#Let's Talk About... (Typed Series) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

salty-accords · 1 year ago

Text

Let’s Talk About… Fallout! Early History

With the brand-new Fallout television series freshly released, a lot of people have been discussing and diving into the world of the Fallout franchise, particularly the elusive timeline. When is all this happening? Where did our world converge from theirs? What’s with Vault-Tec, the War, and the aliens? Well, today we’ll be diving into a few of these issues.

Welcome to this week’s installment of Let’s Talk About, the internet series where I yap about my hyperfixations for an hour and you all hopefully learn something (even if it’s just for fun)! This time around, we’re starting a journey into the realm of post-apocalypse��before the apocalypse, and before the wars. Welcome to Fallout’s Early History!

Deviations from the real world’s timeline as we know it will be noted minimally. I’m a gamer and a creative, not a historian. All events are mentioned or referenced in-game or during the Fallout series.

(Below the cut to be courteous to y'all's dashboards. Thank you to the Fallout Fandom Wiki editors and fandom researchers for making this post possible! You're all real ones and I'm super excited to be breaking into "the scene" with y'all.)

Our first notch of exploration is sometime prior to 11,000 B.C.E.; we’ll return to this point later in our Fallout episodes, but just remember that it’s important. An alleged extraterrestrial precursor to humanity exists somewhere below the ground.

We begin with two real-world events:

1066 C.E.

March 14th: The Battle of Hastings

The Battle of Hastings was the beginning of the Norman Conquest of England, led by William the Conqueror, or William the Duke of Normandy. The battle was fought slightly northwest of Hastings between the Normen-French army and an English army under the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson. The Normans won this one, and the proceeding conquest resulted in the royal line as we now know it.

1215 C.E.

The Magna Carta

By 1215, the throne of England had passed hands several times. There had been numerous royal rivalries, rebellions, at least one civil war, and who knows what else—historians know, but I’m not them. At this point, King John of England is on the throne—he’s a direct descendant of that William the Conqueror guy but a lot less cool. After two decades of trying and failing to win one over on France, a bunch of John’s barons had enough of his shit and got together to rebel against him. They were unhappy with the fiscal policies he’d developed to sustain his unsuccessful imperial efforts, and for the way he treated a lot of the nobles. The Magna Carta was drafted as a peace treaty between the King and his barons, severely limiting his power as king.

In Fallout 3, you can find and collect a copy of the Magna Carta from the National Archives through the quest Stealing Independence.

C. 1603

Toshiro Kago’s Abduction,

Sometime during the Tokugawa shogunate, or the Edo shogunate, Mothership Zeta abducted Toshiro Kago.

If you do not want spoilers to Fallout 3 gameplay, please skip to the next section. [Timestamp: ]

Toshiro Kago is a samurai character from the Fallout 3 DLC Mothership Zeta. He’s one of four people the Lone Wanderer thaws out on Zeta and a temporary companion during the This Galaxy Ain’t Big Enough… quest battle. The quest Among the Stars sees the Wanderer return his missing sword to him. He never leaves Zeta but cannot be interacted with after the final battle. He doesn’t speak English and the player character doesn’t speak 16th century Japanese, so conversations with him are stilted, but you get the gist of each other through tone, gestures, and observations.

1605 C.E.

November 4th-5th: Guy Fawkes et al Arrested

The Gunpowder Plot was a failed assassination attempt on England’s King James I and the Parliament. It was organized by Robert Catesby as an effort to end government persecution of Roman Catholics; the hope was to replace the Protestant government with Catholic leadership, however, around midnight on Nov. 4th, Guy Fawkes, one of the conspirators, was discovered in the cellar of the Parliament building with barrels of gunpowder—the plan had been to blow the whole place, king included. Fawkes and others were arrested, tried, and executed for treason by the 5th. Now, every November 5th, England sees Guy Fawkes Day, where effigies of Fawkes are burnt.

1612 C.E.

Point Lookout Deviation

In reality, Captain John Smith landed ashore at Point Lookout in 1608, just a year after establishing the Jamestown colony in Virginia. However, in Fallout, Smith doesn’t come ashore there until 1612—it seems that this deviation kicked off further deviations, such as the Ark and Dove Deviation.

As a location, Point Lookout is only available in the Fallout 3 DLC of the same name. The Lone Wanderer can spend an awful lot of time here.

1634 C.E.

Boston Common Established

The Boston Common is considered the oldest public park in the U.S.; it’s played an important role in the history of landscape architecture, the military, politics, conservation, and recreation in Massachusetts. In 1634, the people of Boston (MA Bay Colony) voted to tax each house six shillings to purchase William Blackstone’s farm as a community common—thus the Common was born! It’s still an important cultural piece of land—so much so that it’s a main location in Fallout 4.

In the Fallout universe, Boston Common is home to the Swan, Tour bots, and Vault 114. All Boston locations, to my knowledge, are only available in Fallout 4.

March 25th: Arc and Dove Deviation

In reality, when Lord Baltimore dispatched the colonists aboard the Ark and Dove ships, they landed at Saint Clement’s Island, Maryland; in Fallout, they landed ashore Point Lookout. There, they constructed the Ark & Dove Cathedral. The Ark & Dove resting grounds are another location influenced by this event, It can be assumed that the Point Lookout Deviation led to this major difference.

The Cathedral and the resting grounds are a part of the Point Lookout DLC in Fallout 3, and are home to smugglers, swampfolk, feral ghouls, and three quests: Hearing Voices, Walking with Spirits, and Tailing the Tomboy.

1660 C.E.

Old Granary Burying Ground

The burial ground was established on Tremont Street within the Boston Commons. Its current name is from the adjacent granary that was built in the 1730s. That establishment was torn down and replaced by the Park Street Church in 1809—the name for the burying grounds persisted, of course. In Fallout, it is Boston’s oldest surviving burial ground. There are a variety of references to other historical moments within and around the burying ground. It’s now inhabited by feral ghouls.

1680 C.E.

The Paul Revere House Built

While unmarked in-game, the Paul Revere House is the oldest standing building in Boston, even post-bombings. Outside the building, there’s now a Freedom Trail marker, a pre-War plague about Revere, and the plague reads: “Built in 1680, this wooden building is the oldest structure in all of Boston. In 1770 this home was bought by famed patriot Paul Revere. … Revere dwelled here with his family (including his 16 children) until 1800. Paul Revere was living here when he made his famous midnight ride to Lexington and Concord to warn Samuel Adams and John Hancock that Redcoats were en route to arrest them and seize the militia weaponry.” It’s generally considered a myth that Revere made that journey.

1690 C.E.

Publick Occurrences Published

Publick Occurrences Both Forreign and Domestick was the first multi-page newspaper published in British colonial America. Its first issue carried an account that “offended” the colonial governor, and the paper was promptly closed by colonial authorities days later. No other paper was published in the colonies for over a decade.

1692 C.E.

The Salem Witch Trials Begin

The trials of Salem, MA, are pretty infamous. During the trials, numerous Salem Village residents accused others (mostly Protestants, the impoverished, slaves, and disliked folk) of “witchcraft.” However, there is no evidence that those accused practiced or recognized any form of witchcraft. The accused were arrested, tried, and often hanged. These events made the larger neighboring establishment, Salem Town, a tourist location for the ages—Salem Town was the more affluent of them.

After the Great War, the town’s residents worked to make it a secure settlement, with much success until an onslaught of Mirelurks sometime before the Sole Survivor arrives in Fallout 4. It’s home to two quests: The Devil’s Due and Gun Run. In the Mothership Zeta add-on for Fallout 3, Fallout Shelter and Fallout 76, the location is also mentioned.

1697 C.E.

May 17th: Andrew Endicott Abducted

Another victim of the Zeta in the Fallout 3 add-on, Endicott was abducted from his Salem Village home on May 17th. A recorded log enlightens the Lone Survivor to some of his story, which the aliens asked him to record. He is fearful of aliens, and rightly so.

1711 C.E.

The Great Fire in Boston

Note: “The Great Fire” is a term that has since been applied to the fire conflagration of 1760, which compared to the 1711 fire was much more devastating. However, in 1711, the conflagration destroyed the establishment’s first townhouse.

The Cabot House Built

Beacon Hill becomes the home of the Cabot House and its owning family. The Cabots are an affluent family who were well-known and connected in pre-War high society. Post-War, they’ve maintained their wealth and a network of hired help, overseen by their family “servant” Edward Deegan. The most prominent member of the Cabot family was Lorenzo Cabot, an archaeologist ridiculed for his theories of an extraterrestrial precursor civilization on Earth.

1713 C.E.

The Old State House Built

Eventually becoming the oldest public-access building in Boston, the Old State House was where “the child independence was born.” (John Adams) Miraculously, it survived the Great War in its entirety and has since become the headquarters of the Neighborhood Watch and John Hancock.

1714 C.E.

The Soil Stradivarius Manufactured

One of the most prized instruments ever made by Italian craftsmen Antonio Stradivari, the two-century-old Soil (pronounced “swal”) was owned pre-War by Hilda Egglebrecht. It can be found in Fallout 3’s Vault 92, in the case and as part of Agatha’s quest Agatha’s Song.

1723 C.E.

Old North Church Built

Eventually gaining the title of “oldest church in the city,” Boston’s Old North Church was built in 1723. It is still the tallest standing church, with its steeple reaching nearly 200 feet. It is now home to the Railroad and connected to their HQ. There are catacombs from the Revolutionary War underneath it. It’s only found in Fallout 4.

1733 C.E.

Trinity Church is a parish of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, and the original site (on Summer Street) was burned down in the Great Fire of Boston of 1872. The current church was erected under Rector Philips Brooks in the 1870s. The Sole Survivor can explore it, so long as they are ready to confront several mutants. It’s a location in several quests, including, Cleansing the Commonwealth, Diamond City’s Most Wanted, Leading by Example, and Randolph Safehouse.

1742 C.E.

Faneuil Hall Completed, Donated

Nicknamed “the Cradle of Liberty,” Faneuil Hall was donated to the city of Boston in 1742 by Peter Faneuil and it later served as a commercial hub in colonial Massachusetts. Shem Drowne’s gilded grasshopper, constructed that year, sits at the top. The Sole Survivor can explore it in Fallout 4.

May 25th: Gilded Grasshopper Created

In Fallout 4, the Grasshopper is a unique junk item and part of the quest The Gilded Grasshopper, after which, it has no other uses. It was created in 1742 by Shem Drowne and placed atop Faneuil Hall. In Fallout 4, it is found as a windvane on the roof of the building, and a replica can be found in Fallout 76, in Appalachian Antiques. It cannot be picked up.

1755 C.E.

The Cape Ann Earthquake

The Cape Ann quake damaged much of Massachusetts, including the colony of Boston. It remains the largest earthquake in the history of Massachusetts. No one was killed, but the east coast saw a load of physical damages, including Boston and its Faneuil Hall. The Gilded Grasshopper was damaged.

1768 C.E.

June 28th: Gilded Grasshopper Restored

Shem Drowne’s son Thomas restores and returns the Gilded Grasshopper to the top of Faneuil Hall in Boston, Massachusetts. He placed a note inside the Grasshopper, which according to Marty Bullfinch leads to Shem’s treasure. The note is a minorly altered version of a real letter placed inside the hopper in Boston. The only difference between them is the line about Drowne’s treasure. In Fallout 4, the note leads to Shem’s burial and a variety of items buried with him.

We’re now on the brink of the Revolutionary War, which we’ll pick back up at in our next episode of Fallout discussion. For now, I hope you’ve enjoyed, I hope your urge to explore the worlds of Fallout has been tickled, and I hope you’ll like, comment, and subscribe/follow me here and on my socials. I hope you have a wonderful time. Bye-bye!

#anxious autist (me)#creative writing #fallout #fallout series #fallout games #fallout timeline #fallout lore #fandom #my writing #Let's Talk About... (Typed Series)

2 notes · View notes

koling2345 · 9 months ago

Text

Simon with a young and soft girlfriend. NSFW

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was completely whipped for you, would do anything you asked without question, he'd kiss even the ground you walked on, just say the word and he'll do it.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Bought a new cell phone just to talk to you, his old cubicle could barely hold a video call with you, and now he could finally listen to you chatting away with him every time he had free time. And.. You also sent him some really nice pictures, and he kept them all on his new cell phone for his own personal use.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Sometimes it took him a while to catch up with you in all your youth, not physically, but in your interests, hobbies, the games you liked, series you watched. He wasn't that old, but keeping up with everything you did wasn't that easy, but he tried to get into your vibe. Give him a few days, he'll soon have everything in a notebook, the game you're so excited about, he'll soon be talking with you about it. He makes a point of knowing something or other, just to get into your world, to make you happy.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Melted in place when you showed off your new hoodie, which had his name, 'Riley, written right across the chest. You looked so beautiful wearing an outfit with his name written on it, as if it were a ownership, and he was grateful that you wore the hoodie without any shame, proudly showing who you belonged to.

Boyfriend! Simon who: After listening to you nagging him all week to get a hoodie just like yours, with your name on it, he finally gave in and made one. Just like yours, it had your name on the chest, showing everyone what a couple you two were. As much as he thought it was corny to wear matching clothes, he didn't mind if it was with you. He even put a Kuromi print on his hoodie, since you almost cried for him to put something from Hello Kitty on it. Sometimes he hated this cat and her derivatives, but he did it for you. All for his princess.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Always bought things for you, every time he came to see you, he never came empty-handed. Were you on your period? He would bring you chocolates and flowers, along with your favorite snacks. Did you pass through a store and want to buy something? Well, it'll be at your house as soon as possible. If he couldn't bring it himself, you could be sure that the package would arrive at your house the next day. He wasn't petty, he had plenty of money to spend and he liked spending it on you.

