out of them all, Yeosang remained on his feet dancing with her most of the night until Yunho had traded spots with the other.

The boudoir was a mess, proper. Figures blended into one another; empty bottles strewn about; a pile of records rested next to the record player. Its tune played on until with a click the needle popped off the record for what had to be the 3rd time.

“Ready to go home, darling?” Yunho murmured into her hair; it had long been taken out of its tight bun by the hands of her patrons. Wanting her to be comfortable – San had claimed she’d have a headache the longer she had her hair pinned so tightly. Yeosang commented that she’d probably have a headache regardless. Jongho’s pocket was heavied with her hair pins.

She nodded dazed. “Mmhm.” She agreed.

The clock chimed out the late hour just as the bachelors and their ballerina made their way out of the opera house. Walking past the private boudoirs, they could hear moans from inside – even this late into the evening. It made YN frown, curling underneath Yeosang’s embrace further.

“We have your flowers in the trunk, love,” Jongho told her as two automobiles pulled up, driven by those faceless butlers.

She blinked and nodded at his words. Her head pulsed, her limbs heavy with sleepiness. It had been a long day but a fun one. She had enjoyed dancing the night away with them. It was the first time she had a true fun time at a party. Safe and sound. She didn’t once get groped by a passing man; if they had tried, she was sure one of her patrons would’ve broken their hand. She giggled at that.

Wooyoung eyed his giggly ballerina with a lovestruck look. The alcohol had trickled from his veins as the night went on and while he still felt the blurry buzz he was more about himself now. San on the other hand had began to drink down Wooyoung’s drinks and now was half slumped over his shoulder, hot breath against his unbuttoned throat.

“We’ll take the second car,” Yunho informed, arm going to sling over Mingi’s shoulder. “Jongho?”

“I’ll go with the pretty lovebirds,” he chuckled watching as Yunho passed YN off to Yeosang’s arms. Who she immediately began to fawn over, saying how pretty and handsome he was much to the athlete’s blushing.

“See you back at the house,” Mingi said nodding at the group as they walked to their own car.

The car ride was longer than she had expected, but it was all a blur of houses and lights and compliments. She couldn’t help but look between her patrons and her athlete. Confidence tumbled out of her mouth as she complimented and wooed.

“You’ve changed my life… I love you y’know,” she mumbled into Yeosang’s collar before she fell asleep.

It was breaking dawn by the time the cars returned to the Ateez House. Daybreak painted the air a purple-pink as they walked into the grand mansion. A sleeping YN rested in Jongho’s arms as they passed rows of butlers.

“Let him know we’ve returned,” Yunho commanded, passing by them. “With his ‘treasure’.”

A butler carried her copious amounts of flowers behind her; they headed to the study that had been deemed hers recently. Decked out in soft linens and laces, they’ve slowly tried to add a more feminine touch for her. A proper lady’s sitting room.

She was laid on a long couch, pillows of silk elevating her head and a light blanket placed over her form. Her flowers decorated the room quickly as the men made sure she was settled.

“She’s adorable,” Wooyoung cooed, lovingly. His fingers caressed her cheek. “You should’ve heard her, Yun. Babbling on about how she loves us. She loves us!” He giggled happily. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sure she was sweet.” Yunho commented, pushing a strand of her hair away.

“Are you sure its okay that we brought her back?” Jongho mumbled from nearby, stretching his legs as he sat on the loveseat beside her.

“She fell asleep in my arms,” Yunho argued. “While dancing! She wouldn’t have been able to walk up the steps to her house.”

“Softie,” Mingi teased, ever to used to being called the soft one. Yunho leaned forward to press a kiss to Mingi’s forehead, somehow scoldingly.

“She’ll be asleep most the day anyway. Business as usual can still happen.”

“I’ll go talk to them now.” Jongho yawned out, pushing himself out of the comfortable chair with a groan. “We can figure out who will stay with her. Try to get some sleep in the meantime.”

After all, Seonghwa and Hongjoong were growing anxious to meet her – and this was just tempting the cat with the mouse.

When YN awoke that morning, she felt a growing impatience. Scratch that, she had been impatient the moment she woke up in the fluffy bed in Yeosang’s room with her legs elevated and broken. Now, she was practically itching to leave. Every moment awake, she glared and fought with the hard feelings that filled her chest.

Doctors came and went under the watchful gaze of Yunho who had set up shop at the nearby desk. Her legs were checked and checked and checked again. Bandages reapplied; cast reset; medicine increased and decreased. Pillows fluffed and readjusted. While there was no pain anymore, she almost feared that more. The numbness, the stiffness, the sluggish feelings all weighed her down to the bed. She was tired of Yeosang’s bedroom. She was tired of sitting in one place. She was tired of the few faces she’d see day in and day out. The doctors didn’t talk to her; their heads always turned to speak to an overseeing Yunho.

Jongho and Yeosang came to visit each night, more so because she was in Yeosang’s bed. But they spoke to her as if nothing was wrong, snuggling up to her and stroking her face. She cursed her cruel heart for already letting herself soften in front of them. Jongho’s rare softness that made her feel special was a wicked advantage. Yeosang’s devotion and alibi of being away gave him an easier key to her good graces. When she spotted them, she didn’t grimace or glare (as much). But they knew by the way she refused their affections, turned her head at their kisses, that she was upset.

A week of bedrest was driving her nuts. She wasn’t the type to enjoy inactivity. She glared over at Yunho who sat at the desk at the far end of the room. He had become a sort of baby-sitter. Baffling to her, considering he was always busy before. Where was Mingi? Or Wooyoung or San? She hadnt seen either since the day she walked out of the mansion.

Even a butler watching over her wouldn’t be odd. They had done it all before.

She observed him from her palace of pillows; it seemed like she woke to a new one tucked around her. Sometimes she wondered what happened when her eyes shut. Who visited her then – if anyone?

Yunho’s aura was dark like a storm cloud, but she knew him well enough – or thought she knew him well enough – to steady a glare at him fearlessly. A swirl of smoke tumbled from his mouth as he pulled a cigarette away from his lips. Her anxiety was palpable.

“Darling,” he tried to soothe. She’d been staring at him for so long he couldn’t make out the numbers he was reviewing for Jongho. “What is causing you so much distress? I can feel your eyes on me.”

Yunho spoke genuinely, concern pooling in his starless eyes. He was dedicated to the family – dedicated to her. He had never wanted this, warned her against it; he hid away when he knew he’d receive the order. His eyes burned her skin.

YN felt like she was doing a pirouette over and over and over; her head dizzy with the implications that they just didn’t get it! It was almost funny. What did he think was the matter? She had broken legs! What was making them so blind?

“I’m angry,” she stated.

“I know that,” he sighed out. Remnant smoke billowed from his nose like he was a dragon before he snuffed out his cigarette. “What can I do to make it better?”

“I want to leave. I want to get out of this stupid bed.” Her hand slapped against layers of duvets frustratedly.

“Done.” Yunho chimed out, almost energetically. Enthusiastic even.

He kicked back the chair with a scrape of the wood against the floorboards. YN’s head lifted from a silk pillow, startled.

“Huh?” she whispered.

She hadn’t expected this. Compliance. Help. Her heart’s heaviness lifted as she watched him stride over to her.

“Mingi,” Yunho called out, his eyes never leaving hers as he watched her push and wiggle at her sheets and duvets. Beneath the layers, she had been dressed in a new pajama dress, something pure white and silky. She wondered who did that. She remembered how Seonghwa had promised a hot bath but she had fallen asleep then. Who was tending to her so intimately? She shivered.

“Mingi!”

There was a shout of acknowledgement and a thundering of footsteps. Ironic considering how he was the one to sneak around – according to, well, himself. She remembered how he’d sneak up on her in the gardens – to whisk her away to the garage or to play chess. She wished for those days again but she also didnt; her stomach churned.

“Yes?” Mingi opened the door tentatively. His eyes met hers and he couldn’t help the way his knees nearly buckled. “Hi baby. You’re awake.”

He sounded relieved, grateful, happy. His smile was wide. His gaze flickered to his best friend, almost as if checking in with him. Yunho nodded. Mingi crept closer kneeling at her level. It was cruel how this was the first time they had been apart for so long – him, San, and especially Wooyoung. And how despite everything, her phantom pains, her anger and biting dread, she missed him.

She hated that she missed him.

His hand went to cup her cheek and she hated the way she automatically curled into it’s warm. Mingi chuckled softly; it was almost a damp sound. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. Hot breath brushed over her face. Glancing up, she saw Yunho shadowed Mingi’s form, smiling.

“Lift up our sweetheart for us.” Yunho asked. “San’s still out, yes?”

Mingi nodded, not even looking over his shoulder at his best friend and co-Underboss. All he could do was cherish the softness of his baby-doll’s skin. Its warmth. She was here. She was okay. He smiled, diamonds glinting.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he encouraged, tone rumbling against her skin. She listened and did so, excitement bubbling up in her stomach. She was leaving. She was going to be free.

Mingi easily wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up; Yunho made sure she was appropriately covered, shifting her nightgown about.

“Where to?” Mingi asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“To the study.”

No.

She gripped harder at the back of Mingi’s neck. Catching his attention, wide eyes shifted to look at her.

“No, I want to leave.” She insisted.

“You wanted to leave the bed. C’mon.” Yunho clarified as he walked out of the room.

“No, Yunho.” She cursed out. “Mingi, please, I want to leave.”

She could see Yunho shake his head disapprovingly as Mingi rose and followed after. She didn’t do anything easy; squiggly in her lover’s grasp. Mingi’s grasp tightened, reminding her that he was stronger than he seemed. Despite his softness around her, there was strength in his veins.

“Relax; you’ll hurt yourself,” Mingi tried to soothe as he rounded a corner. Yunho parted from them going down another path.

“I don’t care!” she bit out, pushing at Mingi’s chest. Her casted legs clanked together and she flinched back a pained yelp.

“I do.” Mingi argued back. “What are you gonna do, walk out of here?”

It was said with irony, but she felt the truth burn her. She hissed a breath in and shoved at him again, just for the cruelty of it.

Mingi’s eyes were pools of amber, soft and regretful, but he swallowed it down. His Adam’s apple bounced and he continued towards the study that had been hers since her arrival to the Ateez House.

Coated in golden sunlight, the sunset casted the room in warmth. A fire-place was dimly lit, needing to be stoked but ultimately not there for warmth yet. The couch was prepared for her she noted; blankets and pillows piled up; a book and even a steaming cup of tea rested on the tableside. Yeosang’s doing, she thought, but when Jongho and Yunho walked in she debated if it was perhaps the youngest. Behind them, a line of butlers followed, mechanically.

Mingi carefully set her down, tucking her legs underneath a blanket like she was a babe. She shifted her form up on her arms; her body ached from misuse, and she couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that tumbled from her mouth.

“I know,” Mingi tried to soothe.

He didn’t know; she felt that in her bones.

The butlers lined up in front of the fireplace at the direction of Jongho, pointing to where to go. Yunho settled at a small table in the corner of the room, watching as Jongho worked. His long limbs stretched out – even he had grown tired of that bedroom.

“Hello, love,” Jongho greeted finally. His eyes sparkled when they looked at her. She didn’t reply. Staring.

He huffed a bit, unused to the treatment but Seonghwa had reassured him it’d take time. He had been so inconsolable though Jongho wondered if he simply said anything to get him to be able to focus once more.

“I’m happy you are up and about.”

“I want to leave.” She reiterated. “I want to go home.”

“Our home is your home now,” Jongho replied. “It has been for a while but even more after everything.”

She glared. That wasn’t the answer she had wanted.

“These butlers are just for you, babydoll,” Mingi directed her, nodding towards the row of stone-faced butlers. Each one wore a pinned red rose; the only alteration to their uniformed look.

“If you need anything they’ll help you.” Jongho finished for the other.

“If I wanted to leave?”

Mingi looked like a kicked puppy. Soft brows upturned and his eyes big and glassy. His lips were pouted, plump. He didn’t look like a mafia boss in that moment; he looked like someone had ripped his heart out.

“Not that.” he mumbled; his brows crinkled and he licked his puffy lips before glancing aside and sitting beside her on the couch, minding her legs. “No leaving, no hurting yourself. You have to heal, YN. Rest. And heal.”

“I wouldn’t have to heal if you all didn’t do this to me!”

She tilted her head a leveled him with a glare that was so unlike her. His lips parted like someone had punched him. He glanced away. Yunho gritted his teeth. Jongho’s fists curled and uncurled.

“I’m a prisoner here, Mingi.” She told him. “A doll for you to play with when you wish.”

“I don’t think that-“

“So cruel, dove,” a voice sighed out, heeled boots clanking on hard-wooden floors.

There was a clicking sound of a tongue, like a tut. The butlers dispersed quickly like a house of cards falling. “After everything, you are still being a brat.”

“Shall I direct my ire at you instead?” YN grimaced glancing over at Seonghwa… and Hongjoong.

The sight of them made her breath catch. They both looked different but she wasn’t sure if that was just the betrayal. They were still dressed to the nines but parts of their looks were absent – Seonghwa had no coat, revealing his white dress-shirt with its shirt garters, and Hongjoong’s hair was mussed from removing a hat. He observed her, coldly. Icily.

She felt like she had seen them both wear what they had on to the opera once or twice. She wondered if they had been to it – appearances were still to be upheld in high society after all. All while she rotted away. Her career in shatters with her bones.

It made her bear her teeth. Mingi sighed beside her, glancing away. He understood her anger – he hated to be stifled. But there were worse things in life than to be loved and cared for. He thought of all the things he had to do in his lifetime; all she had to do was stay and be theirs. Easy.

“I’ve dealt with harsher things in life than a scorned lover,” Seonghwa commented.

He didn’t approach her, but instead he tended to the nearby fire. Hongjoong went to the nearby serving cart, pouring himself a drink with a large ice cube in his glass. Yunho met his Captain’s eyes solidly. Hongjoong’s hand went to squeeze his shoulder, reassuringly.

“I have eight lovers,” Seonghwa continued; it should be comforting that she was still included but her stomach only fizzled with burning coals. “You think a little disagreement will harm me, my dove?”

How dare he imply her legs being broken and her fury was nothing so flippantly?

“A little disagreement!” she gritted out, shifting her body to move as if she could hobble over to the cocky man. Her limbs argued immediately, zinging pain went up her legs as she grunted out a pained gasp.

Mingi and Jongho were quick to move to her side, kneeling down on scuffed knees to resettle her. Mingi’s eyes were wide, fearful. Jongho’s face was unreadable as he laid a protective hand across her legs, keeping them still.

“You’ll hurt yourself, baby,” Mingi insisted. “Be careful.”

Her hands formed little fists, and she huffed.

Seonghwa turned to glance at her, a sharp leer on his diamond-teeth.

“You can’t do much in this state, YN,” he said. “Be a good girl and sit back.”

She glared up at his beautiful face. YN could feel Mingi’s and Jongho’s bated breath against her knees. It was silent for a moment as she and the Consiglere of the Kim Clan glared at one another. It was strange. Out of all of her lovers, it felt like Seonghwa was the one most scorned. As if she had hurt him. Gaslighting her into thinking she was the villain. Despite the fact, she felt in her bones that he or Hongjoong orchestrated the attack on her. He was there that night. He was the one to ‘rescue’ her from her assailants, carry her to safety. A Lucifer-hero.

Yet here he stood with a stiff upper lip, a scowl in his eyes. Strange considering he still said he loved her – like a disappointed parent he strove to displine alongside Hongjoong.

Mingi’s head drooped. His forehead brushed against her clothed knees. His soft lips pressed a kiss there, to one knee and then the other reverently. Encouraging her to listen.

Her gaze shifted from Seonghwa to Hongjoong who stood swirling his drink. His tongue prodded his cheek, eyes deep and dark at they stared at her. Emotionless.

With a curled lip, she laid back into the cushions.

“Good girl,” Seonghwa praised, returning the fire-stoker to its holder with a clank. He glanced towards Yunho. “Is she well?”

“Doctor said all she needed was rest – he’ll check on her in a month. I insisted on sooner, but she is healthy, no fever, no infection.”

It felt dehumanizing for them to talk over her health like she wasn’t there. She glared over at Seonghwa, watching as he nodded and agreed with Yunho’s debrief, but when his gaze flickered to her, her eyes were chased away. Instead to rest back on Hongjoong.

Hongjoong. Flashes of their last encounters clashed in her head. An angel holding her in his arms, dark disappointment, brooding anger. A cruel mouth as he warned her to not follow through with what she was going to do. He was Scorpio’s son, through and through. Passionate in everything he did. Even now as he stared, there was the ringing depth in his eyes as he tilted his head in thought at her.

Yunho and Seonghwa talked about her health – mentions of medicine amounts, how one makes her drowsier than he’d like, restlessness. It was like Yunho was a proper doctor with how in-depth he was. She’d be flattered if they werent the reason.

“Reduce the medicine soon; I don’t want her becoming dependent.” Seonghwa commented.

Now that made her laugh, loud into the open air. Tears pricked her eyes.

