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mononijikayu · 27 days

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amnesia — ryomen sukuna.

“Are you… are you playing a joke on me?” Sukuna’s voice wavered slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation. “It’s me. Sukuna. We… we know each other.” You shook your head slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had a really bad accident a few years ago, and… well, I lost my memories. Amnesia. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: sfw, fluff, angst, romance, hurt/ comfort, post - break up, amnesia, hurt, physical touch, memory loss, sadness, pain, pining, slowly getting back together, light-hearted, happy ending, getting back together, depictions of amnesia, depiction of pining, mention of grief, mention of accident, mention of pining, ex-boyfriend! sukuna, amnesiac! ex-girlfriend! reader, domestic uncle sukuna!, nephew!yuji;

WORD COUNT: 9.9k words

NOTE: the entire chapter is a sequel to drunk tonight and is set five years later. sukuna won second place at the poll again and i feel like this is my apology for sukuna for always making him an angst main lead. this was inspired by a filipino film called amnesia girl and its a funny drama-romcom. its available on youtube, but i dont know if there's subtitles!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy this and i hope you know how much i love yall 🫶🫶🫶

ADDENDUM: so......so long sukuna??? (manga readers iykyk)

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kayu's playlist - side 1000;

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HE LIKED TO THINK HE COUNTED THE HOW LONG IT HAS BEEN WELL. Five long and painful years ago, you and Sukuna parted ways in what felt like an explosion of unresolved emotions and unmet expectations. Your relationship had been a tempestuous blend of fiery passion and constant turbulence, a rollercoaster of intense highs and devastating lows. From the beginning, it was clear that both of you had strong personalities, often clashing in ways that seemed impossible to reconcile.

The reasons for the breakup were numerous and complex. There was the perpetual danger that came with Sukuna's world, a constant reminder that you were living on the edge, with no guarantee of safety or stability. His life was fraught with peril, and the reality of that danger had taken its toll on both of you. You both knew that living under such stress was unsustainable, and it began to fray the bonds that had once held you together.

Your expectations, too, weighed heavily on the relationship. You had dreams and aspirations that seemed at odds with the life you were leading alongside Sukuna. The demands of his world often overshadowed your own needs, leading to a sense of neglect and disillusionment. It felt as though you were always putting yourself second, trying to accommodate the chaos that was Sukuna's life while struggling to maintain your own sense of self.

Despite the chaos and the inevitable breakdown, there was an undeniable connection between you—a bond that neither of you could completely sever. It was a connection that defied logic, a thread that seemed to pull you back together despite all efforts to move on. Both of you had tried to let go, to walk away and start anew, but the lingering feelings and shared history made it nearly impossible to fully break free.

Sukuna, in his own way, struggled with this as well. Even though the relationship had reached its breaking point, he found himself unable to completely let go of what you had shared. He was deeply aware of the toll that the relationship had taken on you, and he knew that you needed to prioritize yourself, your own well-being, and your own path forward. It was a painful realization, one that left him feeling hollow and lost, but he was determined not to be the reason you couldn't move forward.

In his mind, letting you go was the only way to truly show his love for you—to give you the space you needed to heal and grow. Even if it meant enduring his own misery, he accepted that it was a sacrifice he had to make. He knew that holding on would only serve to drag you both down further, and he wasn't willing to be the obstacle in your pursuit of happiness.

So, as time passed and the separation became a part of your history, Sukuna endured his own internal struggle. He remained in the shadows of your life, silently wishing for your happiness while grappling with his own feelings of loss and regret. He respected your decision and tried to move forward, even as he kept a part of himself tied to the memories of what once was.

But even then, you were truly something that made his life more than it was. You were the blossoms of his youth, the hope and vibrancy that had once colored his world. Your presence had breathed life into the mundane, transforming his days from mere existence into something filled with possibility and wonder.

His elder brother Jin had seen it all those years ago, recognizing the profound impact you had on Sukuna. Jin had often remarked on how you were a beacon of hope, a light that guided Sukuna through the darkest corners of his life. Your influence was undeniable, a force that had shaped him in ways he could hardly articulate.

Yet despite the depth of his feelings and the significance of what you had shared, Sukuna couldn’t escape the gnawing belief that he had ultimately failed you. He carried with him the heavy burden of the notion that he wasn’t good enough—never had been, never would be. The weight of this conviction was a constant companion, a shadow that loomed over every thought and action.

He remembered the countless moments of doubt, the times when he felt that his flaws, his imperfections, and the dangers of his world were too great a burden for you to bear. It was a painful realization, one that left him grappling with feelings of inadequacy. He wanted to be the person who could give you everything you deserved—love, stability, safety. But he feared that he fell short, that he could never truly be the partner you needed.

Even as he watched you move forward, find your own path, and build a life without him, he was haunted by the belief that he had let you down. He was acutely aware of all the ways he had failed to meet your expectations, to protect you from the chaos that had once defined your life together. He thought that perhaps he had been too caught up in his own struggles, too consumed by the demands of his world to fully appreciate what he had with you.

In his quieter moments, Sukuna wrestled with the idea that he would never be good enough for you, that he would never be able to offer you the kind of love and life you truly deserved. This belief became a part of him, shaping how he viewed himself and how he measured his worth. He felt that he had lost you not because of any one mistake or shortcoming, but because he was fundamentally flawed, incapable of providing the kind of relationship you needed.

And so, even as he grappled with his own pain and regrets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were better off without him. The memory of what you had shared lingered like a bittersweet echo, a reminder of what could have been and what was lost. He had to come to terms with the fact that he might never be able to offer you the life you deserved, and that acceptance was a hard, painful lesson he had to learn.

Sukuna's struggle with these feelings was a testament to the depth of his love for you, a love that, despite its imperfections and its failures, had once been a source of profound meaning and transformation in his life. Even as he moved forward, he carried the weight of this truth with him—a reminder of what you had meant to him and the painful realization that, perhaps, he would never truly be good enough to have you back.

Sukuna sat in the corner of the room, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, as he listened to his friend's banter. The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in years. Gojo, with his usual grin, was recounting some ridiculous tale of his latest escapade, while Uraume, ever the quiet observer, occasionally chimed in with dry comments that had the others laughing.

But Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t really paying attention. His mind kept drifting back to you—to the way your eyes had softened when you told him you wanted to give “us” a real chance, to the way you’d leaned into him, trusting and vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Oi, Sukuna. You’re….” Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, bud. What's got you all broody, huh?”

Sukuna blinked, realizing he’d been staring into his glass for who knows how long. He knows he spaces out when he’s thinking, but when he’s thinking of you — he suppose the time can go on and he wouldn’t even notice. He looked up to find Gojo’s bright blue eyes fixed on him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Uraume was watching him too, their expression unreadable but attentive.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sukuna muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a first from you, hm.” Uraume teased, earning a snort from Gojo.

“Come on, spill it!” Gojo pressed, leaning forward with that infuriatingly playful grin. “Is it a girl? I don’t mind if it’s a guy, I know you swing that way too! Oh, wait… don’t tell me it’s the girl.”

Sukuna’s dark scarlet eyes narrowed at him. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “The one you’ve been moping about for the last five years. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Sukuna. You’ve been different at work lately—quieter, more… I don’t know, introspective.”