Boyfriend! Simon who: When he went out with you, he wouldn't let you spend a penny, no matter if you wanted a simple ice-cream, he would pay for you. And if he saw your eyes glazing over at something you saw in the shop window, he'd go and pick it up with you. Every time you went out together, you always came back with several bags of shopping, along with the plushies you loved so much. Simon didn't even know how you were going to fit more stuffed animals into your room, with all the stuff you already had.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Is a complete gentleman to you, carries your bag, always takes his helmet off you, as well as before you get on his bike, he attaches the helmet in place himself. He's the type to take you on his arms, just to stop you stepping in a puddle of water and getting your feet wet. And if you're tired, he'll carry you like a princess all the way home without complaint.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Is quite jealous of you, you're young, beautiful, and you're with an old geezer like him. Although he recognized his own value, he couldn't help but feel a sense of possession over you every time someone looked at you with ulterior motives. As a result, he would always mark you on the neck, or put a hand around your waist, always putting a part of himself in you so that everyone would know who you belonged to.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was a completely kind prince to you on the streets, but he would wreck you inside the bedroom. He loved that you were all submissive to him, always taking him so well, accommodating him as if you were made for it. Even if he opened you all up with his fat cock, your tight cunt would stretch to accommodate him, it was like heaven on earth.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Made you bend over all night, fucking you on all fours, your ass up while he admired the new panties you made such a point of showing off to him. 'Simon's' was the writing on the lace, just seeing you wearing it made his cock throb, he took several photos of you wearing the panties, as well as giving you a good spanking session while you were over his knees, just because you loved being his good little girl.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Recorded a video as soon as he had worn you out on the bed, pulling his cock out of you, to see the mess coming out of your pussy that was full, opening your folds just to see his cum running down your thighs. Your cunt full of him, leaking because he came so hard in you. It's not his fault, seeing you on your stomach, your panties written 'Simon's', you were begging to be fucked. And he'd love to watch the video he recorded himself, his time alone at the base would be lovely.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Had a photo of you on his cell phone, bent over his knee while wearing a short skirt and thigh-high stockings, ass up, pink lace panties. On top of that, a bright red mark on your ass, the mark of the slap he had given you minutes before taking the photo, he is very proud to use this picture, and he's not shy if someone caught it. In addition, the lock screen photo was of you smiling while wearing his famous balaclava, one of the few times he let you touch the mask. Not that he regrets it.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Knew he was going on a dangerous mission, he didn't know when he was coming back, or if he was coming back. So a week before going on said mission, he took a whole week to spend with you. No work, no nothing, just him and you.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Fucked you all week, on your stomach, bending over, missionary, cowgirl, on the wall, living room, bedroom, bathroom, table, floor. Any surface he could slide his thick cock into your folds was fine with him. He couldn't stand the sight of you bending down to pick something up, or when you wore his clothes inside the house. The sight automatically made his cock throb, hard as a rock to fuck you again, always making sure to fill you with his seed, to the point where it was leaking out of you. Only then is he sure that he's filled you to the brim, like a good boyfriend does.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Wasn't very good with goodbyes, so he fucked you all night, all night he had you in a missionary, that's when he wasn't burying himself between your legs. He filled you up so well that night, the bed was full of wet spots, your pussy as full as ever, he'd leave you leaking with his cum, mixing your mess with his, just to bury himself in you and start all over again. He was relentless. His job was done, since you slept like an angel that night.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Went out on his mission early in the morning, grateful that you were out like a light, covered in sucks and marks from last night, making him tempted to go back to bed and hold on to you. But he couldn't, so he settled for a kiss on your lips and forehead. His farewell was a handwritten letter, explaining the details and saying that he loved you very much and would come back to you. Even so, it wasn't enough to prevent the tears that fell down your cheeks when you found out everything.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Even though he was on the battlefield, he couldn't stop thinking about you, always trying to maintain some kind of contact, sending messages every time he had a second of time, and if it was possible, when he was resting, he would call you. Every time the mission dragged on, he felt a sense of dread in his chest. Simon couldn't have realized how important you were, and that scared him, because for the first time in a long time, he was afraid that he wouldn't be alive to finish the mission. He promised himself that if he made it out alive, he would ask for your hand in marriage.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Stayed in a very remote area, his cell phone didn't work there, and he had no way of communicating with you, and that killed him inside, not being able to know how you were. And you were worried to death, thinking the worst.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Came home after four and a half months, of those four months he spent three without being able to talk to you. So as soon as he got off the plane that brought him back, he went to your apartment, stopping first at a jewelry store to buy you a ring, and he spared no expense. You were going to be his wife.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was all giddy about arriving at your house, preparing to give you a surprise. As well as coming back alive, he was going to ask you to marry him, get on his knees for you. Then he rang the doorbell, still dressed in his work uniform, the box with the ring in one hand, and your favorite flowers in the other.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you after all this time. It wasn't just emotion, his eyes caught your form, wearing one of his shirts, which barely did the job of covering your swollen belly. Well, it seems, he wasn't the only one with a surprise.

#cod smut #cod x reader #fem!reader #ghost cod #ghost smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon cod #simon smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon x reader #simon x you

10K notes · View notes

bi-writes · 7 months ago

Text

anatomy of us (3) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 3 (9.8k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence (this part contains graphic depictions of gore + murder + minor character death), military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1 ⏤ PART 2

The mirror betrays you. There’s someone staring back, but it isn’t you. You don’t recognize her. Whoever is there, she’s a traitor. A liar. She stole what used to be your body, and now you can only stare back as she lifts her hands to your face and touches your skin.

It’s warm. Your cheeks are warm to the touch, skin bouncy and firm. When you pull on the apples of your cheeks, they bounce right back, elastic almost. You’re glowing, too. Your skin has never looked so soft, so smooth.

Something’s different.

You bring your hands up and cup your own breasts. When you squeeze, you shudder, realizing how sensitive you are. They ache a little, feel heavier than normal. Your bra feels a little tight, too. Your hands drop and grip the sink firm, and you swallow hard before turning to face the door.

Your body is telling you something. It’s trying to talk to you. It’s natural, you know it is, and it is inevitable, and you shouldn’t hate your omega for it because she can’t help it, but you do. It’s what’s happening to you because you’re off your meds. Your hormones are firing like they never have before, and the voice in your head is starting to talk to you in a way that sounds way too appealing. She’s starting to sound right. You like the way she’s talking to you, especially after…

You haven’t spoken to him yet. You haven’t talked about it. It’s only been a few days, but you don’t think you can sleep next to him for one more night and pretend like you don’t know what it’s like for him to be dick-deep inside of you and satiating the shrill insanity that lives under your skin.

So big. So capable. Isn’t he so strong? I bet he tastes good. Let’s find out.

You open the bathroom door slowly. Simon is sitting there on the bed, phone in his hand. He’s typing, eyes narrowed in thought, and you make the door creak so he knows you’ve come out.

“Everythin’ olright in there?” Simon asks. He doesn’t look up from his phone. You decide to be mean, because you can be. You want to be.

Fuck off, you tell her, try to. All she wants to do is get Simon on his back on that bed.

Can we just suck his dick already? It’s right there.

“What do you care?” You mumble. You go to the closet to pick out something to wear. It’s a Sunday, which means there won’t be much to do today besides relax and eat. Johnny invited you to Mass, which you promptly declined, and you didn’t much feel like spending time with Captain Price or finding out which beta would be underneath Gaz tonight (more than one, would be your guess, but it could’ve been another alpha, too, he doesn’t seem to care as long as he can devour something whole).

You don’t turn around to see Simon’s reaction. Maybe he doesn’t react at all. You grab a pair of jeans and drop your sleep shorts. Ever since Simon had taken you on a roof, you decided it was no use trying to change in the bathroom anymore–he’d seen everything, anyways. You step into the jeans and pull them up, jumping a little to get them over your hips, and just as you’re about to adjust the waist, you feel him come up behind you.

Simon grips both sides of your jeans and hikes them up around your middle. You suck in a breath as he slides his hands around, zipping them up, deft fingers finding the button and fastening them. You huff as he keeps walking, forcing your front flat against the closet doors until he can press his chest up against you from behind.

Remember how good he felt? Let’s do it again. Take them off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss. Your omega purrs. She softens your insides. You grip the closet, irritated, but you can’t help the way you bend at the hip and push back into him. He snarls as he puts his hands on your hips, holding you there. You can feel her, pushing against you. It’s getting harder every day to shove her backwards–there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to.

Is that part me? Or are we drifting together?

“Wot does it look like?” Simon murmurs. “I smell you.”

Yes, yes, yes, let him. Take it off. Take them off. Let him have it.

“What did I say before?” You let your arms fall, and you smack his hands off of you. You turn around to glare up at him, grinding your teeth. “Boundaries, Simon. You need to ask for permission.”

“I don’t have to do anythin’,” Simon bites back. “I said some things before, too, didn’t I? Y’r mine.”

Oh, that’s how he wants it to be. You can see it in his eyes, the way his alpha is feeding him lies. Feeding into his ego. He’s got tendrils that are choking him from the inside-out, trying to tell him to be the bigger species, the more dominant figure. Your omega wants to let him, but that isn’t you. Fuck submission–it’s just not your style. You’re a taker, not a giver, and your omega will need to learn that the hard way.

You lean up on your toes, pressing your forehead to his. You meet his alpha in the middle, not backing down. You can be nasty, too. You can be dangerous. You might not have his build nor his strength, but omegas have teeth, and they are sharp.

“Then you better sleep with one fucking eye open, Simon. Cause I’ll kill you if you put your hands on me without asking.”

You make sure you hit him on your way around him. You open the drawers of the dresser angrily, ripping a shirt out. You slip your pajama shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and you fit your bra straps over your shoulder before turning around. Simon is still staring like a dog–eyes watery and intense, staring right at your tits, and you grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him.

“Oh my god!” You cry, and he sucks on his teeth under the mask.

“Mmm…” He puts a hand over his chest, rubbing there. If he didn’t have it on, you have a feeling he’d a smug grin on his stupid face. “My mate is fuckin’ naked, wot you want me to do, look away?”

“Yes, exactly, you pig,” you mumble, clasping your bra and fixing it to cover yourself before slipping your t-shirt on. You frown as you pick up a clip to tie up your hair. “And we’re not mates.”

“Tha’ right?”

“That’s right,” you say curtly. You turn to give him a hard stare as you slip your boots on. “As far as anyone else can tell, I’m not claimed.” You run a few fingers over your scent gland. Soft. Unmarked. Pulsing.

It’s like you’re taunting him. He snarls a little at that, something low and territorial under the mask.

“Tha’ wot you want? Me to claim you?”

“No,” you stand on your toes, faces barely touching. The air in the room is humid and thick, curling, competing scents making you a little dizzy. “I want you to drop dead.”

It’s half of a lie. It would be funny, you think, to see Simon eat a bullet or catch on fire and perish in a frenzy of equal pain and misery, but you know Kate would just do it all over again to you. There are no shortage of alphas at her disposal. With a swipe of her signature, she can have you moved halfway across the world again, and you’d like to not end up on the CIA’s bad side because you keep spending all their money on flights and bribes to get you some kind of mate that will tolerate an indifferent omega such as yourself.

An unruly one. A terrible one. A decisive one.

You don’t really want Simon dead. Better the beast you know than the one you don’t, and from the time you’ve spent with Simon, he is all bark, no bite.

For now.

Meals are always awkward. You feel like all you and Simon do is snap at each other lately. Call each other names. Spit nasty insults. Maybe it isn’t fair to be angry with Simon; you have a feeling he didn’t have much of a choice, same as you, but it doesn’t matter, because nothing really changes in his life the way it changes in yours.

Simon isn’t the one that loses himself. Simon isn’t the one that has to wear a brand on himself, a permanent reminder of his submission. Simon isn’t the one that has to succumb to things he can’t control about himself–the heats that last for days, the ones that will burn you from the inside out until it gets that nasty fill that your omega was born for.

Ruts just aren’t the same, you don’t believe it. They can swallow them down. Save them for later. It isn’t a comfortable thing to do, but if an alpha is missing their omega, they can satiate themselves with a lazy hand or a soft mouth until they get what they’re searching for.

Omegas aren’t offered the same luxury. If you don’t get what your omega feeds off of, she might kill you–and you don’t need to be reminded that you and your omega aren’t exactly on great terms.

The boys are quiet at breakfast. John has secluded himself in his office for the day, but Simon’s sergeants are pretty quiet for how much they usually babble. They are, however, shoving their faces in with food in a matter that makes you scowl.

They’re dogs, really. Johnny looks positively famished. He’s got his cheeks pillowed with eggs and toast, and you look away from Gaz as he tips his head back to wash down a mouthful of ham with coffee.

You jump when you feel a fist hit the table. It rattles the trays, and Johnny’s orange juice splatters a little outside of the cup. Simon is back from the kitchen, sliding your own tray in front of you. Your mouth waters a little at the smell of the freshly baked croissant and moka pot of coffee that waits for you, and the sergeants grumble a little as they look up at their lieutenant.

“Would you both fuckin’ eat with y’r fuckin’ mouths closed?” Simon snaps. “Bloody rats eat more proper than you lot.”

“What’s the matter, LT?” Johnny gulps down his food, wiping his mouth with a wet thumb. He smiles at you with teeth, and you pick up your fork to busy yourself. You can see feel his crazy eyes on you, trained on your face. He licks over his teeth as he does. “Want us to be proper gentlemen around yer bonnie girl?” He wiggles his tongue at you. “What’s proper about knotting a pretty little omega like tha’, aye? Can smell ‘er from ‘ere…Smell like taffy.”

Simon takes a seat on the bench next to Johnny. You stare wide-eyed as Simon cocks his head to the side. Your eyes water a little as you see Simon slide a big hand up Johnny’s neck. He leans into it, clearly comfortable (you’re going to try and forget this observation), but his face contorts from contentment to sheer pain as Simon wraps his gloved fingers into the curls of his mohawk and pulls. Johnny’s neck snaps back at a hard angle, making him hiss and kick his legs out. They bang against the table, shaking it, and Gaz looks down at his plate as Simon tugs Johnny close to him.

“You listen ‘ere, Sergeant. I’ll say this once, and I won’t repeat it,” Simon growls. “If I hear you say one more word about my mate’s cunt, I’ll rip your throat out with my own teeth. Don’t care ‘ow many times you’ve covered me or saved my arse on the field. My rank is her rank, so from now on, I want you to drop y’r eyes when she looks at you, and I want you to say, yes, ma’am, and nothin’ else, you ‘ear that?” Johnny grits his teeth as Simon shakes his head violently, holding him firm. “And if I hear about it when I’m not around, I’ll let her cut y’r dick off, yeah? Or maybe I’ll let her shoot you in the head again. And trust me, mate, she won’t miss–”

“Simon,” you interrupt gently. Simon’s face turns, and you meet his eyes. You shake your head a little. “It’s…it’s okay. Johnny’s just a huge flirt, and it came out wrong. Didn’t it, Johnny?”

Simon closes his fist, letting out a sharp breath. His eyes are a little darker than you’re used to. You’re not sure he’ll listen to you, but when you see his fingers start to loosen, you relax a little. You don’t understand why he’s defending you, anyways, but maybe Simon has some twisted moral code when it comes to insulting his mate.

That only he gets to, and no one else.

“Yeah–” Johnny spits, and when Simon lets him go roughly, Johnny just laughs a little. His cheeks are rosy, and he tries to shake it off, but you can tell by the way he averts his eyes and the smell that wafts from him–Johnny is terrified of his lieutenant.

Simon stands, making the table rattle again. Johnny’s cup spills over the edge, and your cutlery falls to the floor as he makes his way out of the mess hall, throwing the doors open and letting them slam shut behind him. You scoff, rolling your eyes, and you swipe Gaz’s fork from his tray before continuing to eat.

“What the fuck is his problem?” You stab your sausage with the fork, cutting it angrily, and Johnny clears his throat. His rubs the back of his neck, rolling it out carefully.

“Yer serious?” Johnny scoffs. “Fuckin’ big man is in love with ye.”

Not me. He’s in love with…her.

“He’s just mad because he thinks he’s the only one entitled to say anything derogatory to me,” you explain. “He’s such an asshole, I swear. So are you, Johnny, by the way–I’m not gonna wet your dick for you, go flirt with someone else.”

Gaz snorts, shaking his head, and you pour him a little more coffee from the pot Simon left for you and some for yourself.

“Kind of sweet, innit?” Gaz murmurs. “He cares about you, you know.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow. “Has a real funny way of showing it. You don’t see him when we’re alone. He’s mean. I don’t know what goes on in your heads, but your kind jump to conclusions. And you assume. And you’re too aggressive.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Gaz asks. He turns to look at you, shrugging. “That’s how we’re made.”

“I try everyday to be anything but how I’m made,” you say lowly.

It’s a lousy excuse, especially for an operative like him. Kyle and Johnny are no strangers to aversion or high-stakes. There is combat, and then there is what this team does. You’ve peeked at the papers on Simon’s desk. You’ve read the files you have no clearance to read. For the air-headedness that Simon radiates, he’s excellent at writing post-op reports, with fine detail. He doesn’t miss anything. This team isn’t something like SWAT–they don’t carry big guns for show and break down suburban houses. They hit foreign targets without a trace and eliminate threats before they blink. They are in and out of a building in thirty minutes, and they leave no man behind and no target alive. Each of them are experts in their own subject, and even with Johnny’s big, disgusting mouth, you cannot deny what makes him special.

He could make an explosive out of regular kitchen supplies; maybe even out of the toiletries you keep in a go-bag. His affection for chemistry is as equal to that of a good, protein-rich meal. Kyle is no different–you’ve seen him just for fun program an auto-correct feature into John’s laptop that replaced every word that he typed that started with a vowel to shitfucker. You saw him do it remotely. Over Bluetooth. With a Blackberry.