“I can’t believe you – all of you,” she bit out. Her eyes continued to remain locked with Hongjoong.

She always knew he was the one that ran this place – everyone was in debted to him. Even her!

“You worry about dependency; this entire relationship is dependent.” She bit out.

Hongjoong’s brows didn’t twitch; his face remaine statuesque. He raised his glass to his lips swallowing down his drink as he watched her breakdown.

“Stop being difficult,” Seonghwa scolded.

Jongho was the one to speak up, his hand on her knees soothing circles above her casts. Jongho had been so distracted these few days – his mind locked on only her. Even now as she spat cruelty, he just wanted her happy, not angered and certainly not on Seonghwa’s bad side.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Jongho defended. “She’s just surprised. Aren’t you? You’re not trying to be difficult.”

Seonghwa sighed out, helplessly for a moment. Glancing over at Hongjoong, he tried to gauge his lover’s mind. He was always so hard to read. Jongho’s big eyes were easy to read when it came to the eldests. He was an open book, clay, maleable. Something to protect as well as shape. She made their strongest asset weep. He just wanted things to calm. And Seonghwa would indulge their youngest as long as he could.

It was a game she realized. The way Seonghwa shifted his gaze to her after a moment, firm lipped. Disappointed. It was a game. Like a patron and a protégé once again. Would she play?

“Love?” she hated that Jongho’s tenderness tugged at her heart. Her eyes drifted from the blank-faced Seonghwa to her sweetest lover. Jongho was on his knees, pleading.

“I’m in shock,” she muttered to him. “I can’t dance, I can’t walk. And I know…” she glanced over at Seonghwa and Hongjoong. “I know that you had a part to play. How am I to feel?”

Jongho didn’t counter it; he buried his face into her lap.

“You can feel what you feel; it’ll fade. Now, you heal,” Mingi tried to counter again. He made her want to laugh. Heal… Tears tumbled over her cheeks. As if it was that easy, she wondered. Her hand was quick to wipe it before anyone else could.

“He’s right.” Seonghwa countered. “Everything is how it should be now. You’ll see.”

“The ballerina,” she bit out. “Your protégé has two broken legs. She cant walk or dance. It’s like you taking a fish from water and saying its natural fro them to breath air.”

“You havent been a protégé in some time, YN.” Hongjoong retorted, speaking for the first time since entering. His words were calculated and calm. “You are ours.”

He took a step forward.

“You are mine. I don’t let my things leave me.” He said.

She shifted her attention on him fully. And challenged him once again.

“Did you do this, Hongjoong? Answer me.”

“I didn’t touch you, precious.” It was snarky, coy.

She slapped the couch angered, her composure faltering.

“You know what I mean, you bastard.” She barked out.

His face twitched at her disrespect. Mingi huffed into her knee and buried his face into the boney thing. Groaning internally. He knew where this would go.

“I think our angel is overwhelmed. She forgets her place.” Hongjoong commented. “Let’s leave her to calm down a bit, hm.”

“No, I want answers.”

And, like they were magnets, one by one, the men gravitated away from her and towards Hongjoong. Seonghwa’s disappointment radiated from every pore of his body. Yunho didn’t meet her eye. Hongjoong meanwhile kept his gaze on her. His stare was frightening. Unchanging and yet darkening as Mingi and Jongho reluctantly pulled themselves away from her.

“And I demand respect. Even from you, my love.”

Somehow it ached to see them creep away. Was it love or habit? She didn’t know. Her heart just panged as they turned away from her. All at the command of Hongjoong. Her breath came out wobbly. Emotions clashing.

“You’ll see it my way soon.” Hongjoong stated, watching as the door closed behind the last man. Just him and her were left; YN stuck on her island of a couch while Hongjoong strolled away.

“You are right where you belong.” The doors shut behind him, locking with a clank.

YN let out a shriek of frustration before chucking a pillow at the door.

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #atz x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #woosan x reader #ateez mafia au #ateez scenarios #written by haley

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zarvasace · 4 months ago

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I have been tagged by @batrogers!!

1. How many works on AO3? 241

2. Total AO3 word count? 1.25mil. Almost to my 3rd AO3 anniversary :D (that's around 1,170 words every day for three years, not counting nonpublished words! Proud of that rate, even if it's slowing.)

3. Top 5 fics by kudos:

Status? about Four. I think this one hits the sweet spot for a lot of people: not too long, a bit angsty, but sweet.

so i admit that the mud didn't do much for me, about Hyrule. Actually the first fic I ever posted on this account, it's silly and I'm surprised to see it so high

incandescently happy, a post-LU happy ending. Posted little chapters every day for like a month which kept it in people's feeds so I think that's why it's so high

what is a stump supposed to do, a random Hyrule & Four one, honestly baffled why it's up here

Rise and Shine and Fall, my successful (by that I mean actually wrote and posted every day on schedule) Whumptober 2022 extravaganza compilation. I posted it all in one work, so it's higher than most other whump fics of mine, but there's a lot in it!

4. What fandoms do you write for? Zelda. In the past I wrote a tiny bit of Danny Phantom and a fair amount of FE3H!

5. Do you respond to comments? Always!! I admit to being SO VERY BEHIND right now, a couple months' worth. I'm trying to keep up on new ones, but I've had some beautiful wonderful readers going through my catalog and I can't always keep up!! XD

6. Fic with the angstiest ending: I don't write a lot of negative endings, so I think this badge goes to Counterbalance, my LU Darks AU. I'm actually fully in love with this fic, it's probably the best mix of silly and angsty I've ever written. It's full of what are essentially OCs but they're all my babies and I love them.

7. Fic with the happiest ending: incandescently happy, post-LU. The whole fic is essentially a fix-it ending, though LU doesn't have an ending yet. XD

8. Do you get hate? A couple silly comments trying to tell me I'm doing things wrong, but not really no! Oh, also can't forget the ask I got that was "Remember that Jesus is your first reader." I think that was meant to be passive aggressive but there's a chance it was meant like, genuinely? Not sure.

9. Do you write smut? Nah. And I don't plan to. Not my thing! Closest I get are vampire bites XD

10. Do you write crossovers? I swear I've done more but the only ones on my AO3 are a Vidow fic done in an original world (Nothing New Under the Sun (crystals, dumplings, jewelry)), and Blood-Sucker's Guide to High School, a Vidow retelling of a very fun vampire novel.

11. Ever had a fic stolen? Nope, but I did have one of my Vidow fake fic book covers stolen for someone's fake fiverr listing. Got it taken down with a DMCA but I was like, why

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? Oh plenty. @enrolio and I spent most of 2020-21 lockdowns and beyond cowriting, mostly original stories (1.7mil) but a lot of fic, too (nothing published, but almost 400k worth.) We're currently in the process of working on a big epic original fantasy series, though that's a long-term project. @batrogers and I have done a few alt-POV-type projects too, which have been super duper fun!! Hope to do more.

In that vein too, I feel like the Bad End Links kind of qualify here—so much of the characters and their stories were brainstormed collaboratively and so many friends have contributed details and fics and art, it feels like a fun group project! I've really enjoyed working on it. :D (the encouragement and hype for it also helps a lot!! I'm really hoping to finish this big project out!)

14. All-time favorite ship? Ahhhh a harder question than you'd think, tbh, even if you're limiting it to fic. I've written the most for Vidow, and they're definitely up there (same with Fourdow though I've done less with them.) I do have to admit that Linhardt/Byleth might take the cake, though. They were the first ship I was ever actually obsessed with, and the first romantic pairing I wrote in fic.

I just really adore Linny in general, and I love how the pairing continues and closes off some of the themes in the Crimson Flower route of FE3H. That's the only route where Byleth doesn't become archbishop-slash-dictator, and I think choosing to live life in a small cottage, not particularly contributing too much to the government, builds nicely upon the themes of becoming human and choosing your own destiny, themes that are really missing from the other routes.

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My old AO3 account (a couple FE3H fics and not much else) has a series where I wrote the beginning of a fic and then had several different endings planned, each a different ship with Linhardt, but I only ever wrote one. I'd love to read the rest but I have too many other fics calling my name!

16. Writing strengths? Um... Volume and speed? Also AUs. I think I can call myself good at fitting characters into new settings. Also fight scenes are fun and I think I do them well.

17. Writing weaknesses? I feel somewhat weak in the plotting and style realms.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? You can't count on a reader to know not-tagged languages, so that has to be accounted for in the text.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Danny Phantom, in high school or maybe just after. That's late for a lot of fic writers but... there are reasons for that, and a different discussion!!

20. Favorite fic you've ever written? This is an extremely rude question, because I love so many for different reasons. I write things I want to read!! Counterbalance (for the tone) and Blood-Sucker's Guide (for the finished novel plot) are up there but I linked them above, so I'll take the chance to call out a different few—Marvelous Misadventures is way up there, a Wind-focused modern with magic AU. I promise I'm still working on that last chapter (and the epilogue), I just gotta throw everything else aside one month and buckle down. Maybe June, I don't have any fic events planned and 06/23 was the last update. I think some earlier chapters need a refresh as well, once I have the ending written.

I'll also toss White Walls (medwhump, "non consensual body modification: the fic") into this category for how long it is and how proud I am to have finished even a collection this long, and a long walk, a Linked Nexus fic where I did so much math and had so much fun with it. :D

Tagging: @silvrash-797 @toyouhellohowareyou @nopenototdaysatan @skyward-floored :)

#my writing #coffin talk #tag game #long post

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alwayscorvus · 1 year ago

Text

Feeling Obliged

Part 2 of "Do not forget your place", but u can read Part 2 without reading Part 1 bodyguard!malereader x Yuanwu;

Several weeks have passed since that incident. You were probably already approaching three months. But you weren't too concerned about it. You had lived together for so long that such a period of time wasn't a big deal for you. Besides, you didn't expect that anything would change.

After so many unrequited gestures, one sentence of disapproval was enough. The longer you thought about it, the more you wondered why such a minor quarrel, not even big enough for a serious argument, could successfully and completely change your view of world and your relationship with person dearest to you. The only one dear to you.

After looking into it, you came to the conclusion that your first thesis was true. And fact that Yuanwu rejected your help and affection was the biggest reason why it hurt you so much.

Yet, things like that happened many times before.

After all, more than once, sensing danger, you quickened your pace, passed your boss and, with a sudden movement, put your straightened arm out in front of Yuanwu's chest. Bumping against his body and blocking his further path.

While Yuanwu, as always pushed your arm away and kept moving. Falling into the trap.

Or, more than once, after carefully studying his new companions, and expressing your doubts and evidence of they impure intentions, you almost begged him to not meet them.

While Yuanwu, as always shrugged it off and came back with bruises and cuts. Or rather… you did.

You experienced plenty situations of that kind. But you quessed that everyone has to break at some point. Despite the big amount of things they endured. Or precisely because of them. And that particular event, a few weeks ago, was exactly your final straw.

Because of which you moved out. Yes. After more than ten years of living together, you finally moved out. You were proud to say that you finally had your first own apartment. After being kicked out of family home because of debts, your only chapter in life was Yuanwu. And now… Now you even had your own place to live. One that you earned by yourself, with work of your own hands. True, it was a job under Yuanwu and therefore his money…, but still, it was the idea that counted.

Apartment was tiny. One room included both: a single bed, a TV corner with double sofa, and a kitchenette wide for only two cabinets with refrigerator. Only bathroom was actually separated. However, that was enough for you. What more could a bodyguard without hobbies or friends need. Especially since you were in your new home only occasionally. Mostly to sleep. Your job, after all, was mostly 24/7.

Yes, you also considered quitting your job and leaving past behind. But you couldn't. Something was holding you back. And it wasn't even that stubborn desire to take care of the only person close to you, anymore. Rather, it was a sense of obligation. You owed Yuanwu a lot. In fact, your entire existence. He gave you a reasons to live when you were lost, helpless and completely vulnerable. Gave you the resources. Became your mentor and only friend. If it weren't for him, you'd probably still be wandering around this shabby streets. Begging for pennies for food. Getting into fights with passersby. Sleeping covered with cardboard boxes. Or worse… You would no longer be on this world at all.

Since you protected him for so long with your body and Yuanwu had already gotten used to a walking shield around him, you couldn't just abandon him. Even if he strongly believe that he was doing great on his own.

Something could happen…

Not that you were still openly bothered about his well-being!

Since that event, you have become cold. What's more, you haven't spoken a word. You only used head movements to greet and express agreement. You stopped voicing your opinion on any topics of conversation. And in strictly business matters, requiring some kind of report or information about someone, you used documents made beforehand and directly handed to Yuanwu at the right moment.

You also rarely granted Yuanwu with a glance. For most of the time, you stared blankly into a space, looking out for some kind of threat. This was something your boss couldn't stand anymore and that's a reason why he finally broke.

At first he waited about two weeks without reacting. Since you didn't say anything, he didn't either. He thought that it was just a short phase. That it would pass soon. A teenager's rebellion.

The problem is that you were no longer a teenager.

Starting from your first meeting, you were a grown-up man who made aware decisions. And whatever Yuanwu did, whatever he hoped for, he couldn't change your feelings, behaviors or goals.

He could only try to accept them or slightly modify them. Show a different way, a different approach.

That's why, around a third week, he was the one who took the lead. He started chatting about trivial matters. Gossips from the market, stories from the gym. Things that he was already in a habit of doing. Almost as if nothing had happened.

However, that didn't help either. What's more, it even worsen the situation. You felt annoyed by his ignorance.

For a good week and a half he tried to force a chat with you. In company of a finest teas, imported from distant countries.

Corners of your mouth didn't twitch even by a millimeter by that.

Yuanwu began to miss your laughter, your smile… Your teasing, your jokes, your remarks. Your habits and weaknesses. Everything.

He began to miss you.

Moment of brokenness and weakness arrived. Yuanwu came to the conclusion that there was no point of trying and he started living as normal again.

You got surprised by his attitude. This lack of patience was definitely not in his style. But maybe you were the reason why he acted this way. Not that you had any hopes for meaning anything more to him.

After some time however he realized once again that he couldn't live without you being your actual true self. And he began to put an effort again

In quite extreme time you have already experienced many stages. Which led you to your current situation.

-Here. The one that I made when you first came to me - he said rather proudly, placing another cup of hot tea on a small wooden pallet.

You spared it only with a glance. Memories floated back, but you weren't easy to bribe. You let him sit next to you on a comfortable cushions that covered a small linen patio sofa.

Although you were not interested in the drink, some passing by bee decided to leave one of the flowers of surrounding you greenery and get closer to that sweet aroma.

Yuanwu clearly wasn't happy with this turn of events.

-I think that's enough. We should just finally make up and forget about it.

You turned to him rapidly. Moving slightly back and looking truly dumbfounded. You couldn't believe in what you were hearing.

-Don't look at me like that, just listen. We are too old to feel offended. And we've been through too much to let one minor encounter, where you got hurt, ruin it all. It's ridiculous-

You couldn't stand it. You rose from your chair and glared.

-No, you listen. You know very well that it wasn't about that meeting. Nor was it about the fact that I got wounded. More than once I got your bullets or risked my life for you. I didn't care. And I don't care. Because i love you -you spat the words through your teeth, almost reaching to the point of screaming- You know this, you always knew. But you didn't do anything about it. For so many years you gave me hope just to one day, about which I am currently doing such a fuss about according to you, took it all away from me. And you know why? I know. Because you don't care about my feelings. You never cared about them. Unless they fitted to your own idea. Unless it was convenient for -pure venom came out of your mouth- But quees what. I'm done with that. I'm done chasing you. And if you're missing anything now, it's a person completely in love with you. Who you won't get again, because you didn't want it yourself.

You almost knocked yourself out, but thanks to your determination and clenched fists, you managed to convey whole message.

Yuanwu looked at you terrified. Exactly like in that alley. You hated that.

Now it was even more clear to him that he would not get back the old, obedient version of you. That the only version he could get was the one with romantic feelings. Which could dangerously start to fade away if Yuanwu didn't get his shit together.

Annoying knocking woke you up from your afternoon nap. You growled at it displeased. Only one person knew your address. That's why you didn't even hope for the noise to die quickly.

-Coooming! - you shouted truly unwelcomingly.

You opened a door without even looking at who it was. In a hurry, you returned to your beloved bed and threw yourself on it with all the weight of your body.

As expected, Yuanwu quickly made himself comfortable. He crossed the threshold of your apartment, closed the door and looked around. This was the first time he had been here. You hadn't allowed him to help you choose a place to live previously, despite his insistent requests.

Yuanwu scanned your property with judging eyes. Apartment may have been very neat and tidy. But definitely too small for you. You would have been better at his place. He couldn't understand how you could want to move away from him.

Or rather, he didn't want to understand. But he had to. And that's why he was here.

Blue Yuanwu took off his coat and laid it gently on the couch along with his hat. Trying not to prolong, he took a heavy seat on a bed right next to you. He rested his elbows on his thighs and bent down. Admiring a wooden floor by that.

Yuanwu took a deep breath.

-Sorry. I know that I was being an… how people your age call it? An asshole?