“Gojo–san’s right, Sukuna–san.” Uraume added, their tone softer. “You’ve changed. It’s like you’re finally letting go of whatever it was that had you so wound up.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of their words settle over him. He wasn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of their scrutiny, and he didn’t like it. But he also knew they weren’t wrong.

“Yeah, well……” Sukuna began, his voice rough, “I haven't seen her in a long while.. Five years, I think. But I heard…I heard she’s been around. She’s moved around town.”

Uraume raised their eyebrows. “Five years? That’s a long time, Sukuna–san.”

“Yeah. We were together throughout our senior high school and college. Then we broke up after we graduated.” Sukuna sighed, taking a long sip of his drink. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, but it did little to ease the ache that had settled in his chest. “It’s been a long time, but… hearing that she’s moved here just brings back a lot.”

Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise. “Was that breakup really that bad?” His usual grin faded, replaced by a look of concern as he sensed the gravity of Sukuna’s words. “What happened?”

Sukuna nodded, his gaze drifting away from Gojo’s intense stare. The room seemed to grow quieter as he delved into the past, the weight of his memories heavy in his voice. “We had multiple breakups. It wasn’t just one—there were several. But the last one was particularly rough. We both cried a lot, said things we didn’t mean. It was messy.”

Gojo leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Why was it so difficult?”

Sukuna’s face tightened as he struggled to find the right words. “If I’m being honest, it’s my fault. I wasn’t secure in myself. I was jealous, possessive. I couldn’t handle the idea of her moving forward or being happy without me. And that jealousy, that insecurity—it hurt her more than I realized.”

There was a long pause as Sukuna’s confession hung in the air. Gojo’s usual bravado was replaced by a rare, contemplative silence. He took a moment to process Sukuna’s admission, trying to reconcile the man he knew with the vulnerability being revealed.

“That’s a lot to carry,” Gojo said finally, his voice softer than usual. “But it sounds like you’re taking responsibility, which is more than a lot of people do.”

Sukuna’s expression was a mix of regret and acceptance. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t change the past. I know I hurt her, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that fully. But seeing her again… it’s brought everything back. The pain, the regret, and the memories of what we had.”

Uraume, who had been quietly listening, spoke up, their tone gentle. “It’s clear you’re still affected by this. Maybe it’s a chance for you to make things right, or at least find some closure. People change, and sometimes, revisiting the past can help us understand ourselves better.”

Sukuna nodded, though his expression remained somber. “Maybe. I’m not sure what will come of this. I just know that seeing her again made me realize how much I still care, how much I’ve changed, and how much I wish things could have been different.”

Gojo leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and maybe this is a chance for you to show her the person you’ve become. It might not fix everything, but it could be a step toward healing—for both of you.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. It’s worth a shot.”

The room fell silent, the playful atmosphere dissolving as the weight of Sukuna's words sank in. Even Gojo, who was usually quick with a joke or a teasing remark, seemed at a loss for what to say. His usual bravado was replaced with something more thoughtful, almost solemn, as he processed what Sukuna had just revealed.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft clink of ice in Sukuna's glass as he set it down on the table. He could feel the eyes of his friends on him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the drink, not ready to meet their concerned looks just yet. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken emotions.

“I hope the best for you, man.” Gojo finally muttered, leaning back in his chair as he exhaled slowly. His tone was softer than usual, lacking its typical teasing edge. “You deserve to be happy too.”

Sukuna snickered. “You must be drunk being this nice to me.”

“Hey! I am nice at all times.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Uraume, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward slightly, their expression gentle and understanding. They had always been more in tune with Sukuna's moods, more aware of the nuances in his behavior than Gojo, who often masked his own sensitivity with humor.

“If you bump into her again, though….” Uraume asked, their tone devoid of judgment, only curiosity and concern. “Would you try and talk to her, then?”

Sukuna finally looked up, meeting Uraume’s gaze. There was a hesitance in his eyes, as if he was still grappling with the reality of it all. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low, almost as if admitting it aloud made it more real. “I would. In a drop of a hat.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had built up over the years. It wasn’t just the fact that you had come back into his life; it was the realization that despite everything, despite the time and distance, Ryomen Sukuna had never really let go of you. He had buried those feelings deep, tried to move on, but now that you were here again, they had all come rushing back to the surface.

Gojo watched Sukuna carefully, his usual smirk gone, replaced with a rare expression of empathy. He knew Sukuna better than most, knew how much pride had always driven him, how hard it had been for him to admit his feelings even when things were good between the two of you. For Sukuna to open up like this now, it meant that whatever he was feeling ran deep.

“I get it.” Gojo said, his voice unusually quiet. “I mean, you guys were… well, you were everything to each other. It makes sense that she’s still on your mind.”

Uraume nodded in agreement. “It’s not surprising that you still think about her, Sukuna–san. What you had wasn’t just something you can forget, even if you wanted to.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, staring off into the distance as if trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s just… weird.” he finally said, his voice thick with the frustration he’d been holding back. “I’ve been trying to move on, to put all of that behind me. But I just….I want to see her again. Even just one more time.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded Sukuna with a serious expression. “Maybe you’re not supposed to forget, man. Maybe this is your chance to figure out what you really want, to make things right.”

Uraume added quietly, “It’s not too late to change the narrative, Sukuna. If you still care about her, if she’s still on your mind after all this time, maybe there’s something there worth exploring.”

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, taking in their words. There was truth in what they were saying, and he knew it. He had spent so long trying to bury his feelings, convincing himself that it was over and done with. But the truth was, he had never truly moved on. And now, with you back in his life, even in this new, unfamiliar way, he couldn’t ignore the pull he felt toward you.

When he opened his eyes, there was a resolve in them that hadn’t been there before. “You’re probably right.” he admitted, his voice steady. “I’ve been running from this for too long. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I need to see this through. I owe it to myself, and… to her.”

Gojo’s grin returned, but it was softer, more genuine. “That’s the spirit, man. You’ve got this. Just… don’t screw it up this time, okay?”

Sukuna let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”

Uraume smiled softly, a rare display of emotion from them. “We’re here for you, Sukuna–san. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

Sukuna nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t alone in this. With Gojo and Uraume by his side, he knew he could face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting the feelings he had buried for so long.

One more drink and the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, the tension that had hung in the air slowly dissipated. But the resolve in Sukuna’s heart remained, stronger than ever. He knew what he had to do, and for the first time in years, he felt ready to face it head-on,

As the night wore on, Sukuna couldn’t help but think about the future—about what it would be like to build something real with you this time, something lasting. The thought scared him, but it also excited him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Maybe, just maybe, this time he could get it right. And with Gojo and Uraume by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to do it alone. But the hour is late. And they’ve got things going on in their lives too. So they pay their bills and wave him goodbye.

As he watches his comrades pair off, he is forced to confront a painful truth. Despite years of searching, no one has been able to replace you. The women he's met, the flings he's had—they were all distractions, mere shadows compared to what he had with you. Each time he tries to move forward, your memory pulls him back, the echo of your laughter, the way you challenged him like no one else ever did, and the warmth you once brought into his life, all refuse to fade.

In quiet moments, when he's alone, Ryomen Sukuna wrestles with the possibility that his true love, the one person who could truly understand and match his intensity, might have been you all along. The very thought frustrates and angers him, but deep down, he knows it's true. The idea that you could be happy with someone else, that you could have moved on, is a bitter pill to swallow.