These aren’t just operators. These aren’t just idiot, self-engorged, misogynistic and animalistic men that panted and waited for orders like lovesick puppies, they are much too intelligent and way too self-aware. You won’t take that’s how we’re made as an excuse–it’s beneath them, if you’re being honest, and it’s infuriating. They aren’t a normal pack, and they never will be, and so you need them to stop using stereotypical excuses as reason for them being just like the rest.

It is conscious. It’s disgusting. It’s exactly as you thought it would be.

“Well maybe if ye tried that less, tried just being what ye are…things would be easier for ye,” Johnny mutters, picking up his overturned cup and sighing sharply through his nose. You drop your fork and lean forward on your elbows.

Oh, alright. If Johnny wants to play rank, then you can play rank.

“You know, you both have a lot of nerve,” you say lowly. “I would start being very fucking nice to me from now on. Simon and I may not get along, and maybe we never will. But he sure as shit won’t stand aside if tuck my tail between my legs and blame one of you for something you didn’t do.”

“Thought you said he hated you?” Gaz mocks. “Thought you said he was mean?”

You stand up and shove your tray towards them, starting to walk. You lean over to murmur in Gaz’s ear.

“He is,” you threaten. “But he’s still an alpha, my alpha, and pussy talks, Gaz. You’d know. You’ve been drooling for it since I sat down. I can smell you, too.”

You pat Gaz’s cheek a bit too roughly, and he snarls a little. You smile to yourself as you make your way out, and down the hall, you see a familiar shadow disappear around the corner into the darkness. You cross your arms over your chest, sighing, and then you start towards it.

When you round the corner, he’s standing right there. Leaned against the wall, big arms crossed over his chest. His face twitches under the mask. You move to stand in front of him so you can get his eyes.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t want to babysit me, you can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“I have others to answer to if something happens to you.”

“Don’t act like you care what other people think. Especially your superiors.” You roll your eyes. You don’t have much more time to talk to him. Or berate him, you were still deciding. A shadow comes up next to you, and when you turn, Captain Price is staring at you both, nodding his head behind him.

“I need to have a word. With both of you.”

You give Simon a look, but he doesn’t give one back. He merely slips a hand down your back and puts you in front of him, ushering you to walk. You’ve never been reprimanded by a superior, not because of a mission or anything of stake, so you can’t help the feeling that overcomes you–something of failure.

Had you done something wrong? Surely you had.

John’s office is bigger than Simon’s, but just as messy. Messier. There’s a pretty beta secretary out in front of it, and she smiles at you and waves. She’s too cute–too sweet. She probably puts sugar in John’s tea to make him smile or draws little smiley faces on messages from missed calls. You pity her and wish you were her all the same. When she notices your solemn face, she shrinks and dips her head, picking up her pen and continuing to fill out some forms.

John waits for both you and Simon to sit before shutting his office door behind him. He sucks on his teeth before tossing his hat onto his desk, nodding towards the two creaky seats in front of him.

“Sit.”

“Rather stand,” Simon counters, but one hard look from his captain, and Simon is begrudgingly taking a seat. The metal creaks under his weight, and you take a seat next to him. John sits on his desk in front of you both, and he looks at Simon before ending on you.

The scents in the air are driving you insane. You take a breath to try and keep your eyes from watering, but it’s difficult.

“You know, Kit, our team isn’t known for…following the rules,” John begins. “But I was assured that…if anything went wrong, that my lieutenant here would be responsible. He vouched for you.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You prepare yourself for the beratement. You sit up a little straighter, squaring your shoulders. The neutral expression your face falls into seems to irk your captain. He scrunches his nose a bit, smoothing a palm over the papers in front of him. He’s trying to establish his air of dominance, but it’s increasingly easy to stare him back down when your alpha sits right beside you.

There’s comfort in his presence, and your omega feeds on it.

“I saw you shoot. Got a good eye for those kinds of things, I’ll admit,” John nods. “And you did well in training. Followed Simon. His orders. Saw you clearin’ rooms like you’ve been on this team for years.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Blue, but empty. “He was right. Fast learner. You know your place.” You narrow your eyes at that, and he hums. “But it doesn’t change what this is. What you are.”

You’re surprised at the way your omega curls in your gut. Angry. There’s an alpha insulting you, but this one isn’t yours. She warms your hands, and you dig your nails into your chair to keep her calm. She wants to bite, and she’s confident with Simon at her side.

“An asset?” You try talking instead.

“A liability.” John leans forward. “You put my men in danger. Going into heat like that.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s alienation. You are an outsider. Not part of his pack. John draws a circle around himself, and you are not included in it, and the sentiment leaks into his words like a flood, and it hits you through the chest. Your lip trembles just slightly, but you swallow down the rejection, keeping it close. Your omega whimpers–an alpha, though it is not your own, is isolating you, and it hurts her.

“She didn’t–” Simon is interrupted by John’s laughter.

“You were off comms for 15 minutes and 37 seconds, an amount of time that during an op is fucking critical and could’ve blown the entire operation!” John snaps. “I told you to be fucking careful, I told you both to take precautions, and you failed me. I can understand you–” He points at you, and omega lingers unsaid, “but you, Simon? You–”

“It wasn’t his fault, it was mine,” you interrupt. “I should’ve known.”

“He’s your alpha, it’s his fuckin’ job,” John clarifies. “But Simon has more than one job, and on that day, it was keeping the target in his sight and waiting for my fuckin’ say.”

“Don’t reprimand him for making the call,” you tell him. “I’m the one who misread what I was feeling. I’m the one who distracted him from what he was doing. I’m the one who was projecting so badly, he had to help. It’s me. I screwed up. I’m just as much of your team as they are, so hold me accountable, not Simon.”

“You are not on my team, you are my problem.”

She wails. She grips your heart in both hands and hangs on, crying, wailing, begging you to say something to make him approve of you. She so desperately wants to be included in Simon’s pack, and it aches inside to be pushed away. You dig your nails in further, and you don’t realize how much your scent is flaring. Simon gets one whiff of it and snarls. His hands close into fists.

You goin’ to let tha’ wanker talk to your mate tha’ way? You goin’ to let another alpha walk all over her? He’s challenging you, tha’s wot this is, innit?

“Choose y’r next words wisely, Captain.” Simon finally speaks, and his tone rattles you. His voice dips low, and you can hear his alpha soaking into his words, and the bitterness in the air has to be him deciding whether or not today would be a good day to stand up to his captain.

“Tha’ right, Simon?” John murmurs. “Is that an order?”

Simon stands. Immediately, the humidity in the room expands, and you nearly choke from the sting of their scents in the air. Simon is much larger than John. He’s so much bigger, so much wider. You stand, too, and when Simon feels your hand along his bicep, his shoulders loosen just an inch.

Your omega may beg for approval and inclusion, but even she stands down when you remind her of the importance of pack bonds. You are not mated, and Simon has his own to keep, so you must appease. It hurts to do it, but you know you will thank yourself later.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” you say softly. “I-It won’t happen again. I swear…I promise.” Your eyes water, and you try to hold in the cough you’re holding. “First time…and the last time.”

Simon’s task force is a unique group. Four alphas–a lot of ego and fighting dominance in one bunch. It’s normally not done. They like to have a nice mix of betas and alphas to keep groups balanced, but Kate needed an exceptional group, so she built one. Four alphas in one pack is not common, but it works–and she has the stats to prove it.

You wonder if she knew what would happen when she threw you into the mix. How each of them might react when an omega tried to slip in between them. If Kyle would try to sink his teeth in. If Johnny would pass out from panting so fucking hard. If John would let his resolve slip for just long enough to blur the lines between a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Maybe Simon reacted just as she expected. That he would see what was meant just for him and pull her apart so he could slip under her ribs and stay right there. You have not been claimed, and yet–it is truth. They know it, Simon knows it, you know it, and so does your omega.

Simon paces in his room. A slow pace, but paces, and you observe him from your place on the bed as he breathes deeply. His alpha is leaking through the cracks, and you can smell his anger. It fumes, makes your nose curl. It’s a bitter scent. Your omega purrs in your chest–she wants to soothe him.

We will do no such thing. Shut the fuck up.

“You need to let me handle things when we get cornered like tha’.”

“I’m a big girl, Simon,” you say softly. “And it was my mistake.”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Simon explains. “I’m your alpha.”

“I don’t care,” you shake your head. “You don’t speak for me.”

“No, I speak for us both,” Simon points a finger at you, coming closer. “For you and for me, and you need to understand tha’.”

You glare up at him. In all the time you’ve spent with him, he’s still letting his alpha bleed when he’s angry. You need to understand nothing–Simon needs to learn. He needs to learn that the omega they write about in textbooks isn’t reality. You fight your omega tooth and nail for control, and you are still on top for now. Simon needs to learn this. He needs to learn that you are not easily influenced by command. You may smell like an omega. You may keen like an omega.

But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I submit like an omega.

“Fuck you.”

Don’t talk like that…you know you want to.

“Ya already ‘ave, kitty,” Simon spits. “Would you like to go again?”

“I know this is hard for you to get through your thick head,” you whisper. “But just because I fucked you doesn’t mean anything. What happened between us was clinical. Your dick is medicine, and there was nothing I could do, and that is where this ends. You can tell yourself over and over again that you are my mate…that you’re my hero, that you saved me, but maybe next time, I’ll just let my omega kill me. The thought of you inside of me ever again makes me physically fucking sick.”

You’re a bad liar.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say lowly. He leans closer, until his face is nearly against yours. “You’re a pathetic, insecure, waste of space. I will never be your mate, and I pity every omega that might come after me, that has the unfortunate mistake of thinking you could claim them with any sense at all. You use and you abuse, and you have your head so far up your ass, I don’t think you know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Simon stares. You stare back. Your chest heaves, and so does his, and you keep your eyes on each other as you stare back and forth. His eyes are so dark. Beautiful, but so dark, it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. It’s not long that you notice his lashes fade to blonde at the end of them. His skin, where it bleeds from the eye-black he wears to the pale color of his face, has freckles scattered around the eyes. You can see the raised, white line of a scar that is just peeking from under the mask.

Isn’t he so pretty?

“On your knees,” Simon murmurs.

It’s whiplash. One moment, your entire body is buzzing. Angry, fiery–you can feel it shaking you. You hate him with ever fiber, want to smack the smug look you know he wears under that mask. You hate the power that he has over you and how much he relishes in it. The next moment, in a few slow words, it vanishes.

Like it was never even there at all.

“Excuse me?” You breathe.

“On your knees. Lose the pants. ‘n y’r knickers.”

“What makes you–”

“Won’t ask again.”

We need this. We need this. We need this.

It’s just that easy. For all the resolve that it feels like you have, maybe you really have none. You blink, but then he hears the sound of you toeing off your boots. They hit the floor, and then your cargos are falling on top of them, and then you’re turning over, sliding along the warm sheets of his bed until you’re lying on your tummy, ass up, and you’re closing your eyes as his gloved hands push your panties down your thighs until they’re around your knees.

You don’t really know who’s doing it. You’re afraid to think about it too hard, because you know that it just might be you.

He eats nasty. All tongue. He spreads your ass with big palms, and you gurgle when he kisses your folds with tongue. Your brain starts to fog, and you relax easily. He kisses soft and slow, but wet. You fist the blankets, pushing back, and he slides a thumb down to smooth over your puffy clit very gently. He hisses when he sees your hole flex in response, a drop of slick falling onto his palm.

“Kitty, why didn’t ya just say so?” Simon asks, stupid and fascinated by you. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted y’r pretty pussy kissed, hmm?”

“Because I hate you–” You whine, and Simon slips his tongue inside of you. You babble, your mouth dropping open, and he hums as he gets a taste of you before pulling back, smacking his lips. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, and his alpha howls. He’s never spoken to him this way, not really. The only time his alpha has ever really come to the forefront like this was the times he thought he was close to death; but Simon’s never been this close to life, either.

“I know,” he coos. “I know ya do. But this isn’t personal, is it?” He uses his thumbs to open you up, growling when he sees your hole pucker a little. A dribble of slick falls, and he catches it with his tongue, swallowing it down. “How’d ya put it, luv? ‘s medicine?”

“Your dick is medicine.”

“My mouth, too, I reckon.”

“Shut the fuck up, and eat me, baby,” you whimper, and he opens his mouth wide and licks with a thick tongue. He presses his mouth to your cunt and eats, bobbing his head as he alternates between slobbering licks and eager sucking. His tongue slides between your folds occasionally before slipping into you, and you curl your toes every time he brushes against your clit. His thumb will sometimes circle it, or his tongue will suck softly, but he never stays there too long. Simon likes to tease. He likes to make you a little desperate, likes to get you soft and drippy and dizzy, and then he gives in a little. He gives you two fingers, gloved still, and you push back against his face with gentle grinds as he fucks you softly with his hand. It’s agony and relief all at once.

“Like tha’?” He asks. He sounds amused. You hope his hard cock gets pinched by his zipper.

“Mmm–” You try. You arch your back, getting up onto your elbows, and Simon uses his free hand to give one side of your ass a nice smack, jiggling it gently before kissing where he hit. You giggle at that, soft and airy.

“Answer me, omega.”

“Fucking love it,” you gasp. “Big fingers–”

Simon laughs at that. You can smell his ego, but you don’t have it in you to say something smart. It’s true. Even with his hand, he fucks good, hitting deep. His mouth did wonders, and you’re dripping along his hand. His glove is soaked, and his forearm is wet, and when you glance down at the sheets, they are damp and dark with the mess you made. Simon doesn’t seem to mind. He leans in to eat more, pulling his fingers out so he can use his mouth again, tongue deep as he sucks and hinges that big jaw to get a mouthful of you and groan. You taste good–nice and sweet, thick juices wetting his chin, and he squeezes your ass in appreciation when you throw it back and smother him. He likes this. Likes the lack of air, the wet pussy, the soft whines. He’s content here, and he doesn’t seem like he wants to move anytime soon, and he doesn’t complain. He just opens his mouth and swirls and tongue and fuck–your clit is in his mouth, and you’re crying.

It’s too kind. An alpha kneeling for their mate. Taking pleasure in their pleasure. It’s not unheard of, but it’s…unorthodox. It confuses you. Your omega cries with happiness, but she’s confused, too. She doesn’t expect pleasure just for pleasure–but she wants it, she wants more of it, she’s digging her nails into your skin to try and get you to convince Simon to give you more, more, more.

“Give it to me,” Simon murmurs. “‘s olright. Give it to me.”

“Simon–”

“Mhm,” he nods, cocking his head and taking your clit into his mouth again. “Give it ‘ere.”

Your orgasm hits hard, but it’s nice and slow. Your thighs shake, but Simon sinks into you, breathing out through his nose as he delicately laps at your clit. He doesn’t stop, swallowing as you come into his mouth, keeping the pace to make sure your orgasm fizzles just as good as it hit you.

You sink to your tummy when he pulls away. Your knees give out, and he slips your panties completely off, and you flop onto the dry side of the bed. You start to cry. Not tears of relief, but tears of pain. Of what is inevitable. Of the hard truth that you loathe more than anything.

Simon can never force you. You will always want him, you think. There will always be something in the back of your mind that aches for him, and you try and you try and you try to fight it off, but you want him so viscerally, it cuts you deep where you’ll never notice it.

“Say wotever you want about me,” Simon mutters. “Tell yourself wotever you want that helps you sleep at night, hate me oll you want. But I take care of wot’s mine.” He strokes your hair out of your eyes, leaning down, and you cry harder. You clutch a pillow, hug it tight, and your eyes flutter open as you look at him. His mask is still hiked up just under his nose, and you can see half his face. Scars that cut across him like paintbrush strokes, adding texture and depth where there shouldn’t be.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you whisper. “You have no idea what it’s like for every single part of yourself to betray what you want. You don’t get it. Y-You don’t understand, you never will. You will always have the upper hand, and y-you will never know what it’s like to not have a choice.”