Good start.

-Shut up, you are not that much older from me.

You playfully kicked him with your foot, turning your back to him. You settled down with your arms crossed. Trying hard to avoid his gaze. Almost pretending to be offended. Even though all your grudge from yesterday had long since passed. Finally, after so many weeks of sitting in silence and contemplating, emotions began to drain themselves away. And the last dose of them left with your confession. Which itself became some kind of cleaning ritual to you. Admitting a long-hidden secret after such a long time allowed you to experience true peace of mind.

Yuanwu snickered at your words.

-Right. I could never process this information and therefore accept it. I have always had a sense of responsibility towards you. Ever since I first saw you… With scratched face, stained clothes, and that torn olive sleeveless shirt. Despite your pitiful state, you kept hitting that boxing bag with whole heart. That impressed me. Or whatever you can call that feeling -he waved his hand after a second of doubt- You had that fierce look in your eyes. Although I have to admit that your first punches were pretty shitty-

He teased you and received a new nudge in return.

-Look, I know what you're hoping for. And you're right, I knew for a long time. After the first year of our relationship, something began to change. I didn't understand it at first. Never in my life would I think that-

He paused for a moment and, slightly stressed, began to play with his fingers.

-But then that bartender dropped a comment after you went to the bathroom. And elderly saleswomen from a market began to question the character of our relationship. Then it got to me. But I didn't do anything about it. And it's not because I don't care about your feelings. Everything I've done for these past years, I've done only for you and your happiness, you know that.

Yuanwu's voice wasn't cracking, it was well balanced and toned down as always. However, he was slowly finding it harder and harder to choose his words. Admitting the truth hurt. Not only him, but also you. But you couldn't turn around. You didn't want to look at him, you couldn't. Not now.

He lifted his gaze up toward the ceiling. Relaxed his muscles a little and, after another inhale, continued:

-But I just didn't know if I could give it to you. What you were hoping for all along. Whether I was able to return your feelings. Over time it became easier to simply pretend, to ignore. When you started talking in the alley about how you cared about me-

He hesitated for a moment.

-I couldn't let you continue. I was afraid that this would be the moment when you would finally confess your feelings to me. And I will no longer be able to pretend it's not there. Live in my perfect illusion- he snickered over a hilariousness of his persona- But it was of little use. Because it all came crashing down anyway. My perfect peace collapsed like a house of cards. And I can't be surprised. Everyone has his limits. And I abused yours all too much.

You nodded your head to yourself. You had to admit that here he was right. Nevertheless, what were you supposed to do with this information?

-Will you finally look at me? -he asked with anticipation.

You persisted unmoved.

Yuanwu merely sighed. But he didn't intend to back off. Not now. Not after all this time.

-I know I hurt your feelings a lot. But I hope you will forgive me despite everything. At least for the sake of our good old days. And if you let me- If-… If you-…. If you guide me-…. I-… -

He really couldn't get it out.

-I'll be the happiest man on earth if you teach me what it's like to love.

You immediately rose up from your place.

-Yuanwu, you don't have to-.

-But I want to. And not out of guilt. Nor do I want to bribe you to come back to me. I want to do it for myself. No matter how selfish it may sound. By those weeks when you didn't speak to me I realized -voice got caught in his throat- that I can also feel something more. And it's not just a matter of habit. I simply learned to look at you from a different perspective.

Yuanwu went breathless. He felt a sudden embrace on him. Your strong arms squeezed him tightly from behind. The feeling was so… warm. Completely different from others. From hugs of gym customers, good old friends, or mothers grateful for teaching their sons love of sport and rescuing them from a bad crowd. This gesture was marked with something special. Something like an endless longing.

-Yuanwu -you said in a serious voice, trying to cool your thoughts- I forgive you and promise to come back to you in my old version. But you really don't have to do that. I don't want you to-

Yuanwu stopped you and turned his head in your direction. Feeling his piercing gaze, you opened your eyes, which you unknowingly clenched a minutes ago. Overwhelmed by emotions.

You were now looking straight at each other, and your faces were separated just by millimeters.

-But what if I don't want the old you? What if I want to get to know the new you?

His voice suddenly became soft. Almost sweet, melodic, as if... seductive?

A spark went through your body.

In a split second, your bodies moved on their own. And your lips joined, sealing your new contract.

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bunniesssstuff · 6 days ago

Text

MAYBE IN OUR NEXT LIVES? - NRK

pairing Nishimura Riki x reader

warnings none for this chapter

genre romance, slice of life, angst, unrequited love

wordcount 10k

CHAPTER FOUR- How Many Ways Can a Boy Say I Like You Without Saying It?

You’re sticky, glitter-covered, exhausted, and about two beads of sweat away from declaring the DIY charm booth a crime scene.

The first day of the cultural festival is finally—mercifully—over.

Around you, students drag their feet like battle survivors. Someone’s crying over a snapped bracelet. There’s a mysterious puddle near the back counter. And your fingers? Permanently dyed a shade of purple no amount of soap is fixing tonight.

You’re wiping glitter off a countertop with a damp tissue when Hana lets out a dramatic groan.

“Why does it look like the apocalypse happened right here and nowhere else?”

Aoi, balancing a tray full of tangled bead chains, sighs. “Because we are the apocalypse.”

You drop your head to the counter. “Can we just pretend today never happened?”

“Sure,” Hana chirps. “As long as we also pretend you didn’t accidentally superglue your sleeve to the work table.”

“That was one time.”

“One time too many, L/N.”

Meanwhile, across the courtyard, the boys’ scavenger hunt booth is winding down in a flurry of crumpled clue sheets and scattered prop swords. Hayato is bouncing on his heels, counting yen notes with the reckless glee of someone who has clearly never paid a bill in his life.

“Dude. We made this much?” he yells, waving a handful of coins in Kenta’s face.

Kenta grabs the tally sheet. “I mean… yeah. That’s solid.”

They fist bump like they just won the lottery.

Then there’s Riki. Leaning back in a folding chair, sipping a boxed grape juice like this is all beneath him. He glances at the money pile once before muttering, “I’ll make more tomorrow.”

Kenta snorts. “Alright, Jeff Bezos. Chill.”

Hayato throws an arm around him. “Make more with what, your death glare? The kids were terrified of you today.”

Riki shrugs, lazy and unimpressed. “Fear is profitable.”

Back at the girls’ booth, you’re scraping resin off your clipboard with a pair of tweezers when the door bursts open like a musical number’s about to begin.

Kaoru enters, beaming. His uniform jacket is half-buttoned, his hair messier than usual, and he’s carrying something wrapped in tissue paper like it’s a newborn child.

“YN!” he calls, eyes lighting up like Christmas. “I got you something!”

You blink. “Um. What?”

From behind the counter, Hana immediately whispers, “Please be food. Please be food. Please be food.”

Kaoru bounds over to you, dramatically presenting the bundle with both hands.

“I was closing my clay booth, right? And I saw this little pot I made earlier that didn’t sell. But then I thought—this isn’t for customers. This is for you.”

He unwraps the paper.

And there it is.

A tiny, uneven flower pot… in the shape of a bunny.

With floppy ears, a crooked nose, and a heart-shaped indent near the base.

You stare at it.

Then up at him.

“Did… you make this?”

Kaoru beams. “Of course! It’s not perfect, but it’s cute, right?”

“Kaoru,” you say softly, “this is literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He practically levitates with joy.

“I KNEW IT!”

And that’s when it happens.

As he spins around to show the others, his foot catches on the uneven rug near the entrance. You watch, frozen, as his body tilts forward in slow motion.

Aoi gasps. Hana yells, “THE POT—!”

Kaoru crashes to the floor in a full-body sprawl.

But—

The pot survives.

Held safely above his head in trembling hands like Simba from The Lion King.

He groans from the floor. “Worth it.”

You rush over. “Are you okay?!”

He grins up at you through gritted teeth. “I think I cracked my soul. But the bunny’s fine.”

“Your priorities are… very Kaoru.”

From behind you, Hana sighs. “Forget YN. Someone date the pot. It’s the only stable one in this room.”

You help Kaoru up, still clutching the gift. He winces, limping slightly.

“Maybe sit down before your leg actually detaches,” Aoi suggests.

“I shall sit with honor,” he declares, dramatically placing the pot on the counter before collapsing into a folding chair.

You glance at the bunny again. It’s lumpy and clearly handmade. The paint is a little chipped at the base. But your heart squeezes anyway.

There’s something about it that feels… warm. Real. Like a gesture from someone who tried just for you.

And somehow, that’s louder than any bouquet or love confession.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

Kaoru smiles, eyes bright despite the probable bone damage. “Anything for you, L/N.”

From somewhere outside, Hayato yells something about ramen.

The sun’s dipping now. The air smells like melted sugar and sweat. The booths are nearly empty.

It’s the end of the first day.

And somehow, this chaotic, messy, glue-covered afternoon has carved itself into your memory like a scene you’ll remember even years later.

You cradle the bunny pot in your hands.

And smile.

It starts with Riki being quiet.

Which is dangerous.

Because when Riki is quiet, it doesn’t mean he’s absent. It means he’s calculating.

You don’t know that, of course. You’re still helping Aoi repack the leftover glitter bottles when Kaoru, bruised but determined, sits beside you on the edge of the counter again—feet swinging, bunny pot cradled like a relic.

“Tell me honestly,” he says, holding it up. “If this was sold at a museum gift shop, how much would you pay?”

“A strong 500 yen,” you tease.

“Five hundred?!”

“For the sentiment. A hundred for the craftsmanship.”

He gasps. “I’ll take it.”

Across the courtyard, the boys have long since packed up their scavenger hunt station. Kenta’s tossing balled-up clue sheets into a recycling bag while Hayato rummages through his backpack for snacks.

“I’m just saying,” Hayato argues, mouth full of chips, “we should’ve charged extra for anyone who screamed when Riki looked at them.”

Kenta snorts. “He didn’t look at them. He stared into their souls.”

Riki, sitting on a low bench with a half-empty bottle of Pocari Sweat, doesn’t reply. He’s watching.

Specifically, he’s watching you.

You, sitting between Aoi and Kaoru, laughing at something Kaoru just said. You, tucking the bunny pot carefully into your tote bag like it’s fragile gold. You, cheeks flushed from a long day, ponytail lopsided, sweater streaked with glue.

Riki stands.

“Oh no,” Hayato mutters.

Kenta: “No.”

Riki: already walking.

Kaoru’s in the middle of another impassioned monologue about the artistic merit of asymmetry when Riki appears, calm as glass.

You don’t notice him at first. Neither does Kaoru.

And then—

One perfectly timed step.

Kaoru shifts, turning to wave at Aoi—and Riki’s foot meets his sneaker with uncanny precision.

The trip is subtle. Almost invisible.

Almost.

Kaoru stumbles, again, arms flailing.

This time he doesn’t fall completely—just catches himself on the table’s edge with a strangled, “AH—why does this keep happening to me?!”

You blink. Aoi gasps.

Hana, off to the side, straightens up. “Was that… sabotage?”

Kaoru glares at the floor. “This school is cursed.”

Then you look up.

And meet Riki’s eyes.

He’s already holding something out to you. Small. Neatly wrapped in soft gray cloth.

“I made you something,” he says simply.

You blink again. “Wait, you made—?”

You unwrap the cloth slowly.

It’s a flower pot.

But not just any pot.

A hamster.

A hamster-shaped flower pot.

Round cheeks. Beady eyes. Tiny paws pressed together like it’s praying. Slightly lopsided ears. And at the bottom, in neat paint strokes, a faint inscription:

“Property of YN.”

You’re stunned into silence.

Riki’s voice is low, almost conversational. “You always wanted a hamster when you were little.”

You look up, startled. “How do you—?”

“You used to talk about it. Third year of middle school. You told Konon you’d name it Miso if you ever got one.”

You forgot that.

He didn’t.

“I couldn’t get you one,” he adds, softer now. “So… I figured this might count.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but then he speaks again.

Just one more line.

So soft you almost miss it.

“But we can think about getting one together. In the future.”

You freeze.

You don’t even process the words fully. Your brain catches on the first half—hamster, gift, Riki made this???—and the rest floats past you like static.

But Aoi hears it.

Hana definitely hears it.

And Kaoru—Kaoru hears it loud and clear.

He straightens. His eyes narrow. His heart cracks just a little more.

Because that line wasn’t just a joke.

It was personal.

It was intentional.

And it hit.

“Is this revenge for the bunny?” Kaoru mutters under his breath, only loud enough for Aoi to hear.

“Riki: one,” Aoi murmurs. “Kaoru: emotionally hospitalized.”

You, still completely unaware of the ground-shattering subtext swirling around you, stare down at the pot in your hands.

The detail. The color. The way it looks just a little bit like the cartoon hamster sticker you used to keep on your school folder.

“Riki,” you say finally, quietly, “this is…”

Your voice trails off.

He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing.

Aoi’s still staring between the two of you like she’s watching the final arc of a very, very slow burn anime.

Hana is biting her lip to keep from cackling.

Kaoru is nursing internal injuries.

You… are confused.

You hug the hamster pot to your chest like it’s a lifeline. “I—thank you. Really.”

Riki doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod.

He just stands there.

Unmoving.

Observing.

Like he’s waiting for something else to happen.

And then, after a long pause, he says, “Let me know if you name it.”

“…The pot?”

“Yeah.”

You blink again. “I mean… I was gonna name it something dumb like Mochi.”

Riki’s eyes finally, finally spark with something.

Approval?

Affection?

Smugness?

You can’t tell.

But Hana can.

“Oh god,” she whispers. “He’s flirting. This is actual flirting. I need a camera.”

Kaoru slumps dramatically onto the table beside you.

“Can someone at least trip him next?”

The rest of the booth is silent.

Riki finally—finally—takes a step back.

Not away. Just back.

His eyes flick once to Kaoru.

Then to the bunny pot sitting beside you.

Then back to you.

“Don’t drop that one,” he says, nodding to the hamster in your arms.

You nod. Heart pounding. “I won’t.”

And just like that, the balance of the universe tilts.

No big gestures. No confessions. No grand exits.

Just one pot. One memory. One maybe.

And four people suddenly, violently aware of the shifting gravity around you.

You’re elbow-deep in sticker residue when Riki’s voice cuts through the remaining festival noise like it owns the air.

“How much did your booth make?”

You blink up at him, nearly dropping the resin charm you were peeling off a tray. He’s standing just behind your shoulder, arms crossed, head tilted, like he’s asking what time it is instead of issuing a challenge.

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

Riki doesn’t answer. He never does when he’s planning something.

Hana, without looking up from the mess she’s organizing, replies for you. “Just over 14,300 yen.”

You blink again. “Wait, how do you—?”

“I counted it while you were deep in glitter despair,” Hana shrugs. “We sold out of six colors. That’s a lot of charms.”

Riki hums.

Then pulls his phone out of his back pocket and taps the calculator app with one thumb. You watch him type something. Then pause. Then squint at the total.

Hayato, who’s seated across the way drinking from a juice box, chimes in like this is his cue. “We made 14,200.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Wait. Seriously?”

Hana perks up. “Wait—did we just—?”

Aoi gasps. “We beat them?!”

“By a hundred yen,” Riki mutters, staring at his screen.

You’re still frozen.

Hana is already performing a victory dance with two trash bags in her hands. “This is better than passing math.”

Aoi claps once, delighted. “We’re iconic.”

Riki slips his phone back into his pocket and looks at you, gaze unreadable.

“You win.”

You blink. “I—uh, okay?”

“I’ll treat you,” he says.

You furrow your brows. “Treat me?”

“Reward,” he adds casually, as if this is the most normal progression in the world. “Ice cream. You beat us.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. “I didn’t do it alone—”

“But I’m not taking Hana out,” he replies flatly.

Hana: “Rude but valid.”

“Ice cream,” Riki repeats, already looking vaguely impatient.

“Oh,” you say, still not catching up. “You mean… now?”

And that’s when it happens.

Before you can get another word in, he reaches over, fingers brushing the handle of your tote bag, and swings it effortlessly over his shoulder like it weighs nothing.

“Hey—!”

Then his hand wraps around your wrist—gentle, firm—and you’re suddenly being led.

“Wait, I still have to help clean—”

“You’ll clean tomorrow,” Riki replies, voice even.

Hana drops her sponge in dramatic betrayal. “Excuse me?!”

Aoi squints. “Did he just… take her?”

They both stand frozen, watching your confused face disappearing with Riki around the corner of the booth.

Hana yells, “WE HAVE TRASH TO SORT!”

Riki doesn’t respond. His grip isn’t tight, but it doesn’t loosen either.

You twist slightly in protest. “Wait—Riki—”

He looks over his shoulder, the edge of a smirk forming.

“You coming, or do I drag you?”

Your heart has no idea how to keep up.

And just like that—you’re gone.

Aoi stares after the spot where you disappeared.

Hana folds her arms. “He really said, ‘I win.’”

“Riki: two,” Aoi mutters. “Kaoru: spiritually flattened.”

That’s when they both turn in unison.