But what can he do? Could he really go back to you after all this time, after all the hurt and pride that kept you apart? The thought of reaching out, of admitting that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you, is terrifying in its vulnerability. Yet, the more he tries to resist, the more he finds himself wanting you back in his life.

Sukuna has always been a man of action, but this...this is different. It's not about power or control; it's about something far more fragile—his heart, his pride, and the chance of losing you all over again. The question that haunts him now is whether he can swallow that pride and take the risk, whether he can open himself up to the possibility that, just maybe, what he’s been searching for all these years was right in front of him all along.

And that possibility, terrifying as it may be, is the only thing that has ever truly scared him.

Sukuna's inner turmoil grows as the days pass. The world around him, once filled with the thrill of battles and the allure of endless conquests, now feels hollow and cold. He notices how his friends look at him, their eyes reflecting pity and concern. They know him too well, aware that behind his sharp words and defiant attitude, something is eating away at him.

He tries to brush it off, burying himself in work, in fights, in anything that will distract him. But no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts keep circling back to you. The memories come unbidden—your smile, the way you used to tease him, the way you understood him in a way no one else ever did. It's maddening, the way you haunt him, and yet he can't bring himself to let you go.

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IT WAS UNEXPECTED. It was that sort of day once again. Sukuna found himself in charge of his energetic nephew, Yuji, who had just been picked up from school. With his brother Jin and sister-in-law Kaori and Choso tied up with commitments for the weekend, Sukuna was left to manage Yuji. Given that he didn’t have to hit the gym or deal with work obligations that day, it seemed like a manageable task.

Ryomen Sukuna’s house was usually a quiet refuge from his chaotic world, but today it felt oddly empty. He doesn’t really like decorating that much, mostly because he has no time and mostly because he really doesn’t feel like it. But his nephew doesn’t seem to mind it every time he’s here. If there was something to distract the brat, then he doesn’t pay attention to everything else. Well, that and food. As he settled Yuji into the living room, Yuji’s curiosity quickly turned to hunger.

“Uncle Sukuna, I’m starving.” Yuji announced, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Do you have any natto? I could really go for some.”

Sukuna blinked, momentarily confused. “Natto? I don’t think I have any. Let me check.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge and peering inside. His search yielded nothing but a few cans of expired beans and a half-eaten pizza box. Sukuna eats out most of the time, because of work. If he does buy anything, it would be from the last time Yuji was here. And that was….a while ago. And just as much, there was no natto in sight.

“Uh, brat, I think we’re out of natto.” Sukuna said, returning to the living room with a sheepish grin. “And it looks like the rest of the fridge is pretty bare.”

Yuji’s eyes widened in disappointment. “But I was really looking forward to it!”

Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Looks like we’ll need to go out for groceries. How about we make it an adventure?”

Yuji’s face lit up at the prospect of an outing. “Okay! Can we get some ice cream too?”

Sukuna chuckled, relieved that Yuji’s mood had brightened. “Sure, ice cream it is. Let’s get going before your hunger turns into a full-blown meltdown, brat.”

As they left the house, Sukuna and Yuji made their way to the nearby supermarket. Yuji’s excitement was palpable, his small hands gripping the shopping cart handle as he eagerly pointed out various items he wanted to add to the list. Sukuna, trying to keep up, found himself both amused and exasperated by Yuji’s relentless energy and enthusiasm.

In the aisles of the supermarket, Sukuna pushed the cart while Yuji darted from one section to another, collecting snacks, fruits, and—of course—several packs of natto. Sukuna grabbed a few essentials and, true to his word, added some ice cream to the cart.

As they approached the checkout line, Sukuna glanced at Yuji, who was happily munching on a sample cookie from the store. The small bit of chocolate on Yuji’s cheek made him look even more cherubic and endearing. Sukuna’s lips twitched into a small smile, a rare moment of warmth slipping through his usually stoic facade.

“You know, I think I might need to keep a better stock of food for next time,” Sukuna said, his tone light.

Yuji, still with cookie crumbs on his face, grinned up at him. “And more natto!”

Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of having to stockpile natto just to keep his nephew happy was a new one, but it seemed like a worthwhile endeavor. He ruffled Yuji’s hair affectionately, feeling a soft, genuine affection for the boy.

“You’ve got it, brat. More natto it is.” Sukuna agreed, a rare, relaxed smile on his face.

As they loaded their groceries onto the conveyor belt, Sukuna glanced around, realizing how normal and mundane the experience was compared to the high-stakes, dangerous life he usually led. The simplicity of shopping for food and sharing a lighthearted moment with Yuji was both refreshing and oddly comforting.

Yuji, ever the energetic child, started pointing out items in the store with increasing enthusiasm. “Uncle Sukuna, look! They have those gummy candies you like!”

Sukuna gave a half-hearted, amused shrug. “Sure, toss them in. I guess I can indulge a bit today.”

As they made their way through the aisles, Yuji chatted away, filling the silence with stories about school and his friends. Sukuna wasn’t really paying attention, his mind elsewhere, when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

There, at the end of the aisle, stood a familiar figure. The sight stopped Sukuna in his tracks, his eyes widening in disbelief. It was you.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He watched as you browsed through the shelves, seemingly lost in thought. Your presence, once a distant memory, felt so strikingly real that Sukuna’s heart skipped a beat. The years seemed to melt away as he took in the sight of you.

At first, he didn’t recognize you. It was just a fleeting glimpse, the way your hair caught the light, the familiar way you moved. But then, as you reached for something on a high shelf, he saw your face, and his heart stopped.

It was you.

He couldn’t believe it at first. He thought maybe it was someone who just looked like you, or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, dredging up memories he’d tried so hard to bury. But the more he stared, the more certain he became. It was you.

Yuji, noticing Sukuna’s sudden pause, looked up. “Uncle Sukuna, what’s wrong?”

Sukuna swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “Uh, nothing, brat. Let’s just finish up here.”

But his gaze was fixed on you, unable to look away. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and Sukuna fought with the urge to approach you, unsure of what to say or do. The familiar mix of excitement and anxiety churned within him, a reminder of the past he had tried so hard to reconcile.

Yuji, still unaware of the significance of the moment, tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve. “Uncle Sukuna, can we go over there? I want to check if they have those chocolates I like!”

Sukuna nodded absently, allowing Yuji to lead him towards the end of the aisle where you stood. As they drew closer, Sukuna braced himself, trying to steady his racing heart. He needed to act normal, to approach you calmly despite the flood of emotions.

Without thinking, he handed the shopping basket to Yuji and began walking toward you. The world around him seemed to blur, the noise of the supermarket fading into the background. It was just you and him, the years that had passed suddenly meaningless.

When he reached you, he hesitated, unsure of what to say. His mind raced, a thousand questions and emotions fighting for dominance. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility of seeing you again. But now that you were right in front of him, he couldn’t just walk away.

“Is that you?” He finally said it. He finally said your name. He could feel his entire body shake from nervousness. He didn’t notice until he said it that his voice was rougher than he intended.

You turned to him, blinking in confusion. Your eyes met his, and for a brief, electrifying moment, Sukuna saw the spark of recognition. It was fleeting, but it was there—an almost imperceptible flicker that hinted at a shared past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a polite, detached expression.

“I’m sorry, but…” you began, your voice soft and apologetic. “Do I know you?”

The words hit Sukuna like a punch to the gut. The confusion on your face made no sense to him; how could you not remember him? The realization was like a cold wave crashing over him. He scanned your face more closely, noting the faint scar near your temple and the way your eyes seemed to search his face for something familiar but found nothing.