Simon continues to brush through your hair with his fingers. Soothing you gently, coaxing you into a headspace that feels like white noise. You whine, and Simon comes closer. He presses his mouth to your forehead, soft, gentle, his scent close enough that your beating heart slows down considerably just in response.

“No, I won’t,” Simon agrees. “But that’s what you are. You’re an omega.”

He says it like it’s so simple. Like it explains everything in the entire world. Being an omega is the simplest answer he could ever give, and it explains every variable, every nuance, every quirk that makes you you. It explains every time you sink to your knees for him. It explains how easily you let him fuck you on a rooftop in a foreign country. It explains how even though you hate him with every fiber of your being, there is somehow no one else you want standing over you now.

“I’m still me.”

“No,” Simon shakes his head. “You cannot change wot you are. You’re fighting her, and you will lose.”

You wonder, for just a second, if Simon is speaking from experience. Have there been times when his alpha takes over? Does it take control? Are there times when he looks in the mirror, too, and doesn’t know who is staring back?

“I hate her, too,” you spit. “I hate her, and I hate you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his terrible face. The first one you’ve ever seen. You hate the urge you have to lean forward and kiss it.

“She is you.”

“Then I hate me. I hate myself.”

Simon changes the sheets silently. He picks you up and moves you when he has to–two big, burly arms picking you up like you’re a feather. You cling to his neck, studying him, and you find yourself not being able to look away. He’s so capable. He’s so independent. He’s so reactive to your needs, it infuriates you, how could one man be so in tune with you, more than yourself?

He drapes all new blankets over you. He turns out most of the lights, except for the low glow of the yellow lamp on his desk. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm, and then he bends down to say something to you, in your ear.

“Dunno wot you think,” he tells you, “but there will be no omega after you.” His voice drops low, and when you close your eyes, you hear his alpha. Threatening, affirmative, exact. “You are mine. I’ll not ‘ave another. The sooner you accept tha’, the easier things’ll be for you.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Eat a dick.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Much prefer y’r cunt, kitty.”

Simon’s protection is instinctual. It’s not really a choice, it’s subconscious. He watches you braid your hair in your room, observes as you tuck it behind your ears and tie it off your face. He hovers as you gear up. Watches you buckle your belt, strap your tact vest, adjust your helmet. He comes over after you’ve laced your boots, tugging on your vest to make sure it’s secure and fastening your helmet for you. You let him as you clip your watch on, closing your eyes as he smooths a thumb across your cheek and turns you towards the door.

It’s a long flight. You fall asleep, your face smushed against his arm, and when you wake up, Simon is still sitting there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. John smokes, Gaz has a folded up little book in his hand with what seems like sudoku pages, and Johnny is twirling what looks like a fidget spinner in one hand. You blink awake, but it’s dark out, pitch-black.

That’s the job. Dark, where you can use night as cover. Stealth. You and Simon have been tasked with clearing out one building on your own. Several stories, possible targets inside, presumed armed and dangerous. You were given the clear to eliminate any threats on sight–the op is capture or kill, and John made that very clear in a small room that reeked of his authority.

The bird drops you a few kilometers from where your target building lies. You flip the night-vision down, flicking it on, and you stick to Simon like glue as you follow him silently through empty streets. You’re somewhere in Eastern Europe, somewhere cold and unfeeling and just on the border of Russia. You aren’t privy to any more details; all you know is that your mission is to be Simon’s cover, and you have the face of your target memorized and burned into the back of your eyes.

You spot your target building at the end of the block. The streetlight flickers, and it looks like a low-income apartment building. It’s very small, dilapidated, with a peeling entrance door that has the window broken, hastily patched up with duct tape. It’s no trouble for Simon to stick the scope of his rifle through the duct table and shred the remaining glass to pieces, putting his hand through the window and unlocking the door easily.

The first few floors are clear. Simon always enters a room first, with you in quick succession. You are silent, touch and go, soft taps on shoulders that the both of you can read immediately. You’re in tune with him. When he steps left, so do you. When he turns, you cover, when he sweeps up, you sweep down. It’s a dance, a very well coordinated one, and it lets Simon breathe easier when he realizes how well you’ve adapted to each other over a short period of time.

Just a few weeks, and you are two sides of each other.

Simon swallows down the prideful purr in his chest. Now isn’t the time to get distracted.

When you make your way to the top floor, just below the roof, your chest starts to feel warm. You pause at the top of the stairs as Simon keeps his rifle trained at the first door in front of him. You swallow hard, widening your stance to keep yourself upright. You shake your head, trying to toss the jitters off of you. Your throat hurts as the saliva goes down.

Simon clears the room with you shuffling close behind. You blink rapidly when you see two of Simon, and he whips around suddenly. You can see him through your night vision stiffening in front of you. Shoulders tensing, fingers gripping his rifle tighter. You pause as he comes close to you, and your eyes water when he lifts one hand from his gun to cup your face gently.

You know what he’s asking. You nod shakily, and he taps his wrist with two fingers.

Give me two minutes, is what he’s saying to you.

You don’t get two minutes.

The door behind you slams open. Two men breach inside, and they come at you with a force too strong, and you go flying towards the far wall. Your back hits it hard, and you collapse onto the ground. Your whole body aches, and you know there will an array of nasty bruises under the skin. Your helmet took the brunt of the hit, but you still feel dizzy as it falls off your head, clattering to the ground. You cough, scrambling for your rifle that is a few feet away from you now, and Simon drops one of them with a few easy bullets, but the second man uses his dead companion as cover, throwing the body at Simon until he can lunge at him.

Simon swipes the blade out of his boot and goes for his weak spots. He manages to get him under the arm, across his thigh, but Simon is wearing a lot of gear, and with the weight of a dead alpha getting tossed at him again, he gets moved backwards enough to lose his footing, and then it happens.

The man’s gun fires, and it goes straight for Simon’s head. A flash of light that seals some sick sort of fate that you know can’t be yours. It’s not you that screams in response.

It is your omega.

You launch yourself at him. In your daze, your omega finds clarity, and she seizes her moment. You slip the blade out of its place in your thigh holster, and you toss a nearby chair at him to incapacitate his gun. It gets trapped underneath it, enough time for you to jump and land on him from behind.

He’s an alpha. Physically, you should be no match for him given your size differences, but something else is taking over. Your nails don’t just grab, they pierce his skin. Digging it, shredding flesh, and you bring your blade down over and over again against his chest. He screams in pain, trying to wriggle you off. You lock your ankles around his middle, keeping your hand coming, tearing with your nails and slicing with your knife, but he manages to get an arm underneath you and throw you off.

You hit the ground again roughly, but it doesn’t stop your omega. She gets right back up, but he tackles you. He uses his weight to pin you down, and the knife rings as it slides across the room, but your omega doesn’t let it stop her. He got too close, and she will make sure he regrets it.

He went for your mate, and she cannot have that. She won’t survive without him. Unclaimed, but she doesn’t care–Simon is hers, and she won’t let him go without something all-encompassing and violent. He’ll have to pry Simon out of her dead hands. You feel like you’re watching from the sidelines. You’re not yourself. It’s the first time that you don’t really care.

You scream, leaning up, and he doesn’t get a moment to think before you sink your teeth into the plush of his scent gland and rip it clean out.

Fuck. There’s blood gushing everywhere, spurting from where you’ve severed the gland. The gland is precious, anatomically–it provides most of the oxygen to the brain, and it’s what seals the bond. While it can’t be marked the same way an omega’s can, an alpha can’t survive without it. You’re finding out just how precious it is as you watch an alpha cough and sputter once he realizes what’s happening to him.

He crawls off of you, trying to use his hand to put pressure to his neck, but it’s no use. He leans against the wall and chokes, blood filling his mouth, and you spit out the flesh from between your teeth as you watch him gurgle and kick his feet out. He reaches out for you, pleading in his eyes, but you feel no mercy. There’s tears coming down his face now, and you watch with a scowl as the blood spills between his fingers instead of bringing his brain precious life.

Good fucking riddance.

You turn over once you’re satisfied he won’t get up. You see Simon still sprawled on his back behind you, and you scramble to get to him. You grab his helmet and throw it off, and you start to cry, feeling around and realizing there’s something sticky oozing and pooling onto your fingers. You can’t see very well in the dark, but you put pressure anyways, unsure of what you’re dealing with. Your heartbeat is loud, and it echoes in your ears.

“No–No!” You gasp. You grab Simon’s radio, hands shaking as you press down onto the button.

“Bravo-6, d-do you c-copy?” You cry. “Bravo-6, answer–please–”

“Kit?” John’s voice comes out surprised, low. “What happened?”

“Si–Ghost–” You sob, “W-We need a medevac! Medevac–top floor–”

Your hands continue to shake as you reach for the bottom of his mask and rip it off. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without the mask, but you need to know. You need to know.

His face–it is a little ugly. The eye-black is smeared across his freckles, bleeding across his face from the sweat. He has scars everywhere; they criss-cross along his cheek, cut his lips, but you ignore that as you lean down and put your ear to his mouth.

His breaths come shallow and slow.

You cry with relief, feeling around with your fingers. When all you feel is blood, you pick up his helmet and cry harder when you notice the side of the helmet has been grazed, and the bullet casing lies near his head.

He had missed.

He missed.

You cup his face, tapping his cheeks gently, trying to wake him up.

“Simon?” You whisper, sniffling. “Simon, wake up. Please wake up. Please–”

You can’t carry him. Even if you tried to get your omega to help you, you aren’t physically strong enough to pick him up and carry him out. He’s too big and too heavy, and you wouldn’t be useful anyways; you’d be without cover trying to haul his ass to a bird that’s just too far away.

“Simon–”

He coughs. You gasp, wrapping an arm under him and trying to sit him up. He’s so much heavier with all of his gear on, but you do it anyways, lifting him up and laying his head in your lap. You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, and you cup the back of his neck.

“I thought he killed you–” You sob. Simon hums, his eyes opening and closing, and you smooth a few fingers down his cheek, relieved to hear him breathe. In and out, in and out, low and slow as he blinks away the spots in his vision.

Your eyes meet. It’s not a look you were expecting. You expected him to be angry, but he’s not. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You must look a sight, you think. There must be blood on your face, staining your teeth, but all of your senses are dulled as you try and read him.

Your hands shake as you brush a bit of dust off his face. Your fingers are trembling, but it’s grounding to touch him and see him blink those dark eyes up at you. God, he’s not ugly, no, he’s gorgeous. He’s so beautiful. He’ll never be prettier than the way he is now. Raw and vulnerable–Simon is most himself here, you think, stuck in the in-between of an operation. This is where he must feel everything the most. You open your mouth to say something else, to ask him if he’s okay, but then his face scrunches when he finally realizes where you are.

“On the door,” Simon mutters. “Get y’r gun on the fuckin’ door.”

“Simon–”

“Now!”

You scramble to reach for the handgun in your thigh holster, turning to get up on your knees and cover the door. You will your hands to stop shaking, gripping the handle of the gun tight to keep them steady. You can hear Simon getting himself together behind you. Shuffling onto his feet, picking up his rifle and his helmet. When you look over your shoulder for just a second, you notice his mask is back on.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, east building clear,” Simon rasps. He shoves his way past you, rattling you a little, and you stare at his back, defeated, as he clears the rest of the floor before making his way up the last flight of stairs. You hear your captain responding on comms, but you’re not paying enough attention. Simon slams the roof door shut once its behind you, and you wipe your eyes as Simon gets situated for overwatch as you cover the door.

“Simon, are you–”

“I don’t want to hear another word outta you unless we got contact on this fuckin’ roof,” Simon interrupts.

“I saved your ass!” You cry. “I did that! He would’ve killed you, you fucking asshole, so for once in your life, can you just look at me and say a fucking thank you?!”

Maybe Simon’s right. If you fight your omega, maybe you will lose. She might just kill you. You know she can. You’ve seen it happen before. Omegas that didn’t listen, losing themselves to the insanity of their inner struggle. It’s a violent end. It’s like they electrocute from the inside-out. Their minds betray them, and they let it take over, and with no alpha to soothe them, they’re just gone. If they drift too far, you can’t get yourself back.

Use me. I know what to do. I can get him back.

You do the only other thing you can try; you let your omega do the talking. The sweet, syrupy voice. The soft lilt. The edge that glides, doesn’t cut, the one that will hit his ear just right and hopefully get his alpha tick-tick-ticking inside of his head. The one that didn’t work on Kate–but Kate was not your mate. Kate never responded to you at all, not the way Simon does, and Kate has never tasted your cunt. Her alpha doesn’t know what she’s missing.

I can do it. Let me in.

“Please, Simon,” you beg. You see his fingers twitch as he adjusts the scope on his rifle. They falter, adjusting it just a few degrees too far. Simon doesn’t make mistakes, but then again he’s never had his omega purring in his ear like that. “Please.”

You make your way to him, curling a hand around his bicep. You tug him closer, trying to get him to look at you. He resists, but it’s a pathetic kind of resistance. The kind that you can overpower with just another firm tug. You can sense it, his hesitance, and your omega giggles in your head.

I have him. I can do it. Don’t worry.

“John was right,” Simon breathes. “You’re a problem. A liability.”

A liability because he doesn’t belong to anyone but you, maybe. He’s John’s liability. Not yours. Simon may be a part of their pack, but they should’ve picked up a fucking book when they knew you were coming. Submissiveness might be an inherent “trait” of your kind, but you realize now that is just a lie that alphas tell omegas to keep them quiet.

To keep them soft. To keep them begging. It’s probably something that your kind have learned over time, so distinct that you inherit it from someone that came before you, but you’re convinced that this kind of obedience and docility can be unlearned. It can be used.

If an omega cries, it would be stupid for an alpha to ignore it. It’s in their DNA–with just a soft whine, you can make Simon drop that rifle and bend you over any surface. They say it is for your sake. They say it is because omegas must be serviced or else they will succumb to themselves, but that isn’t what this is, and that’s not why omegas aren’t allowed in the field.

They’re not allowed because you can make Simon defy orders; because John can tell Simon something, and you can tell him something else, and you’re almost certain you know which way Simon will lean.

“Please just look at me, Simon,” you whisper. “Please.”

You cradle his face when he finally does. Your palms touch his wet mask, likely soaked with his own blood. You stand on your toes and draw his face closer to yours.

Fuck them for making you feel small. Fuck them for making you feel less than. Fuck anyone that ever made you feel like you were anything but in control, including her. If she just explained what she could do, this could’ve been a lot easier. If she just told you what she was capable of, you could’ve worked together. You could’ve given her what she wanted, and she could’ve given you what you wanted, and it could’ve been so much simpler.

“Gonna get me fuckin’ killed,” Simon growls. You start to cry again. Not because what he’s saying hurts you, but because he’s still bleeding, and all you can see when you close your eyes is that gun firing right at his head.

This is your ticket. This is your way out. Fuck Kate for making you believe that all you were meant for was being in his bed. You’re so close–aren’t you? You didn’t realize how close you were, but now you do, and you know exactly what to do.

You’re going to make them very, very sorry. You’re going to make them regret ever letting you inside. Your divisive, spitfire nature was not your line of defense. It was the indication of the future you always dreamed of, the future that is one bite-mark away from being tangible. You can taste it, like you taste what Simon wants in the air.

I can do it. I can help you. Let me in.

There was never a reason to be afraid. If anything, they should’ve been afraid of you.

You kiss him. It’s not a proper kiss, because his face is still covered, but you kiss Simon anyways. His cheeks warm, and his lips part, and you kiss him softly over and over as you take his face into your hands. When his arm slides around your waist, your omega is comfortable letting your knees buckle.