To Kaoru.

Still standing nearby, clutching the broom like it’s a weapon and a support beam at once.

He notices the silence.

“…What?”

Hana gives him a look.

Aoi hands him the trash bags.

“You got this, right?” she says sweetly.

Kaoru stares at the mess. The glitter-stained table. The pile of empty charm wrappers.

Then he sighs.

“I hate romance.”

Riki is still holding your hand.

Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Which it absolutely isn’t.

Not for Riki.

Not for you.

Not for anyone who’s watched this boy spend the last three years speaking in one-word responses and emotional ellipses.

And yet here he is—one hand slung casually over your tote bag strap, the other wrapped around your wrist like it’s second nature. His fingers are warm. His grip is steady. He doesn’t glance at you. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay with it.

He just… holds.

You try not to overthink.

You fail.

The street is still lit with leftover festival lanterns swaying overhead. Students laugh in the distance. Some are still tearing down their booths. The smell of grilled sweet potato lingers in the air.

And for a moment, you walk in silence.

Until Riki speaks.

“She solved it in ten minutes.”

You blink. “What?”

“Today. This girl. One of the first customers. Solved the scavenger hunt before Hayato could even finish explaining the rules.”

You snort. “Bet that bruised his ego.”

“He claimed she cheated.”

“Did she?”

“No. He’s just loud.”

You laugh, and Riki smiles.

Actually smiles.

And then he just… keeps going.

“There was this other kid,” he continues, “who tried to steal the plastic sword from Clue Station Four. Challenged Hayato to a duel in the middle of the quad.”

Your eyes widen. “Did he accept?”

“Of course. He lost. Dramatically.”

You’re wheezing.

“And Kenta,” Riki adds, shaking his head like an exhausted dad, “was worse than any of the customers. I made a perfectly decent final clue and he rewrote it to rhyme. Badly.”

You stop walking for a second. “Wait.”

He turns to look at you.

You stare.

“You’re…talking.”

He raises a brow. “Isn’t that allowed?”

“You’ve said more words in the last five minutes than in the last five years combined.”

He tilts his head, faintly amused. “That’s not true.”

“You’re still talking.”

“I haven’t reached my word limit yet.”

Your heart stutters.

Because that’s not just a joke. That’s him being playful.

You stare at him, dazed. “What is wrong with you today?”

He looks at you. Really looks. And smiles again—tiny, crooked, devastating.

“Nothing.”

You walk a few more steps before the words leave your mouth without thinking.

“We had this one little girl today,” you say. “She came in with her older brother and made a keychain for their mom. Spelled out ‘I LOVE YOU’ in beads.”

Riki hums. “Cute.”

“She spelled ‘LOVE’ wrong,” you add with a grin. “It said ‘I LVOE YOU.’ But she was so proud, we didn’t correct it.”

“That’s even better,” Riki says.

His tone is soft.

Like he actually means it.

And somehow, that makes your heart trip again.

You keep walking. Letting your story spill out in pieces. The customer who glued their charm to their phone case by mistake. The guy who tried to flirt with Hana and ended up buying eight keychains out of sheer panic. The mysterious vanishing bottle of glitter.

Riki listens. All of it.

And not just passively. He nods. Reacts. Occasionally adds a quiet comment.

He’s not pretending to care.

He cares.

You don’t know how to handle this version of him. This slightly-too-happy, still-holding-your-hand version of him who suddenly acts like he’s always belonged beside you.

You try to ignore the warm weight of your fingers wrapped in his.

You fail.

Again.

When you reach the ice cream shop, it’s still open—bright lights buzzing overhead, posters of limited-time flavors slapped across the windows like old battle flags.

Riki lets go of your wrist only to open the door.

You walk in, expecting him to release your tote bag, too.

He doesn’t.

You walk toward the counter together, the bell above the door ringing.

And then Riki steps forward.

And starts ordering.

“Strawberry cheesecake. Two scoops.”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Caramel latte. Two scoops.”

You blink. “Wait—”

“Black sesame. Two scoops.”

“Riki—”

“Mint chocolate, the weird one she only likes sometimes. Two scoops.”

You stare at the girl behind the counter, who is now typing furiously.

“Wait—Riki! That’s so much—”

He glances at you.

Shrugs.

“It’s what you like.”

You squint. “How do you even know that?”

“You talk a lot when you’re stressed,” he says simply.

“I—I do not—!”

“You monologued about your ice cream ranking system for forty minutes last month.”

“...Oh my god.”

The girl at the counter giggles.

You want to sink into the floor.

Riki pays without blinking.

You, meanwhile, are still trying to figure out whether he’s secretly taken your diary home or just… listened all these years.

When you finally sit down—your tray stacked with more sugar than your daily limit can legally handle—you glance over at him.

He’s empty-handed.

You frown. “Wait. What about yours?”

He leans back, expression neutral. “Didn’t get any.”

“Why not?”

“You might not finish all that,” he says simply.

You stare.

“I’ll eat what’s left.”

You just blink.

Your spoon hovers over the strawberry scoop like it’s lost its purpose in life.

“Who are you today?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just looks at you with something that might be the ghost of a grin.

And you sit there. Eating. Sharing occasional bites. Telling him which scoop is best. Watching him steal a taste of one, then another, then all of them “for balance.”

And for once, the world outside the shop doesn’t matter.

Just him.

Just you.

And the feeling—terrifying and new—that maybe, just maybe, Riki’s word limit is only high when you’re the one he’s with.

You’ve eaten approximately five spoons of ice cream, and Riki hasn’t touched a single one.

He’s just sitting across from you.

Staring.

Not in a creepy way.

Well. Maybe a little creepy.

But mostly in a… soft way.

Like he’s watching something rare. Like you’re doing something fascinating, even though you’re literally just poking matcha ice cream around a cup like it insulted your ancestors.

You glance up mid-bite and catch him.

“Do you… want a bite?”

He blinks. Just once.

As if your voice tugged him out of a tunnel.

Then, calmly, he nods.

You expect him to reach for the other spoon on the tray.

He doesn’t.

He picks up your spoon.

The one still warm from your hand.

He scoops a small bit of matcha ice cream—carefully, like this is a science experiment—and places it in his mouth without hesitation.

You freeze.

Your soul freezes.

Your lungs file for divorce.

He chews slowly. Thoughtfully. Then swallows with the air of someone evaluating a wine flight.

“…It’s good,” he says, nodding.

You stare at him.

Then at your spoon.

Then at him.

Then at your soul leaving your body.

“Riki,” you whisper, “that was my spoon.”

He looks up. “Yeah.”

Like it’s normal.

Like he hasn’t just thrown a brick into the still pond of your sanity.

You try to speak.

Fail.

Try again.

“Did you just—?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, even more casually this time. “You offered.”

“I meant, like, with a new spoon—!”

“I didn’t mind.”

You blink. Rapidly.

“…Should I?”

He doesn’t answer. He just leans back in the booth, arms crossed, expression unbothered.

Meanwhile, your internal monologue is tap dancing toward the end credits.

You manage three more bites—carefully, with a different spoon—before you speak again.

“So…”

“So.”

You try not to fidget. “Thanks for this. For, uh… ice cream.”

He nods.

Quiet again now.

Almost back to normal.

Except not.

Because his eyes linger when you speak.

And his body language is relaxed in a way that makes you feel like he’s not just comfortable around you—he’s content.

There’s a difference.

A dangerous one.

“You’ve been talking a lot today,” you murmur.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Why?”

Riki shrugs lightly. “Felt like it.”

“That’s rare.”

“I know.”

You look at him. Harder this time.

And he’s not staring anymore.

But there’s a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth that wasn’t there before. Just barely.

Like he knows you’re trying to figure him out.

And he’s letting you try.

After a few more seconds, he says—

“How good of a teacher is Konon?”

You blink. “Konon? Like… my math tutor Konon?”

“Yeah.”

You squint. “Why?”

“She’s my sister. I’m allowed to ask.”

“But you live with her. You know what she’s like.”

He hums.

Then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world:

“Would you mind if I joined your tutoring sessions?”

You nearly drop your spoon. Again.

“…What?”

“Your sessions. With her. Could I join?”

You stare. “You want to… study?”

“Mm-hm.”

“With me?”

“Yep.”

“But… Konon lives in your house. She can teach you literally whenever.”

“She’ll hit me with a ruler if I get things wrong alone.”

You blink.

“Also,” he adds, even quieter, “It’d be more fun with you there.”

Your brain does a somersault.

“Fun,” you repeat weakly.

He nods. “She’s nice when you’re around. Scary when you’re not.”

“That sounds fake.”

“She threw an eraser at me once. Full speed.”

You try to imagine Konon doing that. It’s somehow believable.

But more than that—

You’re now trying to process the fact that Riki just asked to study with you. Voluntarily.

Something has shifted.

Slightly.

Irrevocably.

And he knows it.

You nod, slowly. “I mean… sure. If you want.”

He hums again.

Then goes quiet.

Not awkward.

Not retreating.

Just peaceful.

Like a cat curling up in the last ray of sun.

You finish your ice cream slowly, trying not to overanalyze the new tone in the air.

And the old spoon in his hand.

And the invitation he just made sound like the most normal thing in the world.

Your world?

It’s never been less normal.

You’re about five spoons into caramel latte swirl when it happens again.

That look.

From him.

Riki’s chin rests lazily on one palm, elbow propped on the table. His eyes are on you. Not in passing. Not the kind of glance you can pretend didn’t happen.

This is staring.

And not the usual blank stare you’ve learned to decode over time. This one’s… warm. Thoughtful. Focused.

Like he’s studying your every reaction. Like he’s storing them all somewhere private.

You finally meet his gaze.

“What?” you ask.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

“You have ice cream on your cheek.”

“Oh.”

You reach up with your napkin—wiping randomly. “Did I get it?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just raises his hand. Slowly. Reaches halfway across the table—fingers brushing closer to your face.

You freeze.

His hand lifts just a little higher—right toward the edge of your face, about to—

Ding-ling.

The shop bell jingles violently.

You both jump slightly.

The door swings open, letting in a gust of humid festival air—and a woman.

No, not a woman.

A presence.

She’s wearing a robe that definitely wasn’t made in this century, dragging a woven pouch stitched with strange eye patterns, one larger than her entire torso. Her hair is silver, tied in a loose, frizzy bun with several metal charms hanging from the strands. She has five rings on one hand. All different metals. All slightly cursed-looking.

She steps inside like she owns not only the shop, but possibly your fates.

“One scoop of mango,” she announces loudly, marching toward the counter. “No matter how spiritual you are, ice cream is still the most divine thing on Earth.”

The employee blinks. “Uh… okay.”

The lady begins rummaging through her pouch, muttering about mercury retrograde and the stock market.

You exchange a glance with Riki, both frozen halfway in your previous moment.

But just as you start to turn back to your ice cream—

SNAP.

Her head swivels.

Not turns.

Swivels.

Like an owl.

Eyes land directly—uncannily—on you and Riki.

Riki’s hand is still hovering by your hair.

Then—

“YOU TWO!”

The entire shop goes silent.

Plastic spoons stop mid-scoop. Even the freezer hums quieter.

Your mouth opens.

Closes.

You can feel Riki’s fingers freeze in the air beside your cheek.

The old woman marches toward your table with dramatic flair, boots clinking with every step.

“Such. An. Adorable. Couple,” she declares, pointing a jeweled finger at both of you.

Your brain short circuits.

Riki doesn’t move.

You blurt, “We’re not—!”

Riki calmly says, “We are.”

You whip your head to him. “Riki!”

He tilts his head. “What?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“We’re not—!”

“We are.”

“Riki, this isn’t funny—!”

“I’m not laughing.”

You glare.

He sips from your ice water.

The woman claps once. “Delightful tension. Perfect balance of denial and devotion.”

You blink. “Excuse me?!”

She lifts her pouch. “For fifty yen, I’ll tell you your future together.”

Riki raises an eyebrow. “Together?”

“Obviously,” she says, like that was a dumb question.

You put your hands up. “That’s really not necessary—”

Clink.

You hear it before you see it.

Riki’s already dropped a coin in her hand.

You stare at him, wide-eyed. “Why would you—?!”

“She looked like she needed ice cream.”

“She wants to tell us our future.”

Riki shrugs. “Same difference.”

You grab your head.

“Don’t worry, child,” the woman says, ignoring your visible spiritual breakdown. “I’ll be gentle. But honest.”

Oh god.

She sets her pouch down. Pulls out a deck of battered cards that smell faintly of cinnamon and old library books.

“Hands,” she says.

Riki immediately offers his palm.

You don’t.

Until she looks at you with such intensity you feel your ancestors flinch.

You slowly extend your hand beside his.

She lays one finger on each of your wrists.

Closes her eyes.

Murmurs something in a language that sounds like static and ocean waves.

Then—

“You’ve met before.”

You frown. “What?”

“In another life,” she says. “You’ve done this before.”

You glance at Riki.

He’s not looking at the woman.

He’s still watching you.

“One of you always waits,” she says, “and one of you always forgets.”

Your chest tightens.

Riki’s expression doesn’t shift. But his grip on the table does—just slightly.

“And when you meet again,” she continues, “one will remember too much, and the other will remember too late.”

You whisper, “What does that mean?”

She smiles.

Mysterious.

Unhelpful.

Terrifying.

Then claps her hands together. “That’s all!”

You both blink.

“That’s it?” Riki asks.

“I have ice cream to buy,” she replies, already spinning on her heel.

“But you barely said anything—!”

“Fate doesn’t like spoilers.”

Then she’s gone.

Vanishing into the sticky air, pouch bouncing against her hip.

You stare at the empty space where she stood, stunned.

Riki leans back, finally letting out a small breath.

“That was weird,” he says.

You turn to him, exasperated. “You agreed with her!”

“Did I?”

“Riki—”

He reaches for your cup again, taking another bite of your ice cream.

“Still good,” he murmurs.

You slam your head on the table.

“Someone please reset the simulation.”

“You wasted your money,” you mutter through a mouthful of caramel and frustration, stabbing your ice cream like it insulted your intelligence.

Riki doesn’t look fazed. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” you snap back, jabbing your spoon into the cup again.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Riki goes quiet. Entirely. That kind of calm silence he weaponizes so effortlessly it could be patented. He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t move—just stares at you with that unreadable look.

You smirk slightly, biting the edge of your spoon. “That’s what I thought.”

Internally, you throw confetti. You imagine a stadium erupting. You do a small, smug little dance in your head with cartoon fireworks going off behind you. One point to Y/N. Finally. Finally, you’ve out-talked Nishimura Riki in a debate.

You lift another spoonful of ice cream to your mouth, reveling in the sugary taste of victory.

And then—

“…No.”

You pause mid-chew.

It’s not loud. Not defensive. Not even tired.

Just flat.

Emotionless.

Cold, calm, and final.

Like an AI responding to a question it doesn’t care enough to explain.

You look at him—really look. He’s gazing down at his drink, then casually meeting your stare with the most deadpan expression you’ve ever seen on a human face.

Your internal victory music dies.

Your spoon lowers.

And then, mortifyingly—

Your brain asks itself the worst question possible.

Why do I find that attractive?

You blink. Shake your head. You’re not doing this. You are absolutely not letting one stupid line from one stupid boy with one stupidly nice face ruin your entire emotional ecosystem.

You huff and shove another bite of strawberry into your mouth, this one aggressively piled high, like maybe if you eat enough sugar fast enough, it’ll drown your thoughts.

But it doesn’t help.

Because when you glance up again—

He’s staring at you.

Again.

Not blinking.

Not even pretending to look somewhere else.

And not like he’s judging you, no.

Like he’s watching something that belongs to him and no one else.

You choke.

You literally, physically choke on your ice cream. A small sputter escapes your mouth as your eyes go wide and watery.

You slap a hand over your mouth, turning away slightly, trying to swallow the cold back down without dying in public.

Riki sits up a little straighter, alarmed but visibly trying not to look alarmed. His head tilts just slightly, mouth twitching like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. He leans forward across the table as if to help—and you panic.

Your hand shoots out.

Spoon still loaded.

Before you can stop yourself, you scoop a fat chunk of matcha and shove it directly into his mouth.

Right in the middle of whatever quiet breath he was about to take.

His eyes go wide, arms flinching at the sudden cold. His throat works awkwardly as he tries to swallow, but he’s coughing, half-laughing, half-dying.

You stab your spoon toward him again. “Don’t. Stare.”

He coughs harder, grabbing the table for support.

You watch him nearly dissolve into a spluttering mess, and something awful and triumphant rises in your chest. Something victorious. Something evil.

Riki finally swallows with visible effort, sits back, and—still coughing—raises a single hand in the weakest, most sarcastic thumbs-up you’ve ever seen.

You try not to smile.

You fail miserably.

Internally, it’s full victory mode again. You’re mentally moonwalking through a line of backup dancers. There’s a spotlight on your face, a tiara on your head, and a massive neon sign flashing: “SHE WINS THIS ROUND.”

And for the first time in the entire conversation, Riki doesn’t argue.