“Are you… are you playing a joke on me?” Sukuna’s voice wavered slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation. “It’s me. Sukuna. We… we know each other.”

You shook your head slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had a really bad accident a few years ago, and… well, I lost my memories. Amnesia. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Amnesia. The word hit him like a ton of bricks. All the anger, hurt, and regret that had simmered in him for years suddenly evaporated, replaced by something he couldn’t quite name. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t remember anything about your life together, the love you shared, or the pain that had driven you apart. He stared at you, struggling to process what you’d just told him. The person he’d spent years trying to forget had forgotten him completely. And it hurts. It burns. It…it kills him.

Sukuna’s heart sank as he struggled to process your words. The memories of the past, the shared moments, the intense connection—everything seemed to blur together in a confusing haze. He tried to hold onto the hope that maybe, somehow, there was a chance you might remember him later, but the reality of your situation was clear. You had no recollection of your time together.

“Right…” Sukuna muttered, his voice thick with emotions he didn’t quite know how to handle. “No, it’s… it’s fine.”

“I just… I feel like I’ve upset you,” you mumbled back, your eyes filled with sincere regret. “It’s been like this for a while. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It was my fault,” Sukuna said, shaking his head, though the words felt hollow against the weight of his feelings.

You nodded, your gaze sympathetic. “No, please. It’s not. I understand. It must be hard to run into someone who doesn’t remember you. I’m truly sorry.”

There was a quiet moment between you, the weight of lost memories hanging heavily in the air. Sukuna, feeling the sting of both your absence and the reality of your condition, struggled to find the right words. He wanted to bridge the gap between what had been and what was now, but he found himself at a loss.

Before you could turn away, Sukuna took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. “Um… could I… could I have your number? Maybe… maybe we could talk sometime. If you’re okay with that.”

You looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing your face. For a moment, you seemed to weigh his request, and then you nodded slowly. “Sure. I can give you my number. I’d like that.”

As you exchanged contact information, Sukuna felt a mixture of hope and apprehension. The act of sharing numbers was a small step, but it felt significant. It was a bridge to the possibility of rebuilding a connection, even if the past was shadowed by the uncertainty of your memory.

“Thank you,” Sukuna said quietly, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

You gave him a warm, understanding smile. “Of course. I’ll be happy to talk whenever you’re ready. It’s… nice to have some help with my memories, even if it’s just a little.”

Before he could speak, Yuji tugged at Sukuna’s sleeve. “Uncle Sukuna, can we go home now? I’m tired.”

Sukuna glanced down at Yuji and then back at you, his heart heavy. “Yeah, Yuji. Let’s head out.”

As Sukuna began to walk away, he felt your gaze on him. The pain of seeing you again, only to find that you had no memory of their shared past, was almost too much to bear. The bittersweet encounter left him with a mix of longing and resignation. You smiled at Yuji and then to him. Yuji grinned back at you and waved back.

“Take care.” you called softly as he left the store with Yuji. Sukuna gave a small, subdued wave in response, his mind reeling from the encounter.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Yuji, noticing his uncle’s somber mood, looked up with concern. “Uncle Sukuna, are you okay?”

Sukuna forced a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, Yuji. I’m fine. Just… a little surprised. Let’s get home.”

As they drove back, Sukuna’s thoughts were filled with the echoes of the past and the present reality. The encounter had stirred up old feelings, and the realization that you had lost your memories of him was both heartbreaking and profoundly unsettling. Yet, despite the pain, there was a strange sense of closure, as if seeing you again, even under these circumstances, had helped him come to terms with the unresolved aspects of their past.

As you walked away, Sukuna stood there, frozen in place, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Yuji came up beside him, his eyes wide with concern.

“Uncle Sukuna, are you okay? Who was that?”

Sukuna glanced at Yuji, then back at the aisle where you’d disappeared. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know how to explain that the person he’d never been able to forget had forgotten him entirely.

“That,” Sukuna finally said, his voice hollow, “was someone I used to know.”

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HE DOESN’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER. The days that followed were a blur for Sukuna. But he couldn’t help it. Your encounter in the supermarket had shaken him in a way he hadn’t expected. He tried to push it aside, tell himself that it didn’t matter, that you were just a part of his past. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, the way you looked at him with no recognition, no anger, no pain—just blank politeness. It haunted him.

Yet, fate seemed determined to keep throwing the two of you together. A few days later, he saw you again, this time at a coffee shop. You were sitting by the window, a book in hand, oblivious to the world around you. Sukuna hesitated, debating whether to approach you, but before he could decide, you looked up and caught his eye. There was that same polite smile, and he found himself walking over to you before he could think better of it.

“Hi again.” you said, looking up at him with that same soft, apologetic expression. “We keep running into each other, don’t we?”

“Yeah…..” he replied, his voice rough. He wasn’t sure what to say. The awkwardness between you was palpable, the weight of the past pressing down on him in a way you couldn’t feel. But you didn’t know that, couldn’t know that, so you just smiled and gestured to the seat across from you.

“Would you like to join me?” you asked, your voice gentle, offering a small, tentative smile as you gestured to a nearby café table.

Sukuna hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or why he was putting himself through this, but there was something about being near you, even if you didn’t remember him, that soothed the ache in his chest.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” he finally said, his voice betraying the mix of emotions swirling inside him. He sat down across from you, the familiarity of the scene almost too much to bear. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

You giggled. “I don’t mind. Not at all.”

As you both settled in, the air between you was filled with an odd mix of tension and familiarity. You began to talk—small, inconsequential things at first. You mentioned how you liked the café’s atmosphere, how it had become one of your favorite spots since you moved here. Sukuna nodded along, trying to focus on the present moment rather than the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm him.

“You know….. “ you said after a moment, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, “it’s strange. I feel… comfortable with you. Like I’ve known you for a long time, even if I can’t remember it.”

Sukuna’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything—to pour out the years of pain, regret, and longing he had carried since you’d been apart. But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with memories you didn’t share anymore. So instead, he offered a small, wistful smile.

“Maybe it’s just one of those thing.” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “Some people just click, I guess.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on his face as if you were trying to piece together a puzzle. “Maybe. But still, it feels nice. Like I can trust you.”

Sukuna swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. “I’m glad,” he said quietly, his voice betraying the depth of his feelings despite his best efforts. “I’d like to be someone you can trust.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, and the tension slowly eased. You talked about your life, your work, and the things you enjoyed. Sukuna listened intently, hanging on to every word, savoring the sound of your voice even if the stories were new to him.

As the minutes turned into an hour, Sukuna found himself relaxing. The ache in his chest dulled, replaced by a warmth that he hadn’t felt in years. It was as if, for the first time since you had parted ways, he could breathe a little easier. There was no rush, no pressure to define what this was or what it could become. Just the simple pleasure of being in your company again, however different it might be from the past.

When you finally stood up to leave, Ryomen Sukuna felt a pang of reluctance, but he knew this wasn’t the end. You had exchanged numbers, after all, and there was a possibility that this could lead to something more.

“I’m really glad we ran into each other.” you said, giving him a sincere smile. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Me too.” Sukuna replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d like that.”