She knows already that Simon will catch you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

3K notes · View notes

fics-lovebot · 11 days ago

Text

jungkook fic recs - pt. 3

main masterlist

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls reblog if you like any of my recs and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

come sit on my lap - ( @euphoricfilter ) pwp, lots of praisingg, they way this is written is good yall, "use me" , “so polite” shUT UPPPP im literally blushing, AND he is also cute at the end?? i hate it heREEE :´)

he has a lot of cum - ( @euphoricfilter ) bf!jk, the title I- , he DOES have a lot of cum, lots of stamina, lots of everYTHING, and on toP of those small details, wdym he wants to see how many times he can cum in you before it´s too full and it starts to spill????? somebody stop this man

riding jungkook´s nose - ( @euphoricfilter ) we´ve ALLL thought about this, and if you haven´t you´re lying, periodt. pRAISINGGG, he´s in a pussy-drunk frenezy, he likes feeling used, he likes getting his hair pulled, he likes getting his face wET, it´s sickenINGGGG goreaditplease

fucking in the gym - ( @euphoricfilter ) this was inspired by that one pic of him and jimin with their back out, I SEE THE VISION, fucking with ceiling mirrors

wicked - ( @noteguk ) smut, incubus!jk, big big corruption kink, lots of dirty ploting and dirty talk, yupppp this is a good one, so detailed, love me a fic that lit makes me see what i´m reading

strings attached (to my heart) - ( @jungkoode ) smut, crack, fluff, IT HAS IT ALLL, spider man au, college au, spider-man!jk x journalist!reader. READ THE TAGS BC ITS GOOD AF, bc wdym you combined sub-loser-desperate jk who also has a noona kink wITH a superhero au??? it´s like you wrote it for me,, (also, this deserves many many more notes imo)

think i need someone older - ( @redcherrykook ) smut, whipped rich older bf!jk (PERIOD!!) x younger!reader. JESUS FUCKING CHRISTTTTTTT!!! no more words needed, this one´s pulled right out of my maladaptive daydreaming folder

fade into you - ( @nmjoo-n ) SMUT, fluff, fwb to lovers au. barista!jk, possessive obsessive toxic lovesick!jk (LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO). this is a whole 2022 masterpiece, they way this is written, and the way jungkook is borderline PSYCOTICH (or in love ig) for her is so hotttttttt. deff one of my favs

this is how you fal in love - ( @jeonqkooks ) fluff, smut, angst if you squint. rockstar!jk au, est relationship. this is beautiful, a 2022 gem. love love love how lengthy and detailed this is

frost impressions - ( @fortunexkookie ) soccer coach!jk, teacher!reader, gamer au, work au, idiots to lovers, one sided pining at first, it´s a longggg one. another 2020 masterpiece, one of my favorite fics out there, he´s so disgustingly smitten with his new coworker that he ends up making a terrible first impression. so so so entertaining and fun to read, jk is silly af lmao, can´t stop putting his foot in his mouth, theres a bunch of cute second hand embarrasment situations

Over The Odds | The Confession - ( @jungk0oksthighs ) ceo jk, sugardaddy jk, jealous bf jk, sugar baby reader, he gets mad and yells bc he is lowkey insecure of her ex but reader is equaly in love. this is a series

wrong time - ( @spideyjimin ) smut, angst, dilf!jk, ceo!jk, exes to lovers, workaholic as a scape mechanism, the one that got away type of stuff but she broke things up first for valid reasons, big big heartache but she´s still the love of his life

don´t blame me - ( @ctrlsht ) sugar daddy!jk, ceo!jk, soft yan!jk, obsessive!jk, student!reader, unhealthy behavior on his part, manipulative behavior on her part, jealousy on both parts, he goes a lil too far but reader is bitchy and annoying, he lit gives her everythinggg she asks for, the man is..creazy about her in a very unhealthy way and she takes advantage of that, toxicc

failed quickie - ( @vminizzle ) cowerker jk, suggestive, they´re about to fucc on an elevator but shit happens, he likes his hair pulled!!1!

someone older - ( @bonny-kookoo ) smut, ceo jk, divorced jk, 30 something yo jk, taehyung has a kid, younger oc, its a nice read, would do it again

2K notes · View notes

minniesfiles · 2 months ago

Text

A THOUSAND SORRIES

Your phone died without you realising it while at your high school reunion party. So when your best friend requested an old classmate to drop you home, you didn’t realise how much it would shake your relationship with your husband, who you swore would’ve never doubted your loyalty.

❧ PAIRING; seungcheol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguing, swearing, crying, seungcheol is a little bit of an asshole, hurt with a lot of comforting, maybe a little overdramatic, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8.7k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▍7 MAY 2024

“Shit, it’s almost one,” you muttered, eyes slightly wide as the glowing red digits on the wall clock stared back at you.

You were still perched on the velvet sofa at the back of the club, your head buzzing slightly from a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Everyone around you was still laughing. Some sloppily dancing and others in tight huddles catching up over half-spilled drinks.

The night completely ran away from you. You and your friends had gotten too caught up in celebrating your high school reunion, hosted by one of your classmates who now owned the club, to notice how late it had gotten. And more importantly, you were too distracted to notice that your phone died — nearly two hours ago.

You closed your eyes and mentally kicked yourself. Who leaves the house with only fifty-percent battery? You, apparently. And it would’ve been fine — if Sujin didn’t insist on hijacking your phone for photos all night. “Your camera’s way better,” she said as she snapped an infinite amount of blurry selfies and group shots.

If you had that last five-percent, you could’ve booked a taxi by now, or at least texted your husband to let him know you were alive and not passed out in a gutter. But nope. You handed over your lifeline in exchange for better lighting and wider angles.

Still, you had to admit, the night was worth it. Ten years. That was how long it had been since you last saw these faces. Physically, some had changed beyond recognition, but there were moments where their seventeen-year-old selves peeked through. The way Beomseok, the school’s heartthrob, still threw his head back when he laughed. Or how Soyoung, the well-known bookworm, always over-explained her stories like she was giving a TED Talk.

Even the ones you never really liked, like that one girl who always made everything about her, brought a strange and unexpected wave of kindliness. Maybe it was the nostalgia. Maybe it was the drinks. Either way, you didn’t feel the irritation you used to. Just a weird fondness.

You let your mind drift back through the night — from the ridiculous dance-offs to the messy karaoke renditions of songs you didn’t hear in over five years. It was like slipping into a familiar old sweater, frayed in places but still comforting.

But now, reality knocked you back in your senses. You promised your Seungcheol you’d be home before midnight. He wasn’t the jealous type, but you knew he worried. And with your phone dead, no cash on hand, and no clue where your friends had scattered off to, you were stuck.

You scanned the club again, hoping to spot Sujin, maybe even your other friends at the very least. But nothing. Just bodies moving to the beat of some remix you didn’t recognise. You sat back and exhaled. You really didn’t know how you were getting home.

Sooner or later, you finally spotted Sujin over by the cocktail bar, half-laughing at something the bartender said as she swayed in rhythm to the music. The moment you saw her, relief washed over you like cold water, and you made your way towards her.

“Sujin,” you said, tapping her shoulder gently.

She turned around, a little startled. Her brow furrowed as she tried to hear you over the music. “Yeah?” she responded, a bit breathless.

You leaned in close, trying not to yell. “Do you know anyone who can drop me home? My phone’s dead and it’s getting really late. Seungcheol is probably losing it right now.”

Sujin’s expression shifted. She bit her lip and looked around as her eyes scanned the crowd of familiar strangers. “Ahh…” she muttered, her voice trailing off as she thought.

You could almost see the gears turning in her head. Then suddenly, her eyes widened. Her face lit up like someone just handed her the perfect answer.

“Minseok can drop you home!” she said, turning back to look at you.

“You know him, right?”

Of course you did. All too well. Minseok was your seatmate in physics back in your final year of high school. He was an astrology-obsessed nerd with a mop of hair always falling into his eyes and an inexplicable knack for blurting out random facts that you never asked for.

He once told you Mercury was in retrograde as you were about to fail a quiz, as if that was somehow helpful. Another time, he whispered a breakdown of Saturn’s rings during a fire drill. It wasn’t that he was mean, he was just…a lot. A walking trivia machine with no off switch. As harsh as it sounded, you didn’t miss him — not even a little.

“Seriously?” you said, half-horrified, half-resigned.

Sujin shrugged. “He’s sober. He came alone. And he’s not drinking, he’s literally sipping soda with lime like it’s a martini. He’s the safest bet.”

You groaned internally. Out of all the people, it had to be Minseok. You weren’t in the mood for a ride filled with awkward silence or worse — cosmic lectures about Venus retrogrades and your ‘energy aura’.

But desperate times, right?

Before you could protest, Sujin was already waving him over. “Hey, Minseok!” she called out.

You turned your head slowly, catching sight of him as he made his way through the crowd. He looked different, older obviously, but still very much him. His posture was straighter. His hair was neater, and he was dressed well in a simple button-up and dark jeans. Somehow, seeing him walk towards you didn’t feel quite as dreadful as you’d expected.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you?” Minseok greeted with a warm smile. You blinked in surprise. Not just at how relaxed he looked, but at his voice. It was deeper than you remembered. Smooth, even. Less nasal and less grating. Tolerable. Maybe even nice.

“I’m good. How about you?” you asked, offering a faint, polite smile. “I see you don’t wear your glasses anymore.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Ahh, I gave up on them and switched to contact lenses. It was a life changer,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“I see,” you said with a slight nod, unsure what else to add.

Before the silence could settle, Sujin jumped in. “So, Y/n needs a ride home. Can you drop her?”

“If you don’t mind,” you added quickly, almost reflexively. You didn’t want to sound like you were expecting anything.

Minseok didn’t hesitate. “Of course not! Let’s go,” he said, tilting his head toward the exit with a smile.

Your shoulders dropped as the tension left you in a soft breath. “Oh thank god,” you muttered, offering a more genuine smile in return.

You followed him out into the night where his car was parked a few yards away. Once inside, you gave him your address and he nodded before pulling smoothly onto the road.

The car ride was awkward, undeniably, but the soft music playing in the background drowned out most of it. He tried to make small conversations with you, only for you to give back short answers to avoid the awkwardness from growing. And he seemed to catch on to that, and decided no to press on too much.

╴╴╴╴╴

A few minutes later, Minseok pulled up outside your home. The street was quiet and dimly lit by the streetlamp. The neighborhood had long settled into silence — everyone asleep in their cosy homes.

You stepped out of the car and pulled your coat tighter around you as the cold air bit through the thin fabric. You turned back towards the driver’s side and leaned in slightly.

“Thank you so much Minseok. I really owe you,” you thanked him sincerely.

He gave you a small smile with his hands still on the steering wheel. “It’s okay Y/n,” he said softly, then added a chuckle. “It was nice seeing you after all these years.”

“You too,” you replied, returning the smile. You both waved each other a last goodbye before he drove off.

Turning to your house, you saw that the porch light was on. So were the lights in the living room. No surprise. Seungcheol was still awake.

As you stepped inside and started to kick off your shoes, you heard your husband’s voice hit you like a slap to the face. “Do you know what the fucking time is?” Seungcheol snapped from the hallway.

You froze mid-movement, caught off guard by the sheer aggression in his voice. You flinched while your hands were still on your laces. The look on his face was enough to stop you cold.

Rage was plastered across his face. His jaw was clenched so tight you saw the veins popping on his neck. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, like he hadn’t blinked in an hour. He stood there in his grey sweatpants and worn-out hoodie, but nothing about him looked relaxed. He was a coil pulled too tight.

Seungcheol never cursed, rarely even raised his voice. He always tried to stay calm and level-headed. So to see him like this, it threw you off.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said as you inched closer. Your voice was shaky, but your instinct told you to close the distance. You wanted to calm him, to hug the anger away.

When you reached for him, Seuncheol stepped back and shoved your arms off gently, but firmly. That simple gesture was enough to make your chest tighten.

“And why weren’t you answering my calls or texts, huh? Do you know how fucking worried I was?” his voice rose.

You flinched at the harshness in his tone, and your shoulders curled in slightly as if to shield yourself. “My phone died,” you said softly. The words tasted pathetic the moment they left your lips, because you knew it was a poor of an excuse to explain yourself.

“That’s it?” he snapped.

“Your phone died? Then you could’ve borrowed someone else’s! You could’ve taken two damn seconds to call me and let me know you were alive Y/n!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the volume of his voice.

You could have called. But it didn’t even cross your mind. You were too distracted. You weren’t ignoring him. It just didn’t feel urgent. Until now.

But how could you say that without sounding selfish?

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there quietly, hollowed out by guilt. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes stinging with tears. You could feel it. You could feel your throat tightening, and that familiar ache building just behind your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m home now.”

You reached for his hand. This time, not out of instinct, but desperation. You needed to hold onto something.

But he pulled away.

That was the moment something inside you cracked.

“Who was that guy who dropped you home, huh?” he suddenly questioned.

You froze.

Of all the things he could have said, this wasn’t what you expected. The question didn’t match the man you knew. The man who never batted an eye when someone flirted with you. The man who used to laugh it off and pull you closer like he had nothing to prove. Jealousy had never been in his nature. At least, not until now.

Your eyes narrowed as you studied him. He just looked at you, waiting.

You frowned, feeling something inside you start to burn. You would’ve answered him directly, but the fact that he even asked, it flipped a switch in you. A part of you that stayed patient through his yelling had enough.

“What do you mean?” you asked flatly. You weren’t playing dumb. You genuinely wanted to know — why that was even his question. Of everything that happened tonight, this was what stuck with him?

“That guy,” he said again, slower this time, as if you were the one not understanding. “The one whose car you got out of. Who was he?”

Clearly he saw you. But you weren’t surprised.

You blinked at him in disbelief, followed by a humorless laugh that slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The laughter died as quickly as it came. “Seungcheol? What are you trying to say? That I fucked him?”

You knew you were being dramatic, but the sting of it, the audacity of his doubt, made your heart sink. You just spent the last ten minutes apologising for something that wasn’t even completely your fault.

“That’s not what I meant!” Seungcheol quickly defended. But there was a small hint of guilt in his eyes. Like he knew he went too far but didn’t know how to walk it back.

“Then what did you mean, huh?” your voice cracked now, finally matching his in volume. “You tell me what you’re implying!”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it. A beat passed between you. A silence filled with things neither of you were willing to say out loud.

“I saw you,” he finally said. “You were smiling. You looked so…comfortable with him.”

Sure you were grateful for Minseok for giving you a ride home, but being comfortable with him was the last thing you felt. So you could not believe how ridiculous he sounded right now.

“So what?” you stared at him.

When he had no answer to give you, you took a breath in to steady yourself.

“First of all, he’s not a stranger,” you said.

“His name is Minseok. We went to school together. He was Sujin’s suggestion because my phone was dead and I had no ride home.”

Seungcheol still didn’t speak. He just looked at you with his jaw clenched.

“And second of all,” you continued, walking closer to him.

“Don’t you dare turn this into some bullshit theory about me cheating. You know me better than that. Or at least, I thought you did.”

“I do know you,” he said, but the words sounded unsure now. “I just—I was scared Y/n.”

“I know,” you said, softer now, but still firm.

“And I’ve already apologised for not calling. I should’ve found a way. I get that. But you don’t get to throw baseless accusations at me just because you were scared.”

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair as he paced a bit around the hallway. “I’m not saying you cheated. I just—seeing you with him, then coming home late, not answering me—it messed me up. I waited for hours, just imagining the worst. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think.”

“I get it,” you repeated.

“But do you hear yourself? You think I’m out sleeping around because I got a ride from an old classmate? Because I smiled at him?”

Seungcheol sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds stupid now.”

“It doesn’t just sound stupid Cheol,” your voice cracked, shaking your head. “It sounds like you don’t trust me.”

You gave him a last, glassy-eyed look before you walked past him. And as you did, your shoulder unintentionally bumped against his.

Seungcheol didn’t say a word. He didn’t even stop you. He just stood there, still and guilt-ridden, as he watched you disappear upstairs.

His face went pale, and his chest felt tight. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to call your name, or maybe to say sorry. But no sound came out. What would it change? The damage was already done. He said the one thing he could never take back.