He just clears his throat softly and looks away—eyes a little glassy, cheeks just slightly pink from cold and embarrassment.

You take another calm, dainty spoonful, the picture of innocence.

“Serves you right,” you murmur.

He glances at you.

Your lips twitch.

And he actually smiles.

Not a smirk. Not that vague half-exhale he usually does.

A real smile.

And you hate how much you like it.

You’ve officially survived the ice cream. All of it. Every last swirl, dollop, and suspiciously large scoop that Riki ordered “just in case.”

No brain freeze.

No choking.

Well—okay, one choking incident, but that was because of him, not the dessert.

You lean back in your seat with a triumphant little sigh, licking the last trace of caramel off your spoon. Your stomach is full. Your heart’s still on the fritz. And for once, your thoughts are quiet. Until tomorrow, at least. You’ll probably wake up with a sugar hangover and a mild cold, but that’s future-you’s problem.

Right now, it’s warm inside the ice cream shop, the buzz of soft indie pop fading beneath the gentle hum of the freezers. Most of the other students have cleared out. The shop is winding down. The outside world feels like it’s wrapped in a thin, glowing curtain of late-evening calm.

You stretch your legs under the table, feeling your joints protest after sitting so long. Riki hasn’t spoken in the last minute or two—not since you attacked him with frozen sugar. He’s gone still again. Not in a weird way, just… observing. Quiet. Thoughtful.

You glance up—and realize he’s no longer looking at you.

He’s looking at your bag.

Or more specifically, the two little shapes peeking from the partially open zipper of your tote: one small ceramic bunny and one equally lopsided hamster.

Uh-oh.

Before you can say a word, he reaches over and gently pulls both out. You freeze, spoon midair. He sets the bunny pot down first, a bit unceremoniously, and then the hamster next to it—his, the one he made.

They sit side by side on the table between you. Two small creatures. One absurdly cute. One… artistically unique.

You stare.

Then look at him.

He’s staring at the pots.

And then—he turns his head.

His gaze lands on you.

Steady. Direct. Expression unreadable.

“Which one do you like more?” he asks.

You blink.

“What?”

He doesn’t repeat himself. Just waits. Eyes steady. One hand drumming the faintest rhythm on the table.

“I—what kind of question—?”

“Just answer.”

You stare at the pots again. The bunny, made with love and about seventeen ounces of chaotic energy. And the hamster, perfectly sized and suspiciously accurate to something you once dreamed about years ago.

You open your mouth to speak—

And then he leans back in his seat.

Still looking at the table. Voice soft. A little quieter.

“I thought you liked hamsters more.”

There’s no accusation in his tone. No pout. No teasing.

But something shifts.

You blink at him.

And for one tiny, tiny moment—as fast as a blink, barely more than a twitch—you think you see it.

A pout.

So small it almost doesn't exist.

So quick you wonder if it was just a flicker of shadow on his lips.

But it’s there.

And you’re not okay.

Your entire brain short-circuits.

You look at him, stunned, because this isn’t the Riki who plays it cool. This isn’t the Riki who always wins, always smirks, always walks ahead like the whole world’s a game he already solved.

This is Riki with a tiny pout, sulking over a flower pot.

And that’s somehow worse.

You blink several times, as if trying to shake him out of high-definition. You fumble with your spoon, glance at the hamster, then the bunny, then back to him.

“You made that,” you murmur finally, pointing to the hamster. “You actually made it.”

He doesn’t look up. Just says quietly, “I was gonna add little cheeks, but they cracked in the oven.”

“Cheeks,” you repeat weakly.

He shrugs.

You take a deep breath.

“Okay,” you say finally. “I do like hamsters more.”

He lifts his head.

And looks straight at you.

The pout disappears—if it was ever even there to begin with.

But something in his eyes relaxes.

You swear you see the tension leave his shoulders. The line of his jaw softens. His thumb, resting on the edge of the table, stops tapping.

You glance down at the pots again. Side by side. Bunny and hamster. One gift from chaos. One from a boy who pretends he doesn’t feel things but clearly does.

You lift the hamster and carefully tuck it back into your tote. Then pick up the bunny, holding it gently in both hands.

“I’ll still keep this one,” you say. “Kaoru gave it to me with a very dramatic backstory.”

Riki raises an eyebrow.

“He fell. Saved the pot. Nearly died.”

“Classic.”

“But,” you add quickly, giving him a pointed look, “I didn’t choke on his pot.”

He exhales through his nose, the ghost of a laugh.

You smile.

And tuck the bunny back beside the hamster, making sure they don’t knock together.

When you look up again, Riki is watching you—but not the same way as before.

Not with that intense, soul-stealing stare.

This time, it’s quieter.

Gentler.

And maybe—just maybe—a little proud.

You’re still holding the hamster pot in your hands, thumb brushing over the painted eyes, when your brain finally catches up to something odd.

Wait a second.

You frown, glancing at him again.

“Hang on. You were at the scavenger hunt booth all day.”

Riki looks up lazily. “Yeah?”

“So…” You gesture to the hamster. “When did you even make this?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you for a beat. Then says, like it’s the most boring fact on earth:

“I made it three months ago.”

You blink. “What.”

He shifts slightly in his seat. “I went to a pottery learning class with my mom, so I made it there.”

You stare at him. “Three months ago?”

“Mm.”

You squint. “Three. Whole. Months?”

He nods once, calm.

Your voice rises just a little. “Why?”

He shrugs again. “Thought you might like it.”

You set the pot down gently like it’s now made of glass.

“You made me a hamster pot three months ago and just happened to bring it today?”

“Yup.”

You blink. “Why today?”

“I don’t know,” he says, which means he does know.

You shake your head slowly, mouth parting. “You’ve been holding on to this for three months?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to yours with the softest expression—half smug, half something else.

“I don’t throw away things that matter,” he says.

You want to melt into the table.

You want to flip it and flee.

You do neither.

You just sit there, blinking at him like an NPC with a broken dialogue loop.

Because what do you even say to that?

What can you say?

He made a pot.

Three months ago.

Just in case.

And now it’s here.

On the table.

Between you.

And it’s not just ceramic anymore.

It’s proof.

That something’s been simmering under Riki’s silence all this time.

And now you’re the one who can’t stop staring.

The walk home is quiet.

Not because there’s nothing to say.

But because—for once—you don’t need to say anything.

The air has cooled down a little, the sky now dipped in that post-festival lavender haze. Lanterns are still glowing faintly across the street, their light blinking like low stars strung between wires. Riki walks beside you, hands in his pockets, your bag swinging gently over his shoulder.

You glance up at him a few times, catching only the side of his face under the dim streetlamps. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t glance back. But somehow, it’s not awkward. There’s no tension. No pressure.

It’s just… calm.

Still.

Comfortable.

And you hate how that makes your chest feel like a balloon about to pop.

You mentally slap yourself.

Ew. Stop it. Delusional. Get a grip, Y/N. This is not romantic. You’re just full of sugar and brain fog.

Still, the silence lingers in a way that feels natural. Like maybe this walk home was always supposed to be this quiet. Like the kind of silence that only happens when someone doesn’t feel the need to fill it.

You reach the bus stop just before the streetlight blinks on above your heads, its warm glow stretching into a little circle on the pavement. The bench is empty. The air smells faintly of pavement, clean soap, and whatever lingering scent is stuck to Riki’s hoodie.

You sit.

He leans back against the railing behind you.

Neither of you says anything.

And for a moment—just a moment—you think maybe this is the end of the day. Quiet. Soft. Uncomplicated.

That’s when a pair of heels clicks against the pavement like a sound effect that doesn’t belong to your world.

You both turn your heads.

A girl approaches, walking like she owns the sidewalk.

Long, straight black hair tucked behind one ear. School cardigan slung around her shoulders instead of worn properly. Gloss on her lips that catches the light. Her bag looks designer. Her eyes look familiar.

Too familiar.

Then you remember.

Reina.

Reina Nakagawa.

Middle school. The girl who always hung around the back gate after soccer practice. The one who once wrote “Riki ♥ Reina” on a whiteboard and tried to pretend it was a joke. The one whose parents moved her to some all-girls academy halfway across the city.

Apparently, she’s back.

And worse, she’s walking directly toward you.

“Oh my god,” she says with a laugh that sounds like static through velvet. “Riki?”

Your spine straightens.

Riki shifts but doesn’t speak.

Reina stops a few feet away, head tilted, eyes glossy with surprise—and something else. Her gaze barely touches you before flicking back to Riki, a smile creeping onto her lips.

“I didn’t even know you still lived around here,” she says, mock-pouting. “You’ve gotten so hot.”

Your eyebrows hit your hairline.

Riki says nothing.

She steps a little closer, ignoring you entirely. “You were cute back then, but now? Total glow-up. Seriously.” Her eyes finally flick to you—up, then down, then up again. Her expression shifts.

You know that look.

Girls like Reina don’t need to say much. The face says it all.

The subtle wrinkle of her nose.

The slow scan.

The faint twitch of her lip that’s trying too hard not to turn into a full grimace.

Then she turns back to Riki, tilting her head with theatrical sympathy.

“…And you’re stuck babysitting?”

You freeze.

What.

Reina gestures vaguely in your direction, all faux concern. “I mean, you could be literally anywhere right now. And you’re… here.”

You blink once.

Twice.

Babysitting?

You open your mouth, the shock finally punching through your system. “Excuse me—”

But before you can say another word—

Riki shifts beside you.

Not a flinch. Not a sudden movement.

Just… a pause.

His shoulders square just slightly.

His expression doesn’t change.

But the air does.

And he still doesn’t say anything.

Yet.

The air stills.

Reina’s words hang between you like bad perfume—sweet on the surface, sour underneath.

Babysitting.

You blink, lips parting. The weight of the insult presses hot against your chest, like embarrassment and fury decided to hold hands and climb into your lungs. You open your mouth—ready to defend yourself, maybe say something equally venomous—but then you hear it:

Riki’s voice.

Low. Even.

Like water just about to freeze.

“I’m not babysitting.”

Reina’s smugness falters for half a second.

Riki doesn’t stop.

“She’s not as self-centered as you.”

His tone doesn’t rise.

Doesn’t sharpen.

If anything, it softens. The way cold air softens right before it bites your skin.

Reina freezes. Her expression shifts—but not fast enough to recover. The hit lands. Quiet. Brutal.

You stare at Riki, stunned. The chill in his voice, the calmness in his jaw, the fact that he even said anything at all—it takes you a second to register that you’re gripping the edge of the bench.

Reina’s jaw tightens, but she can’t respond.

Because that’s when the bus rumbles around the corner.

Like fate timed its arrival just to end this scene.

The headlights sweep over the pavement. The brakes hiss as it slows beside the curb. A handful of other students begin lining up, unaware that a silent war just took place in the shadows.

Riki turns to you.

And without a word, takes your hand.

Not rushed. Not showy.

Just… natural.

You feel your heart thump once, sharply, in your chest.

And then he steps toward the bus.

But not before glancing back one last time.

Just as Reina’s fingers twitch toward her phone, like she might try to regain control of the moment—

Riki tilts his head slightly.

“There’s a huge brown stain on the back of your shirt, Reina.”

She freezes.

“And the price tag’s still on.”

A beat of silence.

“I’d suggest you take care of that.”

Then, with the faintest nod—barely even a shrug—

“My pleasure.”

And with that, he steps onto the bus, still holding your hand, not sparing her another glance.

You follow, dazed, stepping into the cool, humming quiet of the aisle.

Behind you, Reina doesn’t speak.

She can’t.

Because Riki didn’t just win.

He obliterated her.

With five sentences and no raised voice.

You slide into a seat beside him.

Still gripping his hand.

Still hearing that quiet, lethal tone in your head.

Still trying to breathe.

You don’t say anything when he leads you onto the bus.

He doesn’t, either.

But his hand stays around yours, like he doesn’t trust the world not to try again.

He doesn’t look back.

Not at Reina.

Not at the others.

Just walks.

Deliberate. Steady. Like his presence alone is enough to keep everything else out.

When you both step into the aisle, your fingers are still tangled in his.

But then—

Riki stops.

Just two steps before the seat you always take. The one two rows from the back. The one by the window where you like to pretend no one sees you scrolling through photos of your cat and reading romance webtoons with brightness turned all the way down.

You look at him, confused.

And he looks at you—

Not with the same unreadable face he wears like armor.

But something quieter.

Something that almost feels like—

Regret.

Without a word, he gently sets your tote bag down on the seat.

Then, slowly, his hand rises—

And rests on top of your head.

Not ruffling.

Not playful.

Just… resting.

Like he’s telling your brain to calm down.

Like he knows it won’t.

He pats once.

You feel your heart nearly lurch out of your chest.

And then he lets go.

Steps back.

And walks down the aisle.

Two rows behind you.

To the last seat on the bus.

His seat.

He wanted to sit with you.

God, he wanted to.

Every bone in his body was screaming to stay beside you. To finish what he started with that hair tuck earlier. To sit shoulder-to-shoulder and maybe even risk another ice cream spoon if you looked too pretty thinking again.

But he doesn’t.

Because you looked like you were about to combust on that sidewalk.

Because Reina’s voice was still echoing in your chest.

Because he knows—somehow—that if he sat beside you now, your whole system would crash.

So he sits back.

Lets the space exist.

Lets you breathe.

Even if it’s killing him.

The engine hums. The driver calls out the next stop.

He watches your silhouette—just the back of your head, the way your shoulder shifts when you adjust your bag. He notices you sit straighter when you’re thinking. Slouch slightly when you’re tired.

He stares out the window.

Then at your reflection in the glass.

He lets himself want.

Quietly.

Safely.

From two rows behind.

And doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look back at him on the bus.

Not even once.

Not when your brain is replaying that head pat like it was a physical download of every feeling he’s never said out loud. Not when your hands are still warm from the way he let go. Not even when you think you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

You keep your head resting against the window. Watch the blur of houses and traffic lights. Pretend your stomach isn’t in knots. Pretend your brain isn’t building a wall of thoughts and then immediately setting it on fire.

This is fine.

Everything is normal.

You’re just sitting two seats ahead of Nishimura Riki, the boy who gave you a hamster-shaped pot and saved you from verbal annihilation and held your hand and then pat your head like you were something he didn’t want to crush.

It’s fine.

Totally.

Fine.

The bus slows near the turn.

Your stop.

The street is dark but familiar. Home. Still. The corner where the vending machine flickers. The small sidewalk crack you once tripped over in third grade. Your houses stand on opposite sides of the same fence.

You stand first.

Grab your bag.

Still don’t look back.

Riki doesn’t call to you.

But you hear his footsteps behind yours anyway.

You both step off the bus in silence. The doors close with a soft hiss. The bus pulls away.

It’s just the two of you now.

Same as always.

Except not.

The walk is quiet. But it isn’t empty.

The space between you feels charged. Every step echoes a little too loud in your ears. You don’t talk. Neither does he. But somehow you match pace, as if your feet have already memorized how to walk home together without needing to speak.

You glance sideways once.

He’s got one hand in his pocket. His head tilted slightly down. Eyes forward. Shoulders relaxed but... not really. There’s a twitch in his fingers. A small one. Like his hand is fighting the urge to reach for something again.

You grip your tote bag tighter.

Don’t say anything.

The houses come into view. His on the left, yours on the right, separated by the small gravel path you used to call “neutral territory” when you were kids. You’d meet there after school, trade candy, homework complaints, weird bug facts. Well it was always you talking, he would just listen, like he always does, and nod on rare occasions. You thought he found you annoying, so you just stopped talking to him.. yeah, that’s how you became strangers. You never knew how much he loved your voice, your continuous yapping, how much he told Konon about you, how he remembers everything you say, said, look at, ok that’s creepy. Let’s stop here. Just one last think, just know that Riki never found you annoying.

Now?

You stop at the fork.

Both of you just… stand.

For a second too long.

The silence now feels more like a pause than a lack.

He turns to you—finally.

You look up.

He doesn’t say much.

He never does.

But his eyes flick to your bag.

Then to your face.

Then back down.

“…Don’t drop it,” he says, voice low.

You blink. “What?”

He nods slightly at your tote. “The pot.”

Your lips part—somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.

You open your mouth to reply, but he’s already turned.

Taking the slowest first step toward his front gate.

Not fast. Not sharp.

Like maybe, if you said something—anything—he’d stop again.

But you don’t.

Not tonight.

You just stand there, watching his back.

The quiet closing in again.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

It feels like it’s hiding something you’re not brave enough to say.

You’re still standing at the fork, right between his house and yours, when the words escape before your brain can stop them.

“Oh, and—uh.” You grip your bag tighter. “The bracelet.”

Riki glances at you, one brow raised.

You clear your throat. “You also gave me a bracelet, remember? From my booth? That you bought with your own money… even though it was literally my booth.”

He says nothing. Just watches you with that unreadable expression again.

You roll your eyes but smile softly. “Thanks. For that too.”

And then, as if some hidden part of you wants to betray you completely, you hear yourself add:

“I’ll make something for you.”

Silence.

You blink.

Your soul ejects from your body.