As you walked away, Sukuna remained seated for a moment, staring at the now-empty chair across from him. Despite the uncertainty of the future, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was his chance to make things right—to show you the kind of love and care he should have given you all those years ago. And as he left the café, he found himself smiling, a feeling of lightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Like the wind, the days brushed by into weeks, these accidental meetings became more frequent. He’d see you at the park, at the grocery store, at the small bookstore you frequented. Each time, you greeted him with the same warmth, and each time, he felt the walls he’d built around his heart start to crumble a little more.

It was during one of these encounters, when you were sitting together on a bench at the park, that Sukuna realized something had changed. He wasn’t just dwelling on the past anymore. He wasn’t just seeing you as the woman he used to love, the one who’d left him behind. You were still that person, but you were also someone new, someone who’d been through their own struggles, their own pain.

And he’d changed too. He wasn’t the same man you’d walked away from five years ago. The anger, the recklessness, the pride that had once driven you apart had mellowed. He’d grown, learned from his mistakes, and now, sitting beside you, he realized that he wanted to make things right.

There was one afternoon where after you’d both finished your coffees at that familiar café, Sukuna finally found himself gathered the courage to speak again. He’d been thinking about this for days, the words tumbling over and over in his mind until they felt like second nature.

“Hey….” he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You looked at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”

“I know you don’t remember me, or anything about… us, but I want you to know that I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve changed. And I want to try again.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I want to make things right for you.”

There was a long silence as you absorbed his words. He could see the confusion in your eyes, the way you were trying to piece together something that felt like a missing puzzle in your mind. You wanted to know what it was. How to be complete, and yet you didn’t know how. Not even if your past thought he was what complete was. Finally, you spoke.

“Sukuna, I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t remember anything about us, about our past. But I can see that this means a lot to you, and that you’ve been carrying it with you for a long time.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, and then back at him. “I don’t know if I can ever get those memories back. But I do know that I enjoy spending time with you, that I feel comfortable around you. And maybe… maybe that’s a good place to start.”

His heart leapt at your words, hope flickering to life in a way it hadn’t in years. This was a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite the story that had once ended in heartbreak. He didn’t know what the future held, or if you would ever remember what you once had, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something close to peace.

Sukuna reached out, his hand brushing against yours, and you didn’t pull away. “Then let’s start there, hm?” he said quietly. “No pressure, no expectations. Just… us.”

You smiled, a genuine, warm smile that sent a wave of relief through him. “Just us,” you agreed.

And for the first time in five years, Sukuna felt like he was finally on the path to something real, something lasting. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to prove that he could love you the way you deserved—this time, the right way.

As the weeks turned into months, Sukuna and you continued to meet, slowly rebuilding a connection that had once been lost. Each encounter felt like a tentative step forward, a cautious yet hopeful attempt to bridge the gap that had formed between you over the years. Yet, instead of the intense and sometimes overwhelming passion that had defined your past relationship, there was a newfound sense of calm and understanding between you both.

There was an ease between you now, a natural rhythm that felt different from the intense, almost chaotic bond you’d shared in the past. In the beginning, it was subtle—a shared smile over a mundane joke, the comfortable silence that fell between you as you walked side by side, the way your conversations flowed without the need to fill every gap with words. The pressure that once loomed over your relationship, demanding definitions and clarity, had dissipated, leaving space for something more genuine and unforced.

You found yourselves slipping into each other’s lives in small, almost imperceptible ways. Sukuna would pick up your favorite coffee without being asked, remembering the way you liked it just by heart. You’d invite him to a quiet dinner at your place, cooking together in the kitchen as you talked about everything and nothing. There were no grand gestures or declarations, just a quiet, steady presence that felt reassuring and right.

This time, there was no rush, no urgency to define what you were to each other. It was as if both of you understood that whatever this was, it needed to grow at its own pace. You’d learned from the past, from the way things had unraveled before, and there was an unspoken agreement that you wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. You allowed the relationship to unfold naturally, letting each moment build upon the last, like carefully stacking stones into a tower that could withstand the test of time.

Sukuna, too, had changed. The man who once wore his emotions like armor, who had always been so guarded and intense, was different now. There was a softness to him that hadn’t been there before—a willingness to listen, to be patient, to let things unfold without forcing them into place. He no longer felt the need to control every aspect of his life, and that included his relationship with you. He had learned to let go, to trust that if this was meant to be, it would be.

And in that trust, something beautiful began to grow. Your conversations deepened, moving beyond the surface-level topics that had once dominated your interactions. You talked about your dreams, your fears, the things that kept you awake at night. Sukuna shared pieces of himself that he had kept hidden for so long, opening up in ways he never had before. And you, in turn, felt safe enough to do the same.

There were moments when the past would resurface, like shadows lingering at the edges of your newfound connection. Memories of heated arguments, of painful goodbyes, would flicker in your minds, reminding you of how things had once gone wrong. But instead of letting those memories drag you down, you faced them together, acknowledging the hurt while choosing to move forward.

It wasn’t always easy. There were still days when doubts crept in, when the fear of repeating past mistakes threatened to pull you apart. But each time, you chose to stay, to work through it rather than run away. And with each challenge you faced, the bond between you grew stronger, more resilient.

Sukuna, who had once been so afraid of vulnerability, found himself looking forward to the moments he spent with you. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, replaced by a quiet confidence in what you were building together. He no longer needed to prove himself, to assert control over his emotions or over you. Instead, he allowed himself to simply be—with you, in the present, without the burden of past regrets or future expectations.

You, too, noticed the change in yourself. The tension that had once gnawed at your heart, the constant questioning of whether you were enough or if this was right, had eased. You felt more secure, more at peace with where you were and where you were going. You trusted Sukuna in a way you hadn’t before, not just because he had changed, but because you had changed too.

As the months passed, the connection between you deepened, solidified by the quiet moments of understanding and the shared experiences that had brought you closer together. There was a sense of contentment that neither of you had anticipated—a feeling that, for the first time in a long time, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And so, you continued to meet, to grow together, allowing whatever this was to take shape in its own time. There was no rush, no urgency, only the quiet certainty that what you were building was worth the patience and the effort. You both knew that the past would always be a part of you, but it no longer defined you. Instead, it had become a foundation upon which you could build something new, something lasting.

In each other’s presence, you found a kind of peace that had once seemed elusive, and in that peace, you discovered the possibility of a future that was not just better than the past, but truly, deeply right.

Sukuna found himself looking forward to your meetings, the mundane moments that had once seemed trivial now holding a new significance. Whether it was a simple walk in the park, browsing through books together, or sharing a meal, these moments began to stitch together a new story between you, one that was quieter, more deliberate, and infinitely more meaningful.

But beneath the surface, Sukuna wrestled with his own emotions. The more time he spent with you, the more he realized just how much he had missed you—how much he had missed being close to someone who truly understood him. Yet, there was also the constant reminder that you didn’t remember him, that the memories of your past were locked away, possibly forever.

One afternoon, after you’d both finished a long walk along the river, you sat together on a bench, watching the water ripple in the sunlight. The conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, Sukuna just watched you, taking in the way the light caught your hair, the serene expression on your face.

“Can I ask you something?” Sukuna finally said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, nodding. “Of course.”

“Do you ever… feel like something’s missing? Like there’s a part of you that’s still out there, waiting to be found?”

You considered his question carefully before responding. “Sometimes.” you admitted. “There are moments when I feel like I’m on the edge of remembering something important, something that’s just out of reach. But I’ve learned to let go of the frustration. I’ve had to accept that those memories might never come back.”