Seungcheol knew he messed up. He knew he crossed a line that might be too late to step back from. But in that moment, all he could do was stand there — frozen in the ruins of a conversation he never should have started that way.

You, on the other hand, tried so hard to stay composed. You willed your feet to keep moving, step by step up the stairs, while holding back the sobs building in your throat. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

But the second you reached your shared bedroom and closed the door behind you, everything broke loose.

You dropped onto the edge of the bed, like your body couldn’t carry the burden of your bottled up emotions any longer.

Your body began to shake as the first sob broke free. The first sob that escaped from your lips was sharp and strangled, followed by another. And another. Soon, they were pouring out of you uncontrollably. You curled in on yourself as your hands gripped the bedsheets, trying to stop the ache in your chest from spreading further.

But it was useless. The pain was too much.

You never imagined hearing those kinds of words from him. Not Seungcheol. Not the man who once told you he trusted you more than anyone in the world. The man who always said he didn’t need constant reassurance because “you’re my person.”

You weren’t crying just because he yelled at you. Or because of the jealousy. It was what it all meant. It was the implication behind his words, and the doubt in his voice. To you, it made you feel like you weren’t someone he could fully trust.

That hurt more than anything else. Because after everything you had been through together and every moment where he told you you were his safe space — it now felt like none of it mattered apparently.

Downstairs, Seungcheol sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. The house was too quiet now. Except for the faint, muffled sound of your sobs upstairs. The sound shattered him more than anything. He knew you were trying to keep it in. You always did. But it wasn’t working tonight.

He could practically feel your pain from where he sat. Every cry of yours echoed in his ears, louder than anything else. His hands curled into fists at the thought of it — at the reality of him being the cause. He used to be the one who made you smile, and wipe your tears. He promised to never make you cry.

Now look at him.

Seungcheol hated himself for it. For letting his emotions get the best of him. For turning on the person he loved most. He would’ve fought anyone who made you cry like that — anyone — and yet tonight, he was the one who broke you. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

He let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the sofa as his eyes trained on the ceiling like it could somehow offer an answer. But all he found there was more regret and more silence.

The sound of your crying didn’t stop. If anything, it became softer and more defeated. And that scared him more. Loud cries were of pain. Silent ones were of emptiness. He knew the difference.

He replayed the argument in his head over and over. His words and how your expression changed, and the way you flinched. He saw it all. It wasn’t just what he said. It was how easily it came out, wnd how little thought he gave before hurting you.

The worst part was that none of this came from a place of true doubt in you. He didn’t really think you cheated. The thought didn’t even occur to him until his anger morphed into a kind of jealousy he hadn’t even felt before. He was just finding an excuse to lash out on you for being late and not answering his calls. He knew he shouldn’t have. And instead of dealing with it like a grown man, like a partner, he lashed out like a child.

Seungcheol cursed under his breath and stood up abruptly. He paced around the living room as he thought about going upstairs. Apologising. He wanted to tell you everything he should have said instead. But what would he even say? “I didn’t mean it”? That felt too small. Too late even.

But still, he had to try.

Reluctantly, Seungcheol made his way upstairs. Your cries had now dulled into soft, broken sniffles that barely reached past the bedroom door, but they still echoed in his ears like sirens.

He paused just before the door as his hand hovered over the knob. He didn’t know if he was ready to face you, not after the damage he caused with words spoken in both anger and fear. He always promised to protect your heart and to never break it. But now here he was, standing on the other side of a door that never felt more like a barrier between you.

Maybe he should’ve waited longer and gave you space to breathe. But space also meant distance, and he didn’t want distance, especially not tonight. Not when things already felt like they were slipping. He didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. He didn’t want you to think his doubt meant he didn’t love you. Because that wasn’t it. Not at all.

He turned the knob slowly and gently pushed the door open.

There he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back to him. You wiped at your face quickly when you heard the door open, like you were trying to erase the evidence of your pain before he could see it.

But it was too late. Your eyes were red and glassy, and your movements stiff and tired. Without saying a word, you got up and walked across the room towards your vanity.

Seungcheol stood at the door. He wasn’t sure if he should come in or back away. But after a beat, he forced his feet to move.

“Baby…” he started softly, his voice cracking a little. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to start. Everything he wanted to tell you felt too small compared to the hurt he saw on your face.

You didn’t respond.

He took a few more steps, watching as you sat down at the vanity and began removing your makeup. You moved like you were a robot as you dabbed at your eyes and wiped your cheeks. You didn’t even look at him. To you, he might as well have been invisible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping behind you. His voice was quiet and careful. “I didn’t mean what I said. Really. I was just…”

But you still didn’t respond.

The wipes in your hand were tossed into the bin beside the vanity with a bit more force than necessary, but your face stayed calm. Not cold. Just blank. That was somehow worse. The silence was deafening, like it was screaming at him louder than any words you could have thrown.

He didn’t push, though. He just stood there and watched helplessly as you rose from the chair and brushed past him without a word towards the wardrobe. You pulled out a clean pair of pyjamas, underwear, and a towel. Then you turned and made your way towards the bathroom.

Seungcheol was left standing in the middle of your bedroom like a ghost. Like a man who broke something sacred and didn’t know how to fix it. He slumped onto the bed with elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His shoulders sagged and his chest felt tighter.

He played it back again. Every word. Every raised tone. Every look of disbelief and hurt on your face. And he hated himself even more for it.

All he could think about was how you didn’t yell. You didn’t throw anything. You didn’t argue. You just…shut down. That was how he knew it hit you harder than even he realised.

The sound of running water from the bathroom filled the room faintly. It was the only thing that broke the silence now. He sat there for what felt like forever, unsure if he should leave, or if he should knock and ask to come in.

But he knew you needed this time. Time to process. Time to breathe.

His heart ached.

He wanted to walk into that bathroom and pull you into his arms. He wanted to apologise properly. To kiss your forehead and promise he’d do better. That he’d never let his fears cloud the love he had for you again. But something told him words weren’t going to be enough. Not after the hurt he had caused.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol stayed sitting on the bed, waiting. The silence was too suffocating, and he rubbed his hands together as nerves ate away at him. He didn’t move from the edge of the bed since you closed the bathroom door behind you. Part of him still wanted to go ant knock, to beg for a second chance right there.

But he knew better. You needed space, and for once, he was going to respect that.

When the bathroom door finally creaked open, his head snapped in that direction.

You saw you walking out slowly in your fresh set of silk pyjamas. Your damp hair stuck softly to your shoulders as you gently dried it with a towel. Your face was calm, but still unreadable. There was no trace of any emotion. No glance in his direction nor any words.

It was like he wasn’t even there.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing heavier by the second. The atmosphere was thick and tense. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could leave, you turned on the hair dryer. The loud whir filled the room, drowning him out completely and silencing any attempt at conversation before it even began.

He watched as you dried your hair. There was nothing rushed about you, yet everything about you screamed restraint. You were containing your anger, holding back your pain. He could see it, even if you refused to show it.

When the hair dryer finally shut off, the silence that followed was almost louder. You didn’t look at him. You simply walked past the bed, flicked off the lights, and climbed under the covers without a word. As the room dimmed, the shadows softened everything but the ache in his chest.

Seungcheol stood there in the dark for a moment, unsure if he should follow or give you space. But the need to be close to you and to feel your warmth pulled him forward.

He climbed into the bed behind you slowly and carefully. Your back was facing him and your body was curled slightly away. He hesitated for a moment as his heart pounded. Then, inch by inch, he scooted closer. Gently, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him, like he’d done so many nights before.

But, it didn’t feel the same this time.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and breathed you in. You still smelled like the same shampoo he always teased you for hoarding in bulk. You still felt like home. But the stiffness in your body and the lack of response said everything he didn’t want to hear.

“Please baby,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m sorry.”

And he meant it. God, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

But you didn’t respond. Not with words. Not with a sigh. Not with a look.

Instead, your hand gently grabbed his wrist and nudged him away. You shifted forward, creating space between your bodies. He lay there, stunned, as his arm fell limply back to his side.

The cold hit him instantly. Not the air though, but the absence of you. The absence of your warmth and of your forgiveness. His heart dropped so far down, and so painfully, that he had to close his eyes to keep himself from falling apart.

To say his heart broke would be an understatement. It shattered into pieces. It hit the ground so hard, he swore he could hear the smash.

His eyes burned. He blinked to try to stop the tears before they could fall. But one slipped free. Then another.

Seungcheol didn’t cry often. He was strong and always the one to give you confidence during your doubts. But right now, he felt like sand slipping through fingers. Powerless to hold anything together.

He messed up. Bad. And he knew it.

He laid still. He was unsure if he should try again or stay silent. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this.

He’d apologise again in the morning. He’d make you your favourite breakfast. He’d give you space if that’s what you wanted, or hold you tighter if you let him. He just needed you to know that he never meant what he said. That no guy in the world could ever replace what you were to him. That his words were laced with panic and not reality.

He needed you to know that he was terrified of losing you, and in trying to keep you safe, he might have pushed you too far.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Sleep never came. Not for him.

Seungcheol listened to the rhythm of your breathing. He hoped that it would calm him. But it didn’t. It only reminded him how far he felt from you, even in the same bed.

He reached out once more, hesitatingly, and let his fingers hover inches from your back. Then he withdrew, letting his hand fall beside him again.

Tomorrow, he’d try again, and you hoped you would give him a chance.

▍8 MAY 2024

When Seungcheol woke up the next morning, he felt a slight chill immediately run through him. He shifted under the covers, and his body instinctively reached out across the bed to find you. But his hand landed on nothing but cold sheets. The side of the bed where you usually slept was empty.

Frowning, he pressed his palm against the mattress. It was cold — too cold. And he realised that you’d been up hours ago

Panic was slowly stirring in his gut. He rubbed his face tiredly, trying to get rid of the haze from his eyes as the soft sunlight bled in through the curtains. Maybe you were downstairs. Maybe you were just drinking tea or sitting in the living room. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe—

But the moment he sat up, he knew it wasn’t. The house was too quiet. Unnaturally so.

Normally, he’d hear you in the kitchen as you prepared breakfast for the two of you. And the smell. He could always smell the chamomile tea you made for him first thing, because you knew he needed it to start his day. You always made sure to have a cup ready for him. You’d have that soft, sleepy smile that made everything else in the world seem irrelevant.

Today, there was none of that.

There was no sound or smells. Not even the warmth of your presence.

Seungcheol’s heart was thudding uncomfortably in his chests as swung his legs over the bed. He sat there for a few seconds, hoping, praying that he’d hear something — anything — that would tell him you were still there.

But the silence was deafening.

With slightly trembling hands, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. There were no messages from you, nor any missed calls. Just one new message from Sujin.

[SUJIN]:

You’re lucky I didn’t break your legs. How could you do that to her? She didn’t deserve any of it, Seungcheol. You better figure out how to fix this.

He stared at the message as the words burned into his brain. Sujin’s anger was expected. She was always protective of you, and sometimes even fiercely so.

He sent a quick message asking if you were with her, and patiently waited while biting onto his nails.

[SUJIN]:

Don’t worry about her, she’s safe.

Seungcheol let out a shaky breath of relief. While he was glad to know you were somewhere safe, it did nothing to calm the restlessness in his heart.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. His mind kept replaying everything from the night before — every word that came out of his mouth and every look on your face.

One of the reasons your relationship lasted so long and grew so strong was because of the deep understanding between you. You were always patient with each other. You were both always willing to listen and to step back when needed. You weren’t perfect, no couple was, but you respected each other enough to work through it all.

Arguments happened before, of course. Insignificant things, frustrations and disagreements. But never like this. Never so intense. Last night was different, because it felt like it reached somewhere much deeper than either of you ever touched before.

Seungcheol knew you weren’t someone who lashed out easily. You didn’t lose your temper or escalate fights. You were always thoughtful, even when you were hurt. You didn’t run from problems — you faced them with a calm strength that he always admired, even when he was too stubborn to show it.

In fact, to Seungcheol, you were always the more tolerant one between you both. You gave more grace. You forgave quicker and you loved harder. You were the one who always held the ship steady when the storms hit.

And that’s what made this morning so gut-wrenching.

For things to escalate so badly — for you to leave without a note or a word — that wasn’t you being dramatic. That was you protecting yourself. You were drawing a line he should have never forced you to draw.

The realisation twisted like a knife in his gut.

It wasn’t you being overly sensitive. It wasn’t you misunderstanding him. It was about him. His fear. His words. His failure to trust you when you deserved nothing less than unwavering belief.

The fight alone wasn’t the reason you left. You left because somewhere in the middle of his anger and unknown jealousy, he made you feel small. He made you feel in a way that questioned your loyalty. He hurt you badly.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

He couldn’t even lie to himself and say it was a misunderstanding. He crossed a line, and now he was standing on the wrong side of it with no way of knowing if he could bridge the gap.

Seungcheol leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He knew it would take more than just showing up at the door with flowers. He knew it would take more than empty words thrown in a moment of panic.

It would take time. Especially patience.

And he would do whatever it took to earn his way back. Even if it meant starting from the ground up.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol spent the next four hours doing everything he could to distract himself. He scrubbed every surface of the house until his hands were sore. He picked up things that didn’t even need cleaning. He even reorganised drawers that were untouched for months. He did anything to keep himself moving, anything to keep his mind off from the deafening silence filling the space you both used to share so easily.

When there was nothing left to clean, he threw himself into work. He opened his laptop and started answering emails he would have normally ignored. But he couldn’t focus. His mind was elsewhere entirely.

He could have gone into the office. He could have pretended that it was a normal day. But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. Because if he left the house, he’d miss the moment you came back.

That was when you’d come back.

Even as the hours dragged on, and hope started to thin like mist, he stayed. He stayed waiting. Regretting and hurting.

He checked his phone more times than he could count. He left you countless messages and calls in hopes that you would answer. And his heart jumped every time there was a vibration, only to be disappointed a second later. There were no answers from you. Only old notifications and an unread message from Sujin that was probably telling him to go fuck himself. Which was understandable.

But the silence from your end was killing him.

Just when he thought another second of waiting would crush him completely, he heard a soft click of the front door opening.

He nearly dropped the laptop off his lap in his scramble to stand up. He made his way quickly towards the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

And there you were.

You were bent over as you quietly slipped off your shoes. You were still in your pyjamas from the night before, with an oversized black jacket thrown over them.

You looked small and fragile. Exhausted.

He felt his heart twist painfully.

Your hair was slightly messy, and your face — God, your face — was red and puffy. It was obvious you hadn’t stopped crying, not for long anyway. You sniffed softly, blinking away fresh tears as you shoved your shoes aside without even sparing him a glance.

Seungcheol felt something inside him break.

“Baby,” he called out softly, voice cracking slightly as he took a cautious step forward.

But you didn’t respond. Not even paused. You just walked right past him.

He turned and followed you to the living room, helpless and desperate.

You shrugged off your jacket and placed it on the arm of the sofa, while your back was still facing him. You still didn’t look at him. You didn’t say a single word.

Seungcheol felt his chest tighten painfully, and his throat growing thick.

“Baby, please,” he choked out as he stepped closer.

Still, you said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost too quietly.

The words felt inadequate. They were empty compared to the hurt he caused. But he needed you to hear them. He needed you to know that he was willing to say it as many times as you needed. That he would spend the rest of his life making up for what he said.

“I know it’s not enough,” he continued, struggling to find his voice, “for the amount of hurt I’ve caused you by my words, but…” he trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

“I’m truly sorry,” he finally said.

You still didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. The words were tumbling out now, more urgent and desperate.

“But I should have never said what I said. Never made you think I didn’t trust you. Fuck,” his voice cracked, fighting the tears he refused to let fall.

“Baby, I didn’t mean any of it. I really didn’t,” he cried.

He took another hesitant step closer. And he watched your shoulders tense, and how still you were, like you were holding yourself together by a thread.

He wanted to reach out and touch your hand. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and promise he’d never let anything like this happen again.