“I—” You slap a hand over your mouth. “Wait—no—forget I said that—”

But it’s too late.

You’re already spinning on your heel.

Already speed-walking toward your front door, nearly tripping over your own thoughts.

“See you tomorrow!” you call out—too loud, too flustered, too everything.

You don’t look back. You’re sticky, glitter-covered, exhausted, and about two beads of sweat away from declaring the DIY charm booth a crime scene. You’re sticky, glitter-covered, exhausted, and about two beads of sweat away from declaring the DIY charm booth a crime scene. You’re sticky, glitter-covered, exhausted, and about two beads of sweat away from declaring the DIY charm booth a crime scene. You’re sticky, glitter-covered, exhausted, and about two beads of sweat away from declaring the DIY charm booth a crime scene.

Not once.

Behind you, Riki blinks once.

Then exhales through his nose.

A smile curls at the corners of his lips.

Not smug.

Just quietly delighted.

He watches your front door click shut.

Then turns.

And walks inside his own.

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jrswritings · 10 months ago

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Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Ten - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, and Chapter Nine! Masterlist :)

Chapter Ten - You Look Like You Love Me

After Tyler got the fire going, which took him a good half hour, he came back inside to see you curled up on the couch with his flannel on. You had your elbow on the armrest and your head in your hand. He slid his phone out of his pocket and quickly snapped a picture of you that he would later change to be his lock screen photo.

While you were catching up on some much-needed sleep, he went down to the tiny basement, which doubled as a storm shelter, to rummage through the deep freezer to see what you both could make over the fire. It was either hot dogs or brats, he just had to find them.

You stirred hearing the commotion, rubbing your eyes and stretching your arms up. You glanced around the room to not see Tyler anywhere. You stood up and walked over to the side door and out by the fire. Since you had gone to the truck it had already cooled off outside a substantial amount where even being in his flannel was still comfortable. You saw two chairs set up and a cooler which you hoped was filled with beer.

You plopped yourself down in the chair, peeking into the cooler and smiling when a 12-pack greeted you. You grabbed one out of the wet cardboard and popped the cap off and into the fire. The radio was playing softly behind you, but instead of an oldies station, it was a new country station.

You grabbed one of the shorter logs that was still intact and propped your boots up on it, leaning back into the chair and listening to the male radio host announce the next song.

“Up next is You Look Like You Love Me which was released recently by Ella Langley and Riley Green,” he said, fading the song in.

You rocked your feet on the log to the beat of the song and took a drink of the beer.

“I was all but 22, I think at the time, I’d been out on the road, lonely at night,” Ella sang, “And it’d been a while, so it was on my mind. Well, I saw him walk in, with his cowboy hat, and I thought to myself, I could use some of that.”

You didn’t mind the song, but you knew it had been overplayed since its release. After hearing it lord knows how many times, it started to rub off on you.

“His boots like glass on a sawdust floor, huh, had moves like nothing I’d ever seen before, so I walked right up,” the song played on, “And I pulled him to the side, I handed that man a beer and looked him in the eyes, and I said, baby, I think you’re gonna wanna hear this.”

“Then I told him,” you sang, “Excuse me, you look like you love me, you look like you want me to want you to come on home.”

You sipped your beer and hummed along to the rest of the chorus, as you didn’t know many of the words aside from what you’d caught on the radio and online.

You were so into watching the flames dance with each other, the crackling of the fire soothing your mind, you didn’t hear Tyler come out of the shack and up behind you.

“Well, I was down at a local beer joint with a few of the guys, when this cute little country girl caught my eye,” Riley sang, “And boy, let me tell you, she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen in a pair of boots.”

“Well, she walked right up to me, handed me a beer, gave me a look like, let’s get out of here,” Tyler sang behind you, “And that’s when I realized that she was every cowboy’s dream come true.”

You gasped slightly, Tyler’s all of a sudden appearance scaring you until he kissed your cheek.

“Why must you do that, I’m too young for a heart attack!” You said, playfully hitting his arm as he walked over to the picnic table.

“Because seeing you all flustered is cute,” he said, setting the hot dogs down, “So, a slight dilemma.”

“And what’s that besides my spike in heart rate?” You asked, leaning back into your chair.

“We have no buns or bread for the hot dogs, so hopefully you’re good with an un-bunned dog,” he said, grabbing the roasting sticks.

“It’s food. I’d rather have an un-bunned dog than an un-dogged bun,” you said, sipping your beer.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughed while walking over to you and grabbing himself a beer.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night with me?” You asked, looking over at him.

“I figured we’d enjoy some fire-roasted hot dogs, enjoy a couple of beers, star gaze then head back to Prairie Winds,” he said softly, “Then start all over again tomorrow.”

“We’re doing all of this again tomorrow?” You asked, almost choking on your beer.

“Only if you want to, darlin’,” he said, looking at you.

“I wouldn’t mind breakfast again,” you said, “But I need to plan a trip to Texas to see my parents soon…”

“You make it sound like that’s a problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yes and no,” you sighed, “Every time I’ve been back they pressure me about them not getting any younger, how come I haven’t found someone, where are their grandkids.”

“Well, you can tell them you’ve found someone,” he said with a smirk.

“I’ve tried telling them that before, they didn’t believe me since the guy wasn’t with me,” you said, “And in all honestly I lied to them to try and get them off my back before I snapped and lost it.”

“When do you want to leave?” He asked, “I’ll even let you drive me Lil Blue.”

“W-What?” You asked, spitting your beer out, “You want to go meet my parents?”

“Honey, let’s get this straight right now,” he said, looking you in the eye, “After that kiss we shared that got my heart beatin’ faster than when I’m in the middle of a tornado, I plan to spend the rest of my life on Earth with you and only you.”

Your breath hitched listening to him, you never had anyone tell you that before and mean it. With how he said it and his eyes full of love, you knew he meant it. You smiled slightly at him and hung your head down, a couple of tears sneaking out from your eyes.

“Hey, hey, now lil lady, why are you cryin’?” He asked, setting his beer down and coming to kneel on one knee in front of you.

“I-I’ve just,” you sighed, then took a deep breath, “I’ve never had anyone say that to me in such a loving manner.”

“Well you just did, and you better believe it,” he said, lifting your chin slowly with one hand and using the other to wipe your tears, “And you better get used to it because I will tell you every day if I have to.”

“I really don’t know what I did to deserve such a wonderful…crazy, but wonderful man treat me like this,” you said, trying to laugh while holding back tears.

“You were just bein’ you, baby,” he said, giving you a smile and a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I was so wrong about you,” you said softly, putting a hand on his chest as he held his kiss on your head.

“That’s a good thing, right?” He asked, chuckling.

You softly laughed, “Yeah, it is, babe.”

“I’m going to start roastin’ these dogs,” He said while standing up and walking to the table where the dogs were now semi-unfrozen.

“Think you could turn the radio up a smidge?” You asked, getting comfy in your seat again.

“Anythin’ for my girl,” he said, leaning over and turning the dial up slightly.

“So you’d really come to my parents with me?” You asked, looking over at him.

“In a heartbeat.” He said, turning around with a couple of hot dogs on each stick.

“When would you want to go?” You asked, playing with your fingers.

“Whenever you’d want to,” he said, scooting his chair closer and holding the sticks over the flames.

“I’ll talk to my mom later, but maybe next week? Just kind of get it done and over with?” You suggested, looking at your watch with it displaying 5:47 pm, “As I’m sure they’re already settling down for the night. Cattle farmer life and all.”

“Just let me know so I can put Dani in charge of the team,” he said, smiling over at you, “We could stop by my aunts on the way if you wanted to since I’m meetin’ your family and all.”

“If you wanted to, I wouldn’t want to overstep or anything,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Darlin’,” he said, “What did we just talk about?”

“Still, Ty,” you said, “It might take me a bit to work through all the trauma I’ve been through…”

“I know,” he said, “Of course, I want you to meet my family because you are or will be a part of it.”

“Okay, we can do that then,” you said, “Leave Monday afternoon or something?”

“Sounds like a plan to me, baby,” he said with a smile, “I can’t wait.”

Want more? Here's Chapter Eleven!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719 @ummmeg

#glen powell #glen powell x reader #twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x y/n #glen powell x you #twisters x reader #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens x you #twisters fanfic

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wowbright · 5 months ago

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Anderson’s Guide to the Birds of North America, Chapter 1: Lover Boy

Summary: Fourteen scenes from the lives of Blaine Anderson, grad student and avid birder, and Kurt Hummel, clothing designer and Vogue writer, from before their first meeting in the spring of 2020 through falling in love.

Note: Back during the COVID lockdowns I wrote a couple hundred words of Klaine lockdown meet-cute. I thought I would write more, but I guess I didn't feel like writing about the COVID lockdown during the COVID lockdown, so I never did and I never posted the tiny bit I had written. Thanks to Klaine Valentine’s Challenge 2025, I’m finally doing the thing! I'm trying to keep each chapter to around 500 words. Thanks @spaceorphan!