Sukuna’s heart clenched at your words, the weight of your shared history pressing down on him. He wanted to tell you everything—to pour out the story of your love, the highs and lows, the way you had been everything to each other and how it had all fallen apart. But he held back, knowing that it wasn’t his place to force those memories on you.

Instead, he reached out and took your hand in his. “I don’t want to push you more than I already did.” he said quietly. “I just want you to know that I’m here, whatever happens. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You squeezed his hand, offering him a gentle smile. “I know, Sukuna. And I appreciate that. I’ve come to trust you, even if I don’t remember our past. What matters to me now is the person you are today, the one I’m getting to know all over again.”

Those words gave Sukuna a sense of hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He was no longer the man who had let his pride and anger destroy something precious. He had grown, learned from his mistakes, and now, he had a chance to show you that.

As the days passed, he became more intentional in his efforts to be there for you, to support you in ways he hadn’t before. He listened when you spoke, offered comfort when you needed it, and gave you space when you needed to process your thoughts. There was a quiet strength in the bond you were forming, a steady foundation that was being built brick by brick.

One evening, after you’d invited him over for dinner, you sat together on your couch, a comfortable silence settling between you after a long day. Sukuna glanced at you, his heart full of things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to put into words.

“I’ve been thinking….a lot.” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “About us.”

His breath caught in his throat, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue. He could feel his heart pounding, the silence between you filled with unspoken tension. You looked at him tenderly, and those eyes—those eyes he had once loved so fiercely—held a warmth that stirred something deep within him. But this time, there was something different in your gaze, something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the same love he remembered, the love that had once consumed both of you. It was softer, more distant, as if it had been tempered by time and the loss of memories.

Sukuna wasn’t sure what that look meant, but he longed for the days when your eyes had been filled with nothing but love for him. He yearned for the intensity, the passion that had once been theirs. But deep down, he knew those days were gone, that you had changed, just as he had. And even though he wished for the impossible, he understood that the love you had once shared might never return in the way it had before.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping, from wanting you to look at him like that again, to feel that love again. But he knew, with a sinking certainty, that it was unlikely. Maybe this was his punishment, the price he had to pay for the mistakes he had made, for the years he had spent without you. Maybe fate was just that cruel, giving him a second chance only to remind him of what he had lost.

“I don’t remember our past, Sukuna.” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice was gentle, but there was a sincerity in it that made Sukuna’s chest tighten. “But I do know that I feel something when I’m with you. It’s not just comfort or friendship… it’s more. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels right, being with you.”

Sukuna’s heart swelled with emotion, a mix of relief and longing coursing through him. He had waited so long to hear those words, to know that there was still something between you, even if it wasn’t exactly what he had expected. It wasn’t the grand declaration of love he had secretly hoped for, but it was something—a spark, a glimmer of the connection that had once bound you together.

He searched your face, looking for any sign of the emotions he had once known so well. But all he found was that same tender expression, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. It wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” he said, his voice thick with the emotions he was struggling to keep in check. “I don’t want to rush things, or push you to remember something that might never come back. I just… I want to be here with you, whatever that means.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I want that too, Sukuna. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’d like to find out—together.”

He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, the heavy burden of his regrets and fears easing, if only a little. This was far from the ending he had imagined, but it was a beginning, a chance to rebuild what had been lost. And maybe, just maybe, if he was patient and if he allowed things to unfold naturally, there could be something new between you, something that was just as meaningful as what you had once shared.

As you both stood there, the world around you fading into the background, Sukuna couldn’t help but think that perhaps fate wasn’t as cruel as he had feared. Maybe this was his second chance—not to reclaim the past, but to create something new, something even better than what had been before. And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope that this time, he wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.

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epilogue

A few weeks after your heartfelt conversation with Sukuna, you find yourself at a park on a sunny afternoon. Sukuna had asked you to meet him there, mentioning that his nephew, Yuji, would be joining. You had heard a lot about Yuji from Sukuna—how the kid was full of energy, always getting into something, and how Sukuna had taken on a sort of protective role in his life. You were curious to see this side of Sukuna, the man who had once been all sharp edges and intensity.

As you approach the park, you spot Sukuna first, sitting on a bench with a somewhat exasperated look on his face. Beside him is a young boy, who is clearly trying to balance on the back of the bench with one foot, arms outstretched like he’s performing some kind of circus act.

“Careful, you brat.” Sukuna warns, his tone stern but not unkind. “You’re going to break your neck.”

Yuji, grinning from ear to ear, just laughs and hops down with a flourish. “I’m invincible, Uncle Sukuna!”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that theory.” Sukuna mutters, but there’s a fondness in his voice that catches you off guard. “Your mom and dad will kill me.”

You approach them, smiling as Yuji notices you and waves enthusiastically. “Hi! You must be the one Uncle Sukuna’s always talking about!”

“Yuji!” Sukuna snaps, looking mortified. “I do not—”

Yuji doesn’t miss a beat, cutting him off. “He totally does! He’s always like, ‘I wonder if she’s gonna remember me today,’ or ‘Maybe she’ll cook something nice again.’”

Sukuna groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Kid, do you ever stop talking?”

You can’t help but laugh at the exchange, and Sukuna’s embarrassment only makes it funnier. “Nice to meet you, Yuji!” you say, crouching down to his level. “Your uncle’s right, though. You should be careful on that bench.”

Yuji shrugs, his smile never fading. “Uncle Sukuna’s always careful too, even though he acts all tough. But he’s really soft, especially when I get hurt. You should see him panic when I stub my toe.”

“Yuji!” Sukuna’s voice is a mix of frustration and resignation, clearly regretting bringing his nephew along.

You stand up, grinning at Sukuna. “I see you’ve got a little soft spot, huh?”

“Don’t listen to him.” Sukuna mutters, glaring at Yuji, who just laughs and runs off toward the playground. “He’s a menace.”

“Sure, sure.” you tease, nudging Sukuna lightly. “But you love it.”

Sukuna sighs, watching Yuji with an expression that’s a mix of exasperation and affection. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep him out of trouble.”

You slip your hand into Sukuna’s, squeezing it gently. “You’re doing a great job, Uncle Sukuna.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Don’t start calling me that too.”

“No promises.” you reply, laughing as you both watch Yuji play, his laughter filling the air. It’s a side of Sukuna you never expected to see, and you find yourself growing more and more fond of the man who, despite his rough edges, is soft in all the right places.

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bonjourxrenae · 2 years

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True blorbo status is achieved when you realize you just want them to be happy and treated well, no matter who they end up with or where they go, but especially if they must experience The Horrors before they get there first.

#hello hi I have approximately two lil guys I rotate in my mind like a QVC showcase #and I would literally see them both experience such excruciating pain and misery - isolation and hopelessness #just for a chance at anyone giving them a little kiss on the forehead #which awakens such a healing process that feels so divine - so sacred #it leaves them trembling in awe weeping on their knees as they never have before awash with sweet relief #and then I show you #it is perpetually tired and anxious personified countryman #and a haunted japanese high school mall goth nerd #and you nod #and you understand #despite The Horrors #they are still blorbo from my shows #and I am multishipping them until they are happy in every niche au I can conceive for them #it’s how I cope

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shegetsburned · 3 months

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❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

��˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

#—﹙🎐﹚𑣲 by yours truly﹒#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #jjk satoru #bridgerton #bridgerton au #regency au

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comfortless · 6 months

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I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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I love a good S3 Steddie AU so—

Eddie and Robin were friends in high school, and every time they needed cover they would pretend to be dating.