But he was terrified. He was terrified that if he pushed too hard, you’d pull even farther away.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking.

“That’s not an excuse. It’s not. I let fear get to me. I let it make me doubt the person I trust more than anyone else in the world. And I hurt you. I hurt you when I should have been the one protecting you.”

Still nothing. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and deafeningly, long between you.

Seungcheol stood there feeling utterly helpless as his heart beat so painfully he thought it might break apart completely.

He wished he could rewind time. He wished he could take back every stupid and reckless word that came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, hurting and hoping that you would give him even a sliver of a chance to make things right.

He dropped his head, and his arms hung uselessly at his sides.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said.

“Maybe not even tomorrow. Or the day after that. But I’ll be here. I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

A tear finally escaped, trailing down his cheek. But he didn’t bother wiping it away.

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, voice cracking again. “I would never.”

For a moment, nothing happened. You didn’t move, nor speak.

Seungcheol felt like he was suffocating. The longer you stayed silent, the tighter the air felt in his lungs. The fact that you wouldn’t even look at him shattered him more.

You didn’t have to scream. You didn’t have to say a single word. Your silence was already deafening enough that it echoed louder than any insult or accusation he had ever faced.

He stood there for a moment, watching you. He could feel the distance between you. You were right there in front of him, but you felt so far away.

And that was unbearable.

So he stepped forward, cautiously. He reached out, almost hesitantly, and wrapped his arms gently around your waist from behind. You didn’t resist. You didn’t lean into him either. But you didn’t pull away. And to Seuncheol, it was the tiniest mercy he clung to it like a lifeline.

He pulled you in slowly, pressing your back against his chest. He hoped that the warmth of his touch could speak where his words failed. He leaned down and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling a shaky breath.

Then, he started to sob. Quietly at first as his shoulders shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and thin. It was all he could manage at first.

“I’m so fucking sorry baby.” The words tumbled out again more desperately.

Seuncheol didn’t care if he sounded pathetic. He didn’t care that he was crying or pleading. All he cared about was the wall between you — the silence. If falling to pieces at your feet meant you’d speak to him again, he’d do it a thousand times.

“Scream at me,” he begged softly, his breath hitching. “Curse me. Heck, hit me. Just…please, say something baby. Anything.”

Still, you didn’t speak.

But then he felt the slightest shift in your body.

Your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly under his touch, and your head tilted just enough for him to feel your cheek brush lightly against his. You weren’t rigid anymore and you weren’t fighting his presence.

“Say something baby, please. Anything. I want to hear you,” Seungcheol pleaded with a shaky voice, tightening his arms around you. He could feel his heart pounding erratically against your back.

But you didn’t answer. You stayed still and silent. And the air felt too thick to breathe. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, eyes shut tightly as he tried to keep it together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but there was urgency in it.

A long minute passed in the choking silence. Then, just when he thought it would stretch on forever, he heard a soft whimper.

Seungcheol stiffened, and his heart began staggering. He slowly lifted his head, and listened.

Another whimper followed, then a sharp, broken breath. And then — sobs. Real, raw, heart-wrenching sobs.

You broke down in his arms.

Seungcheol froze, and soon panic began to swallow him.

“No, no, no…” he whispered as he quickly turned you around to face him.

“Hey— hey, baby” his hands moved to your face, cupping it gently. “Look at me, please.”

Your cheeks were damp and flushed, and your eyes swollen and red. And the moment he saw you like that, something inside him shattered. He never saw you cry like this. Not even during your worst arguments, not even during your lowest moments.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered as his thumbs brushed under your eyes to catch the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, my love.”

His voice cracked mid-sentence, and his throat burned as if the words were scraping against the regret lodged there. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbled as his breathing ragged, and his forehead gently pressed against yours now.

But you only cried harder.

Your body folded forward, and your forehead pressed into his chest as your sobs muffled against his shirt. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were something fragile.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispered again. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear.”

He said it in a way to not just reassure you, but as if repeating it could somehow undo it. As if it could take back the words he let slip when he lost control.

You didn’t respond. But your fists clutched at the fabric of his shirt as you held him just tight enough for him to know that you weren’t pushing him away. Not entirely.

And that was enough for him to completely fall apart.

He stood there as he rocked you gently. Tears were spilling from his own eyes as your cries rang within the quiet house. He didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care about anything but you.

He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

“I thought I was losing you,” he confessed quietly.

“Last night…I panicked. When I saw that you weren’t picking up my calls or answering my texts, and then seeing you get out of someone else’s car…I lost it. And instead of asking if you were okay, I accused you. I doubted you. I hurt you.”

You hiccuped through your sobs, still clutching his shirt. You hadn’t spoken yet, but your pain said everything.

“I’ve never regretted anything more than that moment,” he said, voice breaking.

“I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you. I just didn’t trust myself to be enough. And I let that insecurity punish you instead.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, even though your eyes were still closed and streaming with tears. “You didn’t deserve that. You never have. You’ve always been the one who held us together. And I— I let my worst fear make me the one who tore us apart.”

You finally let out a shaky breath, not quite a word, but enough to make him freeze.

His hand trembled as he brushed your hair back gently. “Please talk to me,” he whispered.

“I know I don’t deserve it right now, but…I just need to know if there’s even a piece of you that still wants to fight for us.”

He would understand if you didn’t. He’d hate it, and it would destroy him. But he’d understand.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and for the first time since you walked through the door, your eyes met his. The look you gave him wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. Shattered and deeply sad.

It broke him all over again.

“I was scared too,” you finally said, your voice hoarse.

“I never thought we’d come to such a point. And I was scared that the person I trusted the most didn’t believe in me. That…you saw me the way strangers might. Like I could just…be thrown away.”

“No,” Seungcheol said quickly, shaking his head.

“Never. I don’t see you that way. I never have, and I never will. It’s all my fault for being so insecure when there was no reason to be.”

“You really hurt me,” you said in a whisper as more tears welled up in your eyes.

“I know,” he replied softly, forehead pressing against yours again.

“And I will spend as long as it takes proving to you that I’ll never let it happen again.”

╴╴╴╴╴

The two of you were cuddled up together on the sofa. You were wrapped up in each other with your bodies entangled in a way that words couldn’t describe properly. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet between you was simply peaceful.

You talked softly. It was obvious how tired you were with how your voice was low, but it was still full of honesty. The rawness of the last twenty-four hours still lingered, but neither of you ran from it.

You repeated how scared you were and how betrayed you felt, and Seungcheol listened to you without interrupting. His apologies kept streaming, and not just verbally but through his tears and trembling touches. Especially in the way he held you like you — like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Eventually, your words began to slow down. You started to speak less and less, and your sentences trailed off as your head rested more fully on his chest. He could feel your breath even out before your body slowly went limp.

You fell asleep on him mid-thought.

Seungcheol looked down at you and just…smiled. Not because he was relieved, nor because the hurt disappeared, but because you were here — in his arms. You trusted him enough to let your guard down again, even if it was only for a moment.

It meant a lot to him. More than anything.

He brushed his fingers gently across your cheek, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. You shifted slightly in your sleep, your face scrunching just a bit before relaxing again. He chuckled under his breath and continued to trace your jawline with the back of his knuckles.

You were exhausted. He knew that.

Everything that went down last night drained you. You didn’t sleep properly, didn’t eat much either, and your body was finally demanding what your heart didn’t let it take: rest.

Carefully, Seungcheol slid out from beneath you, trying his best not to jostle you awake. You stirred just a little as your hand weakly clutched the hem of his shirt.

“It’s okay love. I’m right here,” he softly whispered, and you relaxed again before letting him go.

He stood up and stretched his back slightly, before he turned his gaze down to you. You looked so small curled up on the sofa like that.

Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and gently scooped you up into his arms.

Your head fell against his shoulder as he lifted you. You didn’t stir much either. Seungcheol just let out a quiet sigh as he adjusted his grip and carried you towards the bedroom. He made sure that his footsteps were soft so you wouldn’t wake up.

When he reached the bedroom, he gently nudged the door open with his foot and walked over to the bed. He then placed you down slowly. His hands lingered at your sides for a second longer before he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over you, tucking it around your frame.

It was only three in the afternoon, but the sunlight peeking through the window gave everything a golden hue. He stood there for a moment, and just watched you breathe. You looked peaceful again. Not fully at ease, nor healed — but calm. And that was enough, for now.

You badly needed the rest.

And if he had anything to do with it, he’d make sure you had all the time in the world to feel like you had nothing to worry about.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes never left your face. He reached out and brushed his fingers along your forehead, gently moving the strands of hair that had fallen across your features.

You always looked beautiful to him, but in this moment, you looked ethereal. Vulnerable, yes. But resilient too.

He leaned down slowly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was a promise that he would do better. Be better.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

He stayed beside you for a while, just watching. He sat listening to the way your breath slowed even more as you fell into a deeper slumber. The lines of tension in your face smoothed out and your lips parted slightly, while your hands loosened beneath the blanket.

Seungcheol didn’t want to leave your side, but he didn’t want to disturb you either. So after a long minute, he stood up quietly and took one last look at you before backing towards the door.

Before leaving, he turned back around, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

He loved you so much it hurt sometimes. But for the first time since yesterday, he felt like maybe there was still something worth rebuilding. And he was going to fight like hell to rebuild it. Brick by brick.

a/n; please like and reblog 🫶🏽

2K notes · View notes

bottomvalerius · 1 year ago

Text

Also managed to get so triggered watching dark side of the ring, my body is now in a state of fight of flight while I’m simply boiling water LMFAO

#rambling #the series is extremely heavy and depressing but the dynamite kid episode hit Waaaay too close to home LMAO #Kyle was trying to like talk about it and I went fully nonverbal before going ‘…… let’s put on chopped please :’)’ LMAO #speed running the wrestling hyper fixation by consuming every type of material out there

0 notes

cinnasite · 2 months ago

Text

the science of sleeping with your best friend

꩜ pairing: timeskip!kenma kozume x virgin!female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 4.3k

꩜ synopsis: you relationship with kenma has always been understated—quiet moments, mutual understanding, and an unspoken connection. but when you open up about your insecurities regarding intimacy, things take a turn. one kiss, a subtle shift in dynamics, and suddenly everything you once knew feels entirely different. caught in a whirlwind of desire and growing affection, you find yourself grappling with feelings that you've ignored for years. is it too late to turn back or is this the beginning of something far deeper?

You vividly remember the day you moved to Japan. You were eleven, your nervousness amplified by the way the airport had smelled—metallic, unfamiliar, cold. Your mother stayed back in your hometown with your younger brother, and you followed your father across the ocean for his new job… your new life. You told yourself it was an adventure, trembling in anticipation.

It wasn’t. Not at first.

Making friends when you didn’t speak the language fluently and stood out in every classroom turned out to be less like an odyssey and more of a series of long, silent lunch breaks. Teachers tried, some classmates smiled, but nothing stuck. Not until high school.

Transferring to Nekoma High at fifteen was your father’s idea. He’d said something about the school’s progressive curriculum and cultural diversity. You hadn’t hoped for much until, one week into classes, the principal cornered you near the shoe lockers and asked if you’d consider being the manager for the boys’ volleyball team.

“It’s part of a new initiative. We’re looking to build an inclusive sports environment,” he said. “And you have excellent organisational skills from your transcript.” You said yes, mostly out of curiosity. And maybe because it was the first time someone had sought you out, instead of the other way around.

The first practice was awkward, to put it lightly. A room full of sweaty teenage guys and sharp whistles. You stood off to the side, notebook in hand, questioning every life choice that led you there with a resigned sigh. Until Kuroo Tetsurō slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “Don’t worry, you’re one of us now. You’ll get used to these knuckleheads.”

The team protested. You laughed for the first time in weeks. That’s how it all began.

They took you under their wing like a little sister, especially Kuroo—he treated you with a big-brother protectiveness that made the transition less lonely. Lev would tell you outrageous lies just to see you smile. Yamamoto always tried too hard to impress you but meant well. Yaku taught you how to be blunt in Japanese without accidentally insulting someone’s grandmother.

But the one you inexplicably gravitated toward was Kenma.

You were the same age, and the same reserved type, at least at first glance. Though unlike him, you didn’t mind talking. People were drawn to you in a way that surprised you. So, Kenma didn’t intimidate you. If anything, you felt safe around him. He was calm, observant, and never asked for more than you were willing to give.

You’d sit beside him during breaks, leaning over his shoulder as he played on his handheld console.

“You’re always watching,” he’d say without looking up.

“I like watching,” you’d plainly reply.

And when he let you try it out yourself—tentatively handing over his console like it was something fragile—you knew you had earned his trust. You’d talk about things beyond video games. Books. Movies. Your homesickness. His dislike of crowds. The weird comfort of silence. He was the only one who didn’t flinch when you talked about the divorce or missing your mom and brother.

By the end of your second year, you were inseparable. Everyone saw it—hell, even Kuroo made a habit of teasing you about it.

“She’s the Kenma whisperer,” he’d joke. “He actually talks around her.”

You dismissed it. You told yourself it was just friendship, that the small twists in your stomach when his shoulder brushed yours were normal. That the deliberate and soft way he looked at you was just how he looked at everyone.

But somewhere near the end of school, when the weight of the future started crawling into every conversation, you realised you felt something more. And it scared the hell out of you. You didn’t say anything. How could you risk losing what you had when it had taken you so long to find it?

After graduation, the team drifted as people often do. University took everyone in different directions, but you all stayed in touch. Kuroo’s group chats were relentless and reunions became an annual thing, something precious to look forward to.

With Kenma, your bond never faded. If anything, it grew.

Even when you were in different cities, the two of you never changed—late night phone calls, half-asleep messages, and meeting up whenever you could. Both of you still talked like no time had passed. Still knew each other in that rare, bone-deep way. However, you dated around, courtesy of your college roommate urging you to move on and get laid. You had simply nodded, telling yourself the crush was a remnant of adolescence. It had to be. It wasn’t healthy to keep holding on.

Tragically, it never went anywhere with the people you went out with. No one matched the way Kenma understood you without trying. No one matched the genuinity and the slow-burn thrill.

And now, in your twenties, with a stable job and a quiet apartment, you were beginning to admit that maybe it had never been just a crush.

But if that was true… what in the world were you supposed to do about it?

Kenma’s penthouse was everything you’d expect: clean lines, muted colors, and minimalist furniture. Expensive in a subtle way.

He was already curled up on the low couch when you stepped in, barefoot and hoodie-clad, legs tucked under himself like a cat. “You’re late,” he murmured without looking up from his nintendo.

“You’re lucky I even showed up,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door.

“Oh?” His eyes flicked up momentarily, amused. “Is this you playing hard to get?”

You rolled your eyes and sank into the seat beside him, close enough for your knees to brush. “If I was playing hard to get, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

That earned a low hum of laughter. “So self-assured.”

The night unfolded the way it generally did—casual banter, leftover takeout, and dumb inside jokes that had survived since Nekoma. You both sat there, bodies angled toward each other, the city lights painting the walls with a faint gold.

At one point, he turned off the TV, but neither of you moved. There was a falter. A lapse stretching between words. Then, after much thought, you said it.

“Can I ask you something kind of... weird?”

Kenma blinked. “Sure.”

You took a breath. “Do you ever think you’re, like, bad in bed?”

His eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t what he’d imagined the conversation would jump to. You winced at yourself. “Okay, wow, that sounded way more self-deprecating than I meant it to.”

“Little bit.”

“I’m serious,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “I’ve dated, right? But it never really went anywhere. And when it did get physical, it just… didn’t go that far.”

Kenma didn’t interrupt. Merely listened.

“I mean, I’ve done stuff,” you continue rambling, suddenly fascinated by the hem of your sleeve. “A little oral. Some handjobs. But, um, I’ve never… had sex.”