AO3

~~~

Chapter 1: Lover Boy

Blaine was going to go insane.

He knew he should be grateful. He had it better than a lot of other people. He didn't have to worry about where his next paycheck was coming from, because he didn't get a paycheck, because he was an idiot who had, for some reason, decided his fascination with birds was enough to carry him through another five years of school at minimum after completing college. More to the point, he received monthly distributions from a trust fund his grandparents had set up for him in their wills, and though it didn't make him filthy rich, it gave him enough to live on without having to worry about finances.

But he never would have moved in with Cooper if he’d known they'd be locked up together for weeks (or would it be months?) on end. He loved his brother, but his brother was a lot. At least they had separate bedrooms, plus Cooper had the recording studio and was staying fairly busy with audiobook work. Unfortunately, Cooper did not keep all of his acting and voice exercises to the studio. Nor did he keep his opinions to himself, no matter how many times Blaine said, “I'm not changing what I'm making for dinner,” and “This is what I choose to wear and your opinion has no bearing on the matter,” and “I'm sorry you can't go to the gym, but no, you do not have my permission to use me as a dumbbell for bench presses.”

Blaine was spending increasing amounts of time shut in his bedroom with ear plugs and noise canceling headphones on, working on compiling and coding his field research notes and, when that became too tiresome, checking recently submitted species sightings on ebird.org for potential errors.

Today, he was listening to his Upbeat Sexy With a Twist of Romance playlist—the one he used to listen to while getting dressed for a night out on the town. Oh, what a different time that had been. Now instead of gelling his hair while crooning along to Freddie Mercury singing Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy, whatcha doin’ tonight? while hoping to get laid or better yet find love, he was bobbing along to the song while entering numbers into a spreadsheet.

But that could be good, too. The rhythm of the music combined with the spreadsheet sent him into a near hypnotic trance that made him forget time and boredom and COVID. It was as close as Blaine got to heaven these days.

A sudden weight on his shoulder jarred him out of his trance.

His brother period of course. Just when Blaine’s mind had found some semblance of peace, Cooper had to disturb it.

He removed his headphones and one ear plug. “What is it, Coop?”

“New lockdown project: I’m going to turbocharge my manscaping routine. I need waxing tips.”

“You interrupted my work for that?”

Cooper waved at the computer screen dismissively. “You should be thanking me. That must be incredibly boring. What do all those numbers even mean?”

Blaine looked at his brother. He looked at the numbers. He looked at his brother again. “I mean this with all due respect, but I seriously want to kill you right now.” He closed his eyes. He took a breath. “I'm going for a walk.”

Blaine had already been for a walk that morning. It was the migratory season, so of course he had. He’d gone out with his binoculars as soon as the sun started twinkling over the horizon. He’d ticked off twenty-seven species, including his first American redstart of the season along with plenty of palm and yellow-rumped warblers, but apparently two hours of birding in the morning wasn't enough to keep him sane.

He jumped from his chair, pulled on a jacket, and grabbed his binoculars. “I'm going to walk until I no longer feel murderous. Love you!” The door slammed behind him.

#wowbright writes fic #klainevalentines2025 #klaine fanfiction #Anderson’s Guide to the Birds of North America #fic: Anderson’s Guide to the Birds of North America #my klaine valentines #skating fic is still going up according to schedule #This is just a fun side project

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treacheryinblue · 1 year ago

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Chapter 3/4

Noah Sebastian x F!Reader Series

Word Count: 8.9k

Masterlist

× Summary: Noah is Death, the ruler of the after life (or whatever you want to call it), though he is cursed to watch you come and go from his never ending existence time and time again.

× Warnings!: Eh-level smut (P in V obviously), language, little bit of violence, tiny fluff if you squint, very slight dom!noah, smut with plot aka this became more in depth than I meant for it to aka a one shot that's now a series. Non-proofread smut. Let me know if I missed anything!

× Author's Notes: ( 1 ) It's a bit of a long one, folks! Consider it a thank you for being so patient while I've worked through my writer's block. ( 2 ) Don't look too deep into the lore I've created because there's probably a lot that doesn't make sense. But if you are curious, then feel free to ask me any questions! ( 3 ) I'm but a writer that thrives off positive feedback (or even constructive criticism), so don't be shy when it comes to interacting with the post, or even me.

Happy reading! xoxo

“That soul is not meant for this land, my lord.”

Silence was given as a response.

“She is not destined to be here, and you know what will hap-”

“Yes, I am well aware of the consequences to my actions.” Noah heavily exhaled, though he appeared uninterested in the conversation.

Sitting atop his throne, black and sleek, one hand gripped the arm rest while the other was bent and lifted to his face. He examined his nails, further showing his boredom.

“Please forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, my lord, but…the Light Ones are not happy. It has been nine times now and each plays out just like the last.”

A growl was emitted from him, dark eyes flickering to the creature who stood below. “I do not need you reciting my failures to me, demon.”

Noah couldn't bear to think of how you had been ripped from him countless times now. Pried from his hands. Stolen away. You had spent centuries together, longer than any human could dream of living - if one could call you alive - but he knew an infinite amount of centuries more would never be enough. He needed forever.

“If the Light Ones think I'm going to give up just because they look down upon my doings, then they are sorely mistaken. Maybe they aren't as all knowing as they like to remind us of every chance they receive.” He spat with disdain.

The demon clamped their mouth shut in fear that they may further anger the embodiment of darkness sitting before them. This is how they remained for a long moment, neither speaking, but the demon holding many questions on their pointed tongue.

“‘My lord…” they cautiously began after a moment. “Might I ask…what is it about this girl that you're so drawn to? You encounter humans everyday, thousands of them, but none have made you so…”

“Weak?” Noah finished the demon’s sentence for them, his eyebrows quirked.

The demon immediately fell to their knees, their jagged forehead pressing to the marble floor as if to already begin begging for forgiveness.

“No! I would never say as such, my lord!”

Noah shook his head as his focus returned to his nails, just as the ruby encrusted dagger appeared within his grasp out of thin air.

“There's no need to grovel,” he exclaimed while turning the dagger, inspecting every inch of the blade. “I have become weak when it comes to her…but I don't have an answer for you as to why.”

It was still a mystery even to him.

“Does Death itself not deserve the chance to love and to be loved in return, though?”

× × ×

“Legend says it's cursed.”

You snorted a laugh as you looked up at the friendly face across the counter, though his expression was as serious as ever, causing your smile to falter slightly.

“Cursed?” Might as well indulge him a bit if he was going to get all mega serious on you now.

Nicholas was your go-to guy when it came to purchasing oddities and strange artifacts. He was good at tracking down the specific items you'd ask for but he also had a knack for snagging things he thought you'd find interesting.

Your eyes dropped to the dagger as you leaned into the glass countertop. There was a twitch in your fingers to reach out and touch the item, to feel the cool metal against your fingertips, though you knew better. Nick was typically pretty light hearted and you two could share a laugh, but you knew when to stay within your lane when it came to his business. Don't touch it until he offers it to you.

“From what I could find online, it's ancient, so old that no one can really say for sure how long it's been around. And you know how it goes with old things - always a curse or some shit attached to them.”

Nodding in agreement to his words, your eyes paused upon the faintly noticeable sigil that remained etched into the dagger’s blade. The sigil is why you wanted the item, what you had asked Nick to search for in particular.

“It's probably bullshit,” he continued, “but it was something about going to the flames if you're on the end of the blade.”

“The website was in some foreign language and the guy I bought it from barely spoke English so I can't give you an accurate translation yet. Who even knows if it's legit.”

The bell above the door dinging briefly overtook Nicholas' attention. He held a finger up to you to silently tell you to ‘hold on’, then he stepped around the counter to greet his new patrons.

“It's legit,” you softly spoke to yourself as you gazed upon the dagger again. There was something drawing you to it; a warmth, a knowing. Your eyes focused in on the cloudy rubies - you knew they'd shine again with a thorough cleaning - and they pulled you closer and closer, your sights now level with the item. Had there been a flicker within the largest stone? Couldn't be. Your eyes were clearly playing tricks on you now.

As Nick returned, you straightened your posture and smiled. “I'll take it.”

“What?” Nicholas opened his mouth to speak but then only breathed out, his head tilting slightly to the side.

“You know I have to charge you as if it's real, right? I mean, I haven't been able to fully inspect it myself or do anymore research, so I feel kinda like an asshole doing th-”

“Nick, it's fine.” You laughed while retrieving your wallet from your bag, fingers digging into the slot that held your credit card. “It's a chance I'm willing to take.”

“Alright…it's your money.”

A few minutes later and your new purchase was packaged and ready to go. Nick approached you with an outstretched hand that held the blood red box the dagger was stashed away in, uncertainty in his eyes. You knew he hated not knowing all the ins and outs of his inventory, especially when it came to something with such a hefty price tag.

“Are you coming tonight?” He asked as you accepted the box which was now being held close to your chest.

“It's the first show with our new singer but he's been fucking great in rehearsals. Really has an ear for the band.”

You nodded, again flashing a friendly smile. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

After a bit more chit chat and hammering down the finer details on how the night would go, you said your goodbyes to Nicholas with the obvious promise of seeing him in a few short hours.

Making your way out of the shop, phone in hand and AirPods nestled in your ears, you only looked up when you were about to cross the street. On the opposite side stood a man, his dark eyes set entirely on you. He was wearing all black with deep brown hair that brushed his cheeks, hands clasped behind his back. Something about him made your stomach do a flip and you felt a pull despite having no idea who this man was.

Slowly, your feet began to carry you along the crosswalk. He remained in place, though a faint smirk dared to appear over his lips. Your cheeks flushed crimson and you had the urge to glance away like some timid little school girl, but there was something preventing you from looking anywhere but at him.

“Come.”

A voice drifted into your mind and then back out as if being carried by the wind. You knew that should've frightened you but you felt nothing. Nothing aside from the biting need to be near this unknown man.

Then, he was suddenly gone and you were left empty.

The blaring beep of a horn shook you, your body flinching in surprise from the sudden harsh noise. You looked over to the car that was inches from colliding with you, a hand waving all about behind the windshield and motioning for you to get the fuck out of the way.

× × ×

Arms above your head, you loudly hollered along with the rest of the crowd as the song came to an end. Red lights flashed all around you, the stage illuminating and going fully dark in quick succession. Your hands collided in a fury of claps before lowering to cup around your mouth.

“Wooooo!” You had never been much of a ‘woo girl’ but alcohol made it loads more enjoyable to do.

You could feel the vibrations from both the noise you projected and the bass of the band in the hollow of your stomach, reverberating throughout your entire being. There was something sensual about it - being able to not only hear the music but also feel it.

Nicholas’ band had been pretty decent before so coming to see them and support their gigs was never an issue. But now? They were fucking amazing. The new singer definitely added to whatever they had been lacking previously, even if there wasn't anything specific you could put your finger on.

Did it help that the new singer happened to catch your eye a few times? Maybe.

“Hey!” Nicholas yelled out for you after their set. He had found you at the bar towards the back of the club - just where you always were.

“Hey yourself!” You called back as a fresh drink was set in front of you by the bartender.

Nick rolled his eyes at you but still chuckled. Sweat beaded on his forehead, pupils blown from the adrenaline rush he had experienced while on stage. You always thought Nick was pretty cute and you both had a lot in common - he had even asked you out once - but things were better kept as friends between the two of you. As well as the occasional artifacts dealer, of course.

“Didn't get a chance to see you before we went on, so let me introduce you to the newest member.”

“Noah!” The guy spoke up for himself, his voice loud enough for him to be heard over the commotion of the crowd and also the next band setting up.

You paused as your gaze met his, eyes squinting ever so slightly while taking in his face from this new close proximity. He looked just like the ethereal man you had seen outside of Nick’s shop earlier, but also…not. That guy had been finely dressed with much shorter hair and a presence about him that demanded attention, this guy in front of you was the epitome of a 'guy in a band'. Long hair, jeans blown out at the knee, worn Vans that told you he dressed for comfort. Their smiles were the same, though.

Instead of giving your name, you opted for a question. “Do you have a brother?”

Noah extended to you a look of confusion though you swore you saw a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.

“Uh, no? Not that I know of.” Despite your weird question, he laughed and stepped a bit closer to you, his elbow leaning into the side of the bar top.

Nicholas had fallen into conversation with another band mate, leaving just you and Noah to entertain each other.

You spared him the explanation of why you had asked such a question. The last thing you needed was to seem creepy or more odd than you already did on a day to day basis. Thankfully it didn't seem as if that was going to deter him from cozying up to you at the end of the bar.

Drink after drink was had with a couple of shots downed in between. You had found out that Noah had recently moved to Los Angeles, worked at a graphic design company, owned a cat, and shared a building with a rather odd Asian woman that liked to bring him homemade meals multiple times a week.

You also discovered that you liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled too wide and how he was always touching his face as if it was a comforting habit of some sort.

“Nick said you like to collect…unusual things?”

You cleared your throat and abruptly averted your gaze before he could realize you had been staring.

“I guess that's one way to put it,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. Not even the alcohol could mask the embarrassment.

“My dad was an antiques dealer, scam artist, whatever you want to call it.” You paused to take a swallow from your glass but to also let your honesty sink in.

“So, I kinda just grew up with old objects that told a story. Buying them for myself - as someone who will care for them and their story - sounds better to me than allowing them to be on display in a stuffy museum somewhere.”

“That's why you bought the dagger?”

Huh…had you mentioned the dagger to him? Maybe not. Maybe so. Maybe Nick told him about it. Either way, you took in a deep breath, your head swimming from the alcohol.

“Not exactly…”

Noah looked at you curiously, silently asking for you to continue. To tell him. But how were you to explain that you awoke one day with this nagging obsession for the sigil stamped on the blade? That you desired to find every single item you possibly could that bore the same marking? It was impossible to divulge because you had no idea why you had become so hell bent on acquiring these things. You didn't even know what the damned sigil meant.

“Did you want to see it?”

And like he had been waiting for you to ask, Noah flashed a devilish grin.

“I'd love to.”

× × ×

Pleasure erupted throughout your entire body as Noah kneeled between your spread legs. His hands held tight to your hips, pulling you down to grind against him with every forward thrusting motion. He groaned above you, teeth gritted and jaw clenched, revealing to you all the work he was putting in.

And boy did you feel it.

You had already cum twice - once from his mouth and again from him bending you over the arm of the couch when neither of you could make it to your bedroom fast enough.

Most of the time even you had to pray the wind was blowing in the right direction so you could cum in a timely manner, yet Noah had managed to get you there in near record time.

“Fucking hell! Right there!” You cried out as his cock pierced just the right spot within your drenched and aching cunt. Heavy pants escaped from you, each breath becoming louder and more pronounced the harder he drove his hips.

Noah’s tattooed fingers dug deep enough into your hips that you knew you'd have bruises the next morning. They'd match the bruise you'd have on your ass from when he had you bent over and administered quite a harsh spank.

He released your hips so he could trail his hands down along your tense thighs, kneading and massaging into the flesh. One hand continued its downwards trek to your clit as the other drifted up, pausing at your neck. Slender fingers secured around your throat and applied enough pressure to cause your heart to race and your breath to hitch, though not enough to cause any worry.

Why would you ever be worried about hooking up with a stranger and allowing him into the privacy of your home?

Noah's thumb swirled around your clit, each pass over the nerves causing your thighs to twitch and your hips to buck. He was then leaning over you so he could capture your lips in a hungry kiss, so much so that you swore you heard him growl against your lips. Not that you were fazed by this.

“Uh uh,” he scolded after parting from your lips to gaze down at you. “Eyes open.”

To show how serious he was in this demand, his hand further tightened around your throat, short nails digging into the sensitive skin. You gasped for air but it was all too much; the overpowering ecstasy that coursed through your every being as you felt his cock throb inside of you, the rigid veins that stimulated the tight walls of your pussy, his thumb on your clit, his onyx eyes never drifting from yours.

How were you to survive this night?

Your body tensed and your lower back arched as you felt the first ripplings of your orgasm. Your third orgasm. Then - everything released. You writhed beneath him, eyes finally closing which was no choice of your own, all while his name and a mixture of other profanities echoed through the room.

In the midst of your climax, your vision was hazy from the intensity, as well as the lack of oxygen greeting your brain. With every blink Noah’s face shifted; it went from the band frontman you had met that night to the dark stranger across the street earlier in the day, then back again, only to repeat the cycle. There was no way that's what was really happening, so you chalked it up to your overactive imagination and mostly drunken state.

The mess you made meant nothing to you, nor did the added mess of his cum when he managed to meet his ending in tandem. Noah’s hips lost momentum gradually before stilling completely, though your cunt continued to collapse and clench around him until your body finally settled.

It wasn’t much later that Noah laid sprawled across your bed, his face pressed to the pillow, breathing steady after drifting off to sleep. Unfortunately, you didn't have the same luxury. There was a darkness creeping into your mind, repeated phrases demanding things of you, things of which you had never considered before.

“Do it,” the voice whispered in your ear.

At first you assumed it was Noah by the brush of his hair on your face and the familiar grasp of his fingers around your waist. But when you glanced back, he hadn't moved a muscle.

“It would be so easy…”

“You want to. I know you want to. I can smell it on you.”

When your eyes opened, the blood red box from Nick’s shop sat at your side. It was unwrapped, the dagger staring up at you from its temporary home. Taunting. Begging. Screaming to be touched.

You listened.

Fingertips traced the metal of the handle, down to the tip of the dagger that remained sheathed.

“Pick it up.”

The order from the disembodied voice was obeyed, the dagger soon resting in your grasp. Still, no one was in the room with you other than Noah’s sleeping form, so how did you feel a breath on your neck?

Rubies embedded in the dagger shone before your eyes now that it was held up for you to admire. So beautiful. Just what you had been searching for all this time.

“Do it.”

You knew what the voice was asking of you. You knew it would end in your demise. Yet, you felt no fear. If anything, you were…excited. Possibly even anxious for what was to come.

“Do it!” The voice loudly rang out, deep and commanding in your mind.

Both hands now gripped the handle of the dagger after you pulled it from its sheath. Arms stretched out before you, the blade was perfectly angled just where you somehow knew it needed to end up.

Right in your heart.

“Do it! Now!”

With quick motion that held all of your strength, you impaled the dagger into your own chest. You could hear it break through the bone that protected your heart - your body no match to the power that lied within the weapon.

“...going to the flames if you're on the end of the blade.” Nick's voice now penetrated your mind, a memory from hours ago. His words being that of the loosely translated curse that the dagger held.

As soon as the blade punctured your chest, you felt a sense of clarity. You knew what the curse now was: die by way of the blade, go straight to Hell.

Eyes wide, you looked down to the dagger protruding from you. Blood spilled from the wound, coating your naked body, staining your sheets. You tried to call out for Noah despite knowing he wouldn't be able to do anything to help you.

Gathering what remained of your strength, which was next to none, you again glanced back to where you expected to see him sleeping. Instead, he was standing at the side of the bed, hands clasped behind his back, wearing the same smirk you had seen from the other Noah outside of Nicholas’ shop.

In a blink you were then being cradled in his tattooed arms. His fingertips brushed your hair back from your face in the most loving of gestures, lips moving though you couldn't make out a thing he was saying. You couldn't hear anything. Couldn't feel anything. All you could do was allow yourself to be encased by the cold hands of death as it dragged you deeper and deeper down to the dismal abyss.

“I'll see you on the other side, my love.”

× × ×

The forever night of the land taunted you as you gazed out the large window. Stars freckled the sky, twinkling and swirling cosmos in some spots, remaining still in most just as the night sky did back home.

Home.

Everyday that passed you forgot more and more what it looked like.

You had remembered your death, all of your deaths, within minutes this time. Noah was beyond pleased, confessing that he always wondered if dying by your own hand was the trick though he had been nervous to see. Nervous to know what it would do to you.

Well, now he knew.

You were livid. Never had you felt so betrayed, and you made sure he was well aware of your anger towards him. Something told you that he felt it in your lack of appearances since you had yet to face him fully since arriving.

“The Dark Lord has requested your presence today.”

A demon who had been appointed to your side ran a brush through your hair, gently ridding the strands of any tangles that had formed while you slept. You had told them day one that you could do it yourself but they insisted. Tending to you was now their duties and they had to do as commanded.

“You can tell the Dark Lord to kiss my ass,” you mocked.

The demon held back what you thought was the semblance of a chuckle, their unusually long fingers continuing to ready your hair for the day.

“Forgive me for being so blunt, but I think it would be best if you spoke with him. Perhaps let your grievances out however you see fit?”

Had you not done that the moment your memories returned? You very much recall throwing a heavy tea pot at his head, although he had dodged it with ease. Were your shouts of frustration not enough? Your tears?

It wasn't that you were upset to be back with him. You were more so mad about how he had gotten you here this time. There had to be some other way that left out the whole dying part.

“What's your name?”

The demon paused briefly at your question. You could tell they had never been asked before, though you weren't sure if it was because everyone else here knew how things went or if no one simply cared.

“I don't remember.”

This confused you. Shifting a bit in your seat, you turned your upper body to look at the creature. They were definitely a sight to behold; scaly skin that glistened as if perpetually wet, yellow eyes with only the smallest white pupil appearing like a cat’s, a row of chipped horns going down the center of their head.