So she starts working at Scoops, sees Steve not knowing he’s different now, and as a defense mechanism tells him about her “boyfriend”

Then they become buds but she still doesn’t correct the record, because she would have to explain why she lied

So Eddie comes into the shop and she’s like “That’s him!” and Steve is “🥺”

Because he and Eddie have been dating for months

THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT AT THAT LAST LINE NONNY. This story starts on July 1st (S3E3), so after they've cracked the Russian code.

It takes a full month of working at Scoops to get Robin to be more chill around him. He gets it. He was never outright mean to her but he was a dick in high school and his reputation lingers.

He's happy now that she's graduated from quietly distrusting him to outright teasing him. He's pretty sure it means they're friends now, or something like it. She even made that white board to mock his inability to flirt a few weeks ago. He knows he'll never get a tally in the You Rule category because he's not actually trying to flirt with anyone, what with him having a boyfriend of his own. Not that he can brag about his boyfriend as much as Robin brags about her boyfriend.

And, Jesus, did she brag at first. Steve had been convinced it was a new romance, and therefore she was still in the honeymoon phase, except she said they'd been dating since she was a freshman. With senior year starting for her in September, Steve's a little jealous.

He hopes that he and Eddie never leave their honeymoon phase. It's only been three months, and Steve's in awe that Eddie even bothered to look his way after how he'd been in school. Still in awe that Eddie wants more with Steve than just the physical. That Eddie wants cuddles during a movie, and sappy hand holding while they just chat, and to hold Steve after a nightmare on the rare occasion they get to share a bed through the night.

Anyway, the point. Robin is something of a friend and Steve's pleased about it. They have to be friends now, right? They cracked a Russian code together! (Steve refuses to give Dustin any credit for their official jump into friendship even though they wouldn't have had a Russian code to crack without him.)

"Are you and the Boy going to do anything for the Fourth?" Steve asks apropos nothing after handing off a banana split, leaving no more customers to help currently. He's a little ashamed to admit that he doesn't remember the name of her boyfriend. He's sure she said it at some point, so he's blaming his shit memory for that. But she just refers to him as the Boy, and doesn't find it weird that Steve does, too, so he'll take the win.

"Oh, uh, we haven't really discussed it. I'm scheduled closing on the Fourth so," Robin shrugs.

"We'll be in misery together," Steve says.

"Joy."

It's times like these, where Robin is so deadpan Steve can't tell if she's joking or not. Like maybe they aren't the budding friends Steve thinks they are. She's tough to read, sometimes.

"Well, even with the closing shift, there's still a lot of night left. Great time for fireworks."

"True. I'm sure The Boy is thinking up something as we speak. He likes to surprise me."

Steve's not jealous. He's not. He knows that Eddie would surprise him if they didn't have to be so secret about it all.

They do have plans for after Steve gets off work on the Fourth to go to the carnival. It's not strange for friends to go together. Maybe Steve can convince Robin come and to bring the Boy and they can just be a group of friends hanging out?

"Well, if he hasn't planned anything, maybe you and he will want to come hang out at the carnival? I'm going with a friend, maybe we'd see each other."

Robin levels him with a look, eyes squinted in judgement. "Your friends, the children?"

"I have more friends than just children!"

"I literally do not believe you. Why don't any of your age appropriate friends come bother you here, like all those kids?"

It's a valid question, Steve can concede. "That's because I do not want him to see me in this uniform. I will never live it down."

Robin raises an eyebrow. "Does he even know you work here?"

"Absolutely not. So if you do bump into us at the carnival, you are not allowed to say our place of employment. I'm serious, Robin. This will ruin me. You can say 'the mall' because that's all I'll say about it."

Robin's grin turns mischievous. "So, what I'm hearing is, I have blackmail material against the Steve Harrington?"

Steve groans. She's joking. He's like... 80% sure she's joking. He makes a mental note to ask Eddie if he knows Robin.

"Oh shit!" Robin calls out, surprised but delighted. Steve whips his head to her, and sees she's looking out the front door and through a sea of people.

"What, is it Dustin? Russians?" Steve joins her side quickly trying to see what she sees.

"No, it's-" she cuts herself off and Steve turns his head to look at her, only to find she's already looking at him. "It's my boyfriend. I don't think he's seen me yet. Want to meet him if he comes in?"

"Hell yeah I do. I need to meet the man you won't shut up about," Steve grins at her before turning his attention back to the people. His eyes scan over all of them, trying to figure out which guy looks like he might be Robin's boyfriend. Which, yes, he knows isn't something you can judge based on looks (he and Eddie are a prime example) but still.

And speaking of Eddie- no! No no! He'll never hear the end of it if Eddie sees the stupid sailor outfit. Eddie hasn't spotted him yet, so Steve slides around Robin to be out of eyesight. "You see him?"

"Yeah, he's- oh! I think he's seen me. He's coming this way," almost as an after thought, she adds, "do you remember Eddie Munson?"

Play it cool, Steve. "Uh... yes. Why? Is he coming this way? I thought I saw him out there..." Way to play it cool. If Robin didn't seem so hyped to be seeing her boyfriend, she would absolutely be questioning him.

"Oh. Well, he's my boyfriend, and yes he is."

Steve feels the floor fall out from under him.

The whole world shifts and Steve cannot stay here. He thinks he says something about a bathroom break before ducking into the employees only door, and then his body moves him further still until he's through several other doors and suddenly outside in the heat of the day.

Do you remember Eddie Munson? Well, he's my boyfriend.

He doesn't know what to do with that. Doesn't know how to process it. How to proceed. Eddie is- but he can't- this can't be real. This is a crazy dream, brought on by thoughts of Russians and codes and leftover Upside Down bullshit and he will be waking up anytime now to get ready for work.

Eddie Munson. He's my boyfriend.

He can't be your boyfriend Steve wants to scream. He can't be your boyfriend because he's mine.

Maybe... Maybe it's turning out to be that while Eddie is his boyfriend, he's not Eddie's. Maybe Eddie's never thought of him as a boyfriend.

Every instance runs through his head; all the times Eddie wouldn't stay the night. All the times Eddie told him he couldn't stay at the trailer. Is Eddie actually even in a band or is band practice just a convenient lie that keeps him from having to see Steve while still keeping him in his back pocket?

All the hiding, and the let's keep this just to us for now, and how wonderfully convenient it is that this needs to, has to, be a secret when you're in a queer relationship in a small town.

Steve's a goddman idiot!

Of course, Eddie has a girlfriend. Of course, he agreed to 'see where this thing goes.' This is why Eddie bothered to even look his direction. Because there's no scenario where Steve comes out okay. He can't even tell Robin her boyfriend isn't the fucking golden, perfect boy she brags about because how does he do that without telling her how he knows?

All the worst case scenarios play in his mind. Robin being in on it. Her and Eddie laughing at him behind his back, waiting for the right time to publicly out him. To get whatever revenge they think he owes to them for all his dick behavior in school. His whole relationship being a joke.

He lets out a yell and whips around to punch the wall next to the employee entrance door. The pain grounds him almost immediately and that yell turns into a chokes off sob, his eyes squeezing shut as he leans in to rest his forehead against the wall and take a shuddering breath.