There it was. Out in the open. You’d lobbed the confession between you like a live grenade, waiting for it to detonate. Only that it didn’t. The lack of response wasn’t exactly suffocating, though it did make you scream a little on the inside.

Kenma’s voice was gentler than you expected when it came. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

His words made you hesitate. “Because I’m trying to see people again. But every time I get close to someone, I panic. I keep doubting myself—what if I’m not good at it? What if they expect me to know what I’m doing and I don’t?”

A beat.

“And it’s not about being ashamed,” you added quickly. “I just want to feel... in control. Comfortable.”

Kenma studied you. “You could just tell them.”

“I know. But I don’t want it to be a thing. Like, ‘oh no, she’s a virgin, handle her with care.’” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want pity sex. Or worse, performance sex.” You dared a peep at him. “Have you…?”

He tilted his head. “Had sex?”

Your ears burned, unsure of whether you wanted to hear the answer. “Yeah.”

Kenma leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “I have.”

The words sat in the air like smoke. You ignored the tightening of your chest. “Was it good?” you asked. Perhaps, a little too quickly.

He gave you a look. “You really want to know?”

You stammered. “Yes. No. Kind of. For research purposes.”

He smirked. “Of course.”

“Shut up.”

He was quiet for a moment before replying, “Some of it was good. Depends on the person, I guess.”

You hummed, eyes on his collarbone. “Would you ever, uh, be willing to show someone the ropes?”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. The apartment felt charged, causing your fingers to twist in your lap. Without meeting his gaze, you exhaled shakily.

“I was just thinking… if I ever wanted to figure this out—hypothetically—you’re the only person I’d trust not to make it weird.”

Kenma stilled, lips parting. “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. A longer one. “You’re asking me to have sex with you.”

Your stomach flipped. “I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

You groaned. “Forget it. This was dumb. I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t say no.” Kenma looked at you. Not joking, not teasing—just looking. That same sincere care you’d known for years, now sharpened with something else.

Something almost hungry.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, voice low. “Help you?”

Your heart thundered. “Well, I—Only if… you want to.”

He leaned forward. “I want to. Let’s start with a kiss.”

You froze, eyes widening at the abruptness of it all.

“Since, you know,” he added casually, ��we’re doing research.” You laughed—nervous, breathy—and nodded. “Right. For the glory of science.”

He moved in leisurely, giving you every chance to pull back. You didn’t. His lips brushed yours once. Gentle and testing, your breath hitching at the sensation. You kissed him again. More assertive than previously. As a result, his hand found your cheek. The angle changed, the excitement deepened.

You realised begrudgingly that your idea had stopped being hypothetical real fast.

Kenma and you grew feverish, your actions slow, then speedy, like you couldn’t get enough. You gripped his hoodie in an act of desperation. His fingers trailed along your waist, reluctant yet calculating. You felt his touch at the hem of your t-shirt and gasped, pulling back.

“I—I need to stop,” you whispered.

Kenma, breathing heavily, nodded. “Okay.”

You sat there, chests heaving, foreheads nearly touching.

“That was…” you began.

“Mhm,” he said, voice hoarse. “It was.”

You didn’t sleep together that night. Be that as it may, something had undoubtedly shifted. Something you couldn’t take back. Neither of you were prepared for what that first sensuous encounter had unlocked.

After the kiss, everything was different. Not in a dramatic, movie-like way, mind you. There were no whispered confessions or next-day declarations. You didn’t even text about it. Not directly, though every message after did have a different weight to it.

gamer boi: you left your ring on the bathroom sink

You: OMGTHANKYOU i’ve been searching for it all day :(

gamer boi: how did you even forget it?? isn’t it your favourite????

You: it’s not my fault someone kept me distracted with his mouth 🙄

gamer boi: don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it

The next time you saw Kenma, you were wearing a sundress with zero intentions of escalating anything. Apparently, it didn’t matter.

You were barely inside before Kenma tugged you in by the wrist, your back hitting the front door with a loud thud. His mouth was on yours again, hands roaming like he’d been starved of touch. His fingers curled around your waist, dragging you flush against him. You let out an embarrassingly needy whimper, arms looped around his neck for balance.

It was supposed to be another kiss. Nothing too intense, nothing too fiery. But soon his tongue brushed against yours—mischievously coaxing. When his knee slid between your thighs, you knew that you were done for.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned into your mouth.

“Okay?” he checked in, lips grazing your jaw.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just—you… it’s all very new. ”

He paused. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I will.”

That night, you didn’t go all the way either.

But you let him touch you. Really touch you.

You ended up in his lap on the couch, your dress hiked up, his t-shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His motions were maddeningly drawn out—smoothing over your thighs, teasing under your panties, fingers slicking gently over you until you were shaking. One thing you’d grown to learn thanks to these electrifying escapades was that Kenma neither rushed nor demanded.

Just observed.

He watched you unravel, watched you fall apart with nothing more than his hand between your legs and his mouth pressed to your throat.

You’d returned the favour a week later—kneeling between his knees in that same living room, palms steady even though your mind was a mess. He had gripped your hair, but not harshly—more like he didn’t know what else to hold onto.

And after, when you wiped your mouth and leaned your cheek against his thigh, both of you panting hard, he murmured, “You’re dangerous when you’re confident.”

You smiled. “Guess the research is working, huh?”

His only answer was a smirk.

Life, as it usually does, got in the way. You were swamped at work and Kenma had his own obligations. Days passed. Weeks, even. You didn’t meet up with him, but you felt him everywhere. In your skin. In your thoughts. In the aching, restless emptiness of your bed. And worse: you missed him. Not just the way he touched you—but the him of it. His deadpan humour. The way he’d pause in conversation like he was thinking four moves ahead. The attractive rasp of his voice. The way he drank you in.

You missed your friend. You craved your… something.

You didn’t know what you were to him anymore. In spite of that, you knew that you needed him.

Kuroo’s reunion couldn’t have come at a better—or worse—time.

You’d dressed without overthinking it. Okay, maybe a little overthinking. The black corset hugged your curves like sin. The skirt hit mid-thigh, leaving appropriately enough to the imagination. The oversized leather blazer added a touch of effortlessness you didn’t actually feel. And the platform boots? Tall enough to be seductive.

When you walked into the high-end restaurant, every eye turned. On the contrary, you only looked for one.

Kenma was at the bar, drink in hand, dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was tousled, face unreadable. But when he saw you, he froze. Eyes trailing down greedily, taking his sweet time. He didn’t smile or wave.

Later, after hours of group toasts, dodging Kuroo’s banter, and pretending you didn’t itch with anticipation, Kenma found you on the rooftop balcony.

The city buzzed beneath.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, not turning around.

He stepped closer, “You’ve been busy.”

“So have you.”

All you hear for a few seconds is the cacophony of traffic and pedestrians.

“You look good tonight.”

You swallowed, your feet carrying you to him. “Yeah?”

Kenma appeared to be just as tormented as you. “Too good.”

“That a problem?”

He didn’t bother with an answer. Reaching for you, he hastily tugged you close. His mouth slanted over yours, hot and aching, weeks (he’d argue, proclaiming ‘years’) of self-control slipping like sand through fingers.

You didn’t even remember getting into the cab.

The moment Kenma’s apartment door shut behind you, it was chaos.

Lips crashing. Hands fumbling. Breath caught between kisses that were all teeth and tongue, no space for thought. Kenma backed you against the wall while you yanked at the buttons of his shirt like you were unwinding every second you’d spent pretending this wasn’t what you wanted. He dragged your blazer off, then your corset. His hands slid up your thighs, underneath your skirt, finding nothing but heat and skin.

“You planned this?” he muttered, strained, against your neck.

“I thought about you,” you whispered honestly.

He cursed, kissing you deeper—ravenous, like the time apart had built a pressure in him he could no longer contain. Soon, you were in his bed. Limbs knotting, bare. His weight on top of you was crushing—so real with almost a decade’s worth of tension, of friendship, of everything unspoken.

His touch skimmed up your stomach, pausing at the curve of your breast.

“I need you,” he said, hoarsely. “Tell me I can have you. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you reassured—just a whisper, but your whole body yearned to meet his. “I want you so bad, Kenma.”

He reached down between your thighs, fingers running through the mess there, working you open. You moaned, legs falling wider to allow him to move inside you better. You were drowning in sensation. His teeth nipped at your chest, hips grinding just barely against yours, and yet—

You wanted this. God, you wanted him. But—

“Wait,” you muttered, voice thin and trembling.

Kenma froze immediately. His eyes locked on yours, reading your face with terrifying precision. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I—”

Your hand pressed lightly to his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do this like it’s solely physical. Not with you.”

The room shifted.

“I thought I could,” your voice was so low, one might believe you weren’t speaking at all. “I told myself this was just for fun. A learning thing. ‘Research.’ But I can’t pretend anymore.”

You looked up at him, shame creeping in. “If I sleep with you, I’ll fall completely. I already have. It won’t just be sex to me. I don’t think it ever was.” You gulped, words turning rawer. “And if that’s not what you want… then this was a mistake.”

Tranquility. Thick. Cracking at the seams.

You felt your panic rise. “Sorry. I know I fucked things up, god. I should leave—"

“Stop,” Kenma finally spoke. Your blathering halted.

His fingers trailed up your cheek. “You think I’d let you in like this—have you like this—if it was just physical to me?” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

“I’ve been in love with you since high school, you idiot,” he said, and your stomach dropped. “I just never thought you’d want me back.”

You blinked up at him, stunned.

“When we kissed that day,” he continued, reverent, “everything changed. I didn’t want to risk scaring you away, so I thought if I gave you what you needed… eventually you’d see it too.”

He kissed your forehead. “See that I’d burn down the world for you.”

You gazed up at him, shaking slightly. “You’re not serious.”

He kissed your cheek. Your temple. Your nose. “I’m dead serious.”

Emotion swelled in your heart, hand cupping the side of his face. “Kenma…”

He leaned into the touch. “Talk to me.”

“I used to wait for practice to end just to walk home with you. I used to sit in the stands and pretend I was watching the match, but I was only watching you.”

The corner of his lips twitched. His hands ran down your sides.

“I thought I was broken for never wanting anyone the way my friends did,” you whispered. “But then you showed me it wasn’t about anyone. It was about you. It was always you.”

The atmosphere in the room grew charged with something sacred.

“I love you,” you declared, like the words were stolen from your ribs. Like they were always there between the two of you, waiting for someone to speak them to life.

Kenma was silent for one moment—just one—before… “I love you too,” he kissed you like a man reborn. This time, there was no rush.

He moved over you like he was making a vow—hands smoothing over every curve of your body, lips mapping every inch of your skin, like he was trying to memorise the sound of your breath as it caught in your throat.

When he lined himself up and pushed inside, it was slow. Intimate. He didn’t look away once. You clung to him, gaping at the fullness, the sheer gravity of him inside you.

“Alright?” he murmured, brows furrowing in concern.

You nodded, breath shaky. “Better than alright.”

He kissed you again, explosively possessive. After what felt like ages, he moved.

Each thrust was deliberate and claiming. His hand tangled with yours above your head. His other gripped your hip, holding you steady as he rocked into you, building a rhythm that made your back arch.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured into your ear. “Dreamed about you under me, begging for more.”

You moaned, eyelashes fluttering. “You have me now.”

“Trust me, I’m never letting go.”

Your bodies danced in a symphony that blurred the line between pleasure and worship. You came first, legs trembling. He followed right after, whining your name against your lips, pulsing with everything he felt and couldn’t say fast enough.

While you both lay there—spent and dizzy—you clung to each other. Because you knew this wasn’t the end.

You woke up to sunlight. Golden, slithering between silk curtains and spilling across the sheets in hazy lines.

Next to you was Kenma, his arm draped over your waist. The slight scrunch of his forehead indicated he was still deep in thought even while asleep. The sheets were rumpled around your legs, your body still sticky with sweat and afterglow, and every inch of you ached deliciously.

Oh my god, you thought with a giddy smile.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You reached out, careful not to disturb Kenma, and blinked at the screen.

8 Messages from loser

1 Missed Call

1 Voice Note

You opened the texts, bracing yourself.

loser: where the hell are you?? kenma’s vanished too tf

loser: you better not have left. lev tried to arm wrestle yamamoto and lost. to YAMAMOTO

loser: i swear if you ghosted the reunion i’m kicking your ass

loser: wait

loser: waitttttttt

loser: OH MY GOD DID YOU AND KENMA LEAVE TOGETHER???!!!

loser: TELL ME THIS ISN’T HOW I’M FINDING OUT

loser: ANSWER ME FUCKER

You choked on your laugh, snorting into your palm. Kenma stirred beside you, yawning.

“Mmm… what time is it?” he mumbled, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Too early for our best friend to be having a meltdown,” you giggled.

Kenma cracked one eye open. “Kuroo?”

You held your phone up. “He’s in panic mode.”

Kenma blinked. Then closed his eyes again and guided you down into his chest. “Ignore him.”

You laughed, cuddling into his warmth. His hair was mussed, bleached strands falling into his eyes. His fingers rubbed lazy circles into your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you in his tired state either.

“I still can’t believe last night happened,” you remarked dreamily.

Kenma nuzzled your shoulder. “I can. I’ve imagined it a thousand times.”

You flushed. “Okay, damn.”

He smirked against your skin. “You think I didn’t spend high school losing my mind over you?”

You were about to answer when his hand slid lower. Then lower still.

“Kenma—”

He rolled on top of you before you could finish. You sucked in a breath as his mouth found yours—inviting at first, then insatiable. Your legs parted instinctively as he settled between them, hardening length grinding slowly into your wetness. His body was still warm from sleep, but his touch was awake. Very awake.

“You’re gonna start something you can’t finish,” you warned.

He kissed your jaw. “Wanna bet?”

You fisted his hair, pulling him back to meet your eyes. “We’re seriously doing this again? First thing in the morning?”

“You’re naked in my bed,” he deadpanned. “If anything, this is on you.”

You were mid-laugh, mid-moan, mid-thigh squeeze when…

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—”

The bedroom door slammed open. You both stopped, unmoving.

Kenma’s mouth was on your neck. His hand was on your thigh. Your legs were definitely wrapped around his waist. Kuroo stood in the doorway like a horror movie freeze frame.

One hand still on the doorknob. Jaw hanging open. Eyebrow twitching.

You screeched and dove under the sheets like they could erase the last thirty seconds of reality. Kenma… just sighed. Still completely on top of you, showing no signs of clothing himself.

“Get out,” he said flatly.

Kuroo was pale. In a shocking display, he turned red. If possible, redder.

“I—WHAT—SHE’S NAKED—YOU’RE—WHAT—WHY—"

“By the way, I didn’t give you the code to my penthouse so you could come and go as you please,” Kenma muttered, frustrated.

“I thought you were dead!”

“Kuroo—” you poked your head out, expression absolutely boiling—“I’m begging you to forget this ever happened.”

“Oh no. This is burned into my soul. Wait till the group chat hears about this.”

Kenma finally stood up, arranging the blanket properly to cover you like a true gentleman. Instead of being embarrassed, he looked rather annoyed at being interrupted. Like this was your regular Saturday afternoon in the Kozume household.

Kuroo glanced between the two of you, hands on hips, processing.

Then he scoffed, “I watched you two lunatics dawdle around each other for YEARS. Years. You think I didn’t know?”

“Then, why are you surprised?” Kenma asked.

“Because I thought you’d tell me through a well-structured text, not with your fucking nipples out!”

You screamed in humiliation and retreated into the covers again.

Kenma shrugged. “We were busy.”

“Oh, no need to tell me.” Kuroo turned, still muttering to himself, “I'm gonna need bleach. For my eyes. For my brain. For my…”

The bedroom door slammed shut and it was peaceful for all of three seconds. At the same time, you and Kenma burst out laughing. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck as you wheezed into the pillow, your body shaking.

“Never living that down,” you gasped.

“Worth it,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you again—slow and soft—like he had nowhere else to be.

1K notes · View notes