You had stopped being scared of the demons here long ago.

“Lowly demons, such as myself, lose their names upon becoming what we are. We are simply demon. The others, the ones you've probably heard of in some capacity within your mortal stories, are given new names when they become His strongest warriors.”

Out of all of your ventures here, you had never been told about the inner workings of the land. You found it to be interesting.

“Oh…” You felt silly for even asking, now also concerned that you had probably brought up a sore subject for the demon. No name? No identity? You couldn't imagine.

Once the demon had somehow managed to weave deep red garnets and black diamonds into your hair, you were sent off to where Noah would be waiting. You tried to fight it, arms crossed over your chest as you sat pouting on the edge of the bed, but eventually the demon helped you realize that Noah would see you whether you wanted it or not. It was wise for you to go to him.

And so you did. Like some sort of invisible string leading you to him, you managed to find him standing on the large balcony that jutted out from the castle, overlooking his land in silence. His posture straightened upon sensing your arrival, gaze now set only on you.

“You look…” Onyx eyes raked up and down your body, no shame detected within them as he took in the black gown you had been instructed to put on. You didn’t want to admit to him the way his heavy stare made you feel. There was already a tingling in your lower stomach that radiated down between your thighs - no. You wouldn't fall for it that easily this time.

“Don't,” you merely requested, a hand being held up to signal for him to stop any further words. Steps were then taken around him so you could approach the railing of the balcony, the carved stone cool beneath your touch as you tightly grasped it.

“You're still angry…”

You said nothing. Silence overtaking you.

“I…” he began, his voice falling while trying to gather his thoughts. Never had he been so concerned about anyone else before. Never had he been forced to wonder what the right thing would be to earn your forgiveness.

“I'm sorry that things had to happen this way.”

Well, that weak excuse for an apology definitely made you want to yell at him to shove it up his ass.

Your jaw clenched, knuckles turning white from the death grip you held on the stone railing. It would surely crack and splinter if any more of your strength was to be endured.

“I liked your hair better longer,” you finally spoke, though you didn't look his way. Instead, your gaze remained focused out into the night, slowly cataloging and memorizing every dip and valley.

“That you was nicer.”

Noah slowly shook his head as he reached out to lightly touch your hair, heated fingertips brushing the strands from your bare shoulder to reveal the curve of your neck.

“Funny, because that was me, just in a slightly altered form to keep up appearances.”

As if he could read your thoughts, he continued.

“I was never human, you know this. So, there are no other versions of me like there have been of you. There's only one. That's how it'll forever be.”

Anger flared within you. “You're telling me…that you've been able to come to Earth this entire time? That I haven't needed to brutally die again and again to be with you? You are an insufferable mons-”

A strong hand grasped your arm, turning your body and pulling you in closer. You could tell that Noah wanted to speak to you as if you were one of his demons, someone for him to control, but he managed to contain his rage.

“Do you know the danger I put my entire realm in just to walk amongst the living with you for an extended period of time? To go for my own selfish reasons and not because of my duties? To help guide you back to me? You're blind to the repercussions this land faced. Souls piled up, punishments halted, everything at a standstill. Do you think that has ever happened before?”

Silence as your eyes searched his.

“We may have spent one night together on Earth, but the sheer amount of deaths within that singular night that went unprocessed…”

Noah shuddered at the thought, his grip on you then loosening before releasing completely.

“Think of me what you will, but what I did was for us. Everything I've done, and will do again and again, for us.”

You wanted to understand. You wanted to touch his face and tell him everything was okay. You wanted to press yourself into him and let his warmth overtake you.

You wanted so many things, but none of it was what you did.

Instead of giving into these wants and needs, you gave him one last look and then turned on your heel to saunter back into the farthest reaches of the castle.

× × ×

The only thing you truly despised about this place was the lack of time. While you had an abundance of it, more than you could ever ask for, you still had no idea how much had passed. Days? Months? Hell, maybe a century? Time didn't work the same way here as it did on Earth, which you already knew, but it surely did drag when you were choosing to spend it alone.

You had attempted to keep track of it at the beginning but eventually gave up when nothing fit the way it should have in your human mind. Noah even offered to set a sleep schedule, though that disappeared rather fast when his duties became too much to juggle along with it.

A heavy sigh expelled from you as you flipped over onto your back. Your eyes stared through the darkness of your bedroom and up to the high ceiling where the same stars as the night sky beyond the open window danced along. A neat little trick Noah did when he knew you were restless. He may have been an asshole but he knew how to make you melt when showing his softer side. A side no one had ever seen before you.

With another huff, you caved.

Moments later you were standing in front of his bedroom door after having gently knocked. The door opened almost immediately, revealing his relaxed form sitting upon a grandeur bed with papers strewn about. It was always funny to see him do actual work especially when you had never witnessed anyone outside of the demons wandering the halls.

Sometimes you'd hear other voices when he was locked away in his study, but nothing beyond that.

“Stars didn't work?”

You twisted your lips, head shaking in a single motion.

“They're nice - beautiful - but it's not the same as…” you trailed off for a moment while trying to decide how much of your pride you were willing to spill down the drain. Not the same as when we're laying together.

Noah noticed, he knew what you were going to say. He allowed you to keep the stubborn pride for now. In a snap the papers cleared away from a spot on the bed for you, an invitation to join him.

Sitting against him, your knees bent to the side and your head resting on his shoulder, he continued to work. He would occasionally look over at you, brush your hair back, lightly touch your lips or cheek, then focus again.

How you had managed to wrap Death around your finger, you would never know.

“Can I ask a question?”

Noah nodded, the paper in his hand being placed down so he could fully focus on you now. Another thing you loved about him: he never made you feel as if your presence was a bother. No matter what he was in the middle of.

“Is this how you've always looked? Or do you only appear like this to me?”

A crooked smile appeared on his features, his eyes crinkling in the corners just as you remembered from your brief time on Earth with him.

“Why do you ask?”

Avoidance - as usual.

“I don't know…I mean, when it comes to humans, you are either shown as a skeleton in robes or this otherworldly beautiful man without flaws.” You shrugged.

You didn't add on that you were also curious as to what was real.

Noah didn't taunt you for your poor wording choice. He knew he was beautiful and he knew that you also knew this, but he understood what you meant.

“Technically,” he began while rubbing his chin as if trying to find the right way to describe it to you, “I'm without a body because what I am transcends physical being.”

Okay, that you could understand, at least for the most part. Was it still an odd thought? Yes, of course. All of this was odd.

“But I've chosen to take on a flesh and blood form, even before you came along the first time. It helps to do so in my line of work…so the souls can relate, maybe feel a bit of comfort for a brief moment.”

As he spoke you traced random designs and patterns into the top of his thigh, your fingertip slowly dragging along the soft material of his pants. You inwardly smirked to yourself when you noticed him shiver as your fingers traveled higher along his inner thigh.

“I may have adjusted a few things specifically for you, though.”

“That's why you have all the tattoos?” Your hand left his thigh so you could lightly touch the front of his neck, eyes focused on the inked designs that were quite an interesting choice for him. The religious visuals weren't lost on you - you knew why he had chosen those in particular. A cruel mocking to those above. A middle finger to the “Light Ones” who were always trying to act all better-than-thou.

You didn't tell him that this was quite a human response just to spare you the glare he would surely respond with.

“And the lisp?” You further teased, a smile finally gracing your lips again.

“Again - makes me relatable.”

You hummed in thought, watching him as he watched you. Noah had yet to return to his work meaning he knew there was more you wanted to say. And while this was true, you were more so transfixed by how close you two were. You could feel his breath on your face and see the patterns of different brown shades within his irises, both combined drawing you closer and closer until finally your lips collided with his.

Were you still mad at him? Yes, very much so, but that didn't change the feelings you had for him. The tether between you was far too strong, probably impossible to snap.

Noah didn't waste any time as your kiss deepened and intensified. He leaned back into the pillows of his bed, drawing you with him until your body almost completely covered his. You touched along his face and down his chest, eager fingers tugging and pushing at the shirt he wore. You needed him now.

There were moments when you both liked to take your time, each unwrapping the other like a precious gift, fully savoring the anticipation. Then there were times when it was impatient and needy, as if you couldn't get him inside of you fast enough. Simply a blur of hands until you were both naked without the pesky barriers of clothes getting in the way of your desires.

One guess as to which side you were both currently feeling.

As your clothes were stripped away, flimsy lace being tossed aside, you further crawled on top of him. Knees pressed down onto either side of his hips, your nails scratching along his inked chest before firmly grasping his broad shoulders. The kiss you shared had yet to cease, both of you kissing the other with a desperate need; sweeping tongues and clashing of teeth.

Noah released your hips to cup your breasts within his large hands, thumbs skimming and circling your sensitive nipples to pull a faint whimper from you. Chills formed over your heated skin, your teeth roughly sinking into his lower lip that caused him to hiss and pinch your nipples in return.

“Behave,” he lowly threatened while you could only pout in response.

Both hands then fell from your chest; one dropped to begin pushing his last article of clothing down as the other gripped tight into your hair. Noah roughly yanked your head to the side to further expose your neck, his lips immediately kissing a hot trail to your jaw. He knew exactly what teasing your neck did to you, arousal pooling between your thighs as you needily whimpered for him.

“And you thought you'd be able to stay away.”

You wanted to knee him right in the side for the petty comment, but he was already adjusting your position and tugging you higher up on his hips so you could hover above his hard cock.

Noah smirked against your skin, his tongue flicking at the sensitive spot right below your ear. The moment his teeth nipped at the same spot he pushed your hips down so the wide swollen head of his cock could force through your tight entrance. You gasped and he groaned in unison, his own muscles straining from the vice grip your cunt already had on him.

“I can stay away,” you countered. “I just didn't want to.”

The devilish gleam returned to his eyes while gazing up at you, knowing that deep down you also knew you couldn't stay away. It didn't matter what your stubborn protest said.

Releasing your hair, both of Noah’s hands held tight to your hips. You were still trying to adjust to his size, slowly easing yourself down another inch, but he was clearly much more impatient than you were. This was proven when he forced your hips all the way down until they sat flush against his, the entirety of his cock tunneling through your pussy. Of course how wet you were helped, but nothing could ease the tight stretch.

Your head tossed back as you released a loud moan, all other thoughts leaving your mind except for those of him. Sharp nails dug so deep into his chest that you swore you would draw blood - not that Noah would care.

“Good girl,” the Dark Lord rasped.

His impatience didn't end there. Although he wanted to be kind and let you find your bearings, there was truly no need when he was well aware that you liked things just as he did: rough, animalistic, whatever you wanted to call it.

Keeping you steady atop him, his hips thrusted up from the bed in rapid succession, angling just right to make sure your body quivered and your cries of pleasure never ceased. Noah loved watching you come undone for him, loved seeing your stubbornness overtaken by your pure need for the sensations that only he could give you. Everything about it, from the sounds you made to the way your face contorted in pleasure, was addicting.

You could barely contain yourself as he continued to drive his throbbing cock straight up into you. Your pussy fluttered, more and more of your arousal slipping free until it ran down his length and helped aid in his endeavors to completely ruin you. Noah knew that you were already close, he could tell by the way your moans became more frequent and heightened in pitch.

“That's it,” he grunted as his hands tightened around your waist and he forced you down to roughly meet the upward thrusts of his hips. “Let go.”

As if on command, your body seized and your back arched. An orgasm ripped through you, claiming full control as you trembled and your hips jerked, the pleasure so intense that you couldn't even make a sound.

Noah had no intentions of stopping, though. He settled down against the bed, still buried as deep as possible within the warmth of your climaxing cunt. His grip fell from your waist to your hips, now guiding you in a back and forth grind to keep you overstimulated and whimpering for him.

“You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”

In a swift motion he had you on your back, the papers from his work crunching beneath you, some digging into your skin but it was of no concern to you right then. You were basking in the high of your orgasm, well aware that there was more to come. Noah never stopped at just one. He had to bring you as close to breaking as he possibly could before he was satisfied. Sometimes that could be done in as little as two rounds and sometimes you were at it for hours until you had lost count of your orgasms and forming any sort of coherent thought was impossible.

Not daring to pull out from your warmth, Noah brought one of your legs over so your lower half twisted for him, leaving you open and vulnerable but still capable of seeing each other. You quivered as you felt the thick rigid veins that lined his cock throb when they shifted within you, every inch of you sensitive from the orgasm you were still coming down from.

Noah had a hold of your ass in one hand and your thigh in the other to make sure you remained right where he wanted you as he slowly pulled out until just the head of his cock remained. Then, he used every bit of strength he had to thrust right back into you, the pace being set slow but impossibly hard. Your jaw clenched and your toes curled, your body barely able to handle what Noah presented to you.

You shook your head, squeaks and whimpers of words unsaid escaping from your throat. He knew what he was doing to you, though. He knew exactly what angles to fuck you from that would leave you dumb - for lack of a better term.

“Is it too much for you, my love?” He taunted, a mock sympathetic tone to his voice.

To show that he didn't care, he only picked up his speed, the driving force behind his hips remaining relentless. The harsh slap as your bodies collided sounded through the room, followed by a piercing smack when his strong hand came down upon your ass cheek, mixing with your symphony of moans. Your walls ached and burned but you didn't dare request he stop, not even for a moment, though you didn't truly want him to. You loved when he would get like this, a sort of sadistic gleam flaring in his dark eyes despite trying to pleasure you to the best of his abilities.

“Touch yourself.”

The demand made you whine under your breath. Noah knew what he was doing. You managed to slip your hand down between your clamped thighs, a fingertip brushing the swollen nerves ever so softly, but it was enough to make your body twitch and your cunt clamp tighter around his cock. His brows pulled together, the hold he had on you tightening.

It was too much. Your body was so sensitive, and touching your clit was that mixture of pleasure and pain that made your abdomen muscles tense and your hips writhe.

“I didn't say to stop,” Noah hissed through gritted teeth. How he had known you paused your fingers over your clit, you weren't sure, but you quickly obeyed his demand again.

“N-Noah…” you whimpered, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to spill over. You looked up at him through your watery vision, though you were still able to make out the smirk he wore upon his flushed cheeks. Not even the damp strands of dark hair could cover that look in his eyes as he gazed down at you, enamored with all that you were.

“Uh uh,” he shook his head. “If you stop, then so do I.”

Fuck. That was the last thing you wanted. It may have been too much and overwhelming but you were desperate to cum again. Not only that, but you needed to feel him filling you as well. You needed his cum seeping out of you, warming you from the inside out. Breathing a life into you that was ironic for Death.

His grip remained tight on your thigh though his other hand slithered up to knead at your breast, his fingers digging into your flesh, pinching and tugging your nipple. You were getting close again, so so close. As your own fingers continued to rub your clit, each stroke sending electric shocks through you, you released moan after moan, crying out his name in pleasure.

“Next time we should place a bet on how long you can go without my dick,” he spoke through his own groans, the strain evident in his voice.

Noah released your breast and instead secured his long tattooed fingers around your throat. His grip was tight, a silent reminder that he could easily crush your airways if he ever had the desire to do so. Which he didn't - he would never lay a hand on you in ways you didn't beg for - but the danger of it, the possibility, radiated down to your core and helped build your oncoming climax.

“I know you're constantly needy for it. I can smell your arousal when I'm near, so sweet and intoxicating…”

His voice was raw and deep, each word sending you closer to the edge. Every touch to your body felt like a flame licking your skin, tears still welling in your eyes, your cunt desperate for both your release and his.

“Please…” you begged in a breathless whisper as your fingers circled your clit in a messy rhythm, unable to get pace with his brutal pounding.

Noah’s lips twitched within his lingering smirk when your pleas met his ears, the sound causing his cock to twitch and his hips to snap in a quick succession into you.

A single nod was given, allowing you the gift of an orgasm, and also letting you know that even he couldn't find his words anymore. He was far too focused on the tight grip of your pussy that was swallowing him deeper, almost like he could hear it begging for his cum. If that didn't feed his already oversized ego, then nothing would.

The pressure built until you couldn't stand it anymore. Your fingers and toes tingled, a white hot heat exploding throughout the entirety of your body as you were overcome with your orgasm. Sharp nails raked down his forearm, skin breaking in their path and sullying the tattoos, though you knew it would heal rapidly. Your cunt erupted in a rush that soaked the sheets and also managed to push Noah right over the edge with you. Typically he had better control, but sometimes it was even too much for him.

“Fuck…you're so good at taking it, you always are.”

A final thrust had him emptying inside of you, feeding you that particular warmth you had been desperate for. You hummed in delight, your eyes heavy lidded but focused solely up on him so you could witness his undoing. Noah’s eyes closed and brows furrowed, his jaw falling slack as your name was groaned from him once, twice, three times. You could feel his muscular thighs trembling and you just knew he was trying his best not to collapse on you from the power of his orgasm and also the workout he had just put himself through.

Neither of you had fully calmed before he was leaning down and forcing his lips to yours. He held firm to your chin for the duration of the hungry kiss, though it didn't last nearly as long as you would have preferred.

Breaking from the kiss, Noah sat back up so he could slowly withdraw from your depths. He groaned at the sight of your mixed finishes dripping free, only to gently slide two fingers into your pussy with the gathered cum so you didn't lose a drop. You whimpered at the feeling, legs now spread in front of him and knees shaking.

“Noah,” you murmured in a faint whine. “I can't.”

Your protest didn't stop his fingers from slowly working their way in and out of your sore pussy, the strokes gentle but still overwhelming.

“I know, my love, I just wanted to see those tears again.”

And tears you had - a couple of stray drops falling down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat that you both exuded.

Only when he was satisfied did he remove his fingers, just to bring them to your awaiting lips. As if on instinct you pulled them into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling around his inked digits to clean his cum and yourself from them.

“Good girl.”

Thankfully, Noah let you rest. He easily could've gone again and again but he knew you were merely a mortal (undead or not) and he didn't want the fine line between pleasure and strictly pain to be crossed. Experiencing both was one thing, something you both enjoyed and gave consent to, but forcing you to entertain only the latter for his own selfish needs was not desirable to him.

You drifted in and out of restful sleep as you curled into Noah’s side. Your head rested upon his chest, legs tangled, his strong arm encompassing you and keeping you close. The featherlight touch of his fingertips trailing up and down your arm brought goosebumps forward, though the loving affection had you luling to sleep again. That is, until he spoke what had been plaguing his mind.

“They're going to come for you,” he murmured, a sadness in his voice. “The Light Ones.”

A slight sound escaped you, your head slowly shaking. Your own arm circled around his bare torso, now hugging yourself even closer to his form. Even though he was Death, something everyone feared, he had always brought a sense of peace over you.

“Why do you let them?”

In the past Noah had protested when they'd come for you; he would yell and threaten and make them force you away from him if they were going to take you. Never did he truly fight, though.

A deep inhale caused your head to drift up, and then slowly back down when he exhaled. You knew he was trying to find how to word his response in a way you would understand, or at least so he wouldn’t inadvertently offend you.

“Because at least then I know I'll see you again. If I fight, go to war for you, the Light Ones could end your bloodline completely.”

“As in…”

“You would cease to exist. No other versions. No rebirths. I'd only have my memories of you to keep me going for the rest of eternity.”

All of that for one lousy human? That was the main thing that had always confused you. You didn't understand why you being with Noah was so frowned upon. Why they wanted to make him suffer. Why they were determined to keep you apart. What sort of threat did his happiness pose?

“It's not 'normal’ for us to love because it's not what we were created for, especially not me. The Light Ones claim to have love for all, whereas I'm supposed to be the other side of the coin - the hate.” Noah took in another deep breath as if explaining it all to you physically pained him. Having to admit what his purpose was…it brought him hurt, and in turn, that hurt you.

“So for me to love, and to place all that love in one person, it makes me…” he paused and his arm around you tightened.

“It makes us dangerous.”

This is when you tilted your head up to look at him. Your eyes met and you offered a gentle smile, one to show him that you understood, but that didn't mean you had to accept it. You wouldn't. Not anymore.

“I'm tired of only being able to see you in death,” you softly spoke. Your fingertips grazed slowly along the underside of his jaw and then down the curve of his neck, your gaze following the trail. When you got to the snake you paused, your nail lightly tracing the outline. “I want to fight.”

Noah shook his head and soon his hand clasped around your own, your fingers intertwining together. “I won't risk losing you forever. I can't.”

“And I will,” you challenged, your voice stern. “What you do here in your realm should be none of their concern. You're the fucking King, remember? Or have you already forgotten yelling that at me millenia ago?”

The faintest of smirks tugged at the corners of his lips - of course he remembered. Noah remembered every minute, every second, that he has ever spent with you. Nothing could take those memories from him.

“We'll discuss this further in the morning, after you've slept and had some breakfast.”

With that, Noah blew the candle out on the conversation. The dark now surrounded you both, only the twinkling of the stars he had summoned able to be seen on the ceiling above.

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