There's no way Robin is in on this. And it was mean of him to think so. If Steve's just been some sort of experiment to Eddie, then that's on Eddie.

And Steve. For being stupid enough to believe anyone would actually be interested in him. For taking one look at Eddie's stupid dimpled smile and tripping over himself to do everything in his power to see it again. For fucking falling in love too fast, too soon, and not asking enough fucking questions and-

Oh.

That's why this hurts so much. That's why he didn't stick around to watch Eddie sweat at seeing his long-term girlfriend and- and whatever the fuck he thought Steve was working together and getting caught in whatever fuckery he's doing.

Steve's gone a fallen in love with the asshole.

He pushes off the wall, takes a deep breath to steel himself, and makes a decision. He's going to confront Eddie on the Fourth, since that's the next day they'll see each other. He'll tell him they're done, and that Eddie needs to come clean to Robin about what he's done, or he will. She deserves to know, and Steve can deal with the consequences.

When he returns the Scoops, there's no sign of Eddie, but Dustin is there.

(What Steve doesn't know is that Robin and Eddie hugged in greeting. Robin asked what he was up to. Eddie told her he was searching for his boyfriend. He works at the mall and Eddie wants to surprise him. Robin doesn't ask who he's looking for, and Eddie doesn't offer, because they both know the importance of coming out on your own terms and in your own time. Robin does ask if he's happy, and Eddie says he didn't know he could be this happy.)

Of course, what follows that is a series of terrible events that result in being stuck in an elevator, captured and tortured by Russians, drugged, and then rescued.

He and Robin end up in a bathroom, puking up their guts, and Robin says, in a Russian accent, "Interrogate me."

Steve chuckles and replies, "Okay. Interrogate you. Sure. Um... when was the last time you peed your pants?"

"Today."

"What?"

"When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw. It was just a little bit, though."

She laughs and he groans. It's definitely still in her system.

"Okay. My turn."

"Hit me."

"Have you..." she starts, leaving a pause as she thinks of what to ask, before ending with, "ever been in love?"

And Steve, horrifyingly, mortifyingly, just starts to cry. He can normally reign this in, has better control than this, but whatever drug is still in his system robs him of that.

In another universe, where Steve is able to control himself, he'd lie. He'd describe Robin, knowing she's happily taken, maybe slide himself under the partition between their stalls so she can reject him to his face, and they can laugh it off, solidifying their friendship.

But that's not what happens.

What happens instead is this: Robin, who does not slide herself across the floor but instead hauls herself upright to stumble around the partition, kneels in front of him as Steve lets out hiccupping sobs in between saying embarrassing things like yes and they don't love me back, they never love me back.

And Robin. Sweet, wonderful Robin, to whom he has been the other person in her years long relationship, tugs his arm until he's no longer hugging the toilet and is instead cradled by Robin. And she hums and assures him that whoever doesn't love him is an idiot and it makes Steve sob harder because she doesn't know and when she learns she's going to hate him.

He cannot let her continue to comfort him while he's crying about her boyfriend. It is with that sobering thought that he's able to win his war against whatever he's been injected with and stop his tears. Just in time, too, because Dustin and Erica find them, and then the Russians do, but so does El and the others.

The world is nothing but Upside Down terror for hours.

When the dust settles, Hopper is dead, and so is Billy, and Steve is sat in the back of an ambulance, hugging Robin around her shoulders as they both look out into the parking lot with matching thousand-yard stares. They've been looked over and deemed okay to go home, so Steve is just waiting for the government men currently raiding what is left of the underground Russain bunker to either find his keys, or not.

If his keys are found, he's Robin's ride. If they aren't, they're both being dropped off by ambulance, which Robin is stressing about because her parents cannot see her come home in the back of an ambulance.

Steve offers her to stay at his house. He thinks it'll be easier to beg her parents for forgiveness than explain this situation. Robin agrees to stay if the ambulance ends up being their ride.

It doesn't, though. It takes an hour after everyone else has left, but someone delivers his keys.

It's eerie, the walk from the front lot around the mall to the back employee lot, so they clasp hands to have something to ground to. There are less people the further they walk. The fire's been contained, probably so the government people can root around the bunker below the mall to discover whatever it was the Russians knew, or know, or whatever.

The back lot is completely empty. Only Steve's car, parked towards the edge of the lot give that his shift yesterday had been an afternoon one, and all the closer parking spaces had been taken.

His car is parked so that the passenger side faces them as they approach. Wordlessly, they break apart, Robin heading for her door and Steve rounding the front of the car to get to the driver's side. Except as soon as he rounds the corner, a figure that was previously crouched or sat in front of the door jumps up, lunging at Steve.

He barely has time to register the voice, a terrified sounding "Stevie!" before Steve back tracks with a yelp, out of reach of the figure. Robin screams when he does, and whoever was lunging at him stops in their tracks, whipping around to look at the other source of the noise.

"Robin?"

It's then that Steve takes in the sight before him. It's Eddie. It was Eddie leaning against his door, waiting for him. Steve's flooded with a rush of love, his stupid brain deciding that Eddie must have been worried when Steve didn't meet him for the carnival. Had come to look for him. But then the reality of the situation settles over him.

That might have been true, but now he's seen that Steve is here with his girlfriend and this isn't how he wanted to do this but he will.

For Robin, he will. She deserves better.

"What are you doing here!? Besides scaring the shit out of us!" Robin yells, rounding the car to punch Eddie in the arm.

"Ow, Buckley, what the fuck!" Eddie rubs the spot she punched him, looking between Robin and Steve with... confusion? Steve is expecting to see maybe some remorse, or guilt, or maybe even glee at the fact stupid Steve Harrington was able to be so easily fooled. He doesn't see any of that, though.

Eddie takes a step towards him, and Steve flinches back.

Robin steps up to Eddie, like she wants to pull Eddie into a hug, but he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He looks from Robin to Steve again, then back to Robin. Steve can't see his face, his hair hides his profile, but he can see Robin's face. Her confusion, brows furrowed, before her eyes go wide and now she's looking between Steve and Eddie.

Fuck. She's just put it together herself! She's going to hate Steve forever, homewreaker that he is.

"Oh. Oh no," Robin whispers, then says Eddie's name in a devastated tone. "Eddie. Is it-?"

"I-I can't... Robin," Eddie says back, sounding just as hurt.

"No! No, I told him- Eddie, I told him we were dating!" she turns to Steve, then, and blurts, "I'm a lesbian!"

He doesn't know what to do with that information. "What?"

"I lied. Steve, I lied, I'm a lying liar and I'm so sorry," Robin says, shoving Eddie away from herself and towards Steve.

Maybe the drugs are still working because Steve still doesn't understand. "I don't... what?"

"I'm not dating Eddie," Robin says. "I've never dated Eddie, would never date Eddie because I don't want to date boys. Please, Steve, I never meant to make you think-" but she cuts herself off, looking from Steve to Eddie and back, before saying, "I never meant to make you think you were unlovable."

Eddie makes a wounded noise at that. "What did you say to him, Buckley!?"

Robin lied. Robin lied about dating a boy. Because she's not interested in boys? That doesn't make sense. That- oh. She lied about having a boyfriend for the same reason he's lied about not having a boyfriend. Because it isn't safe to not to.

Steve's legs give out, but he doesn't hit the pavement because Eddie catches him and the three of them sob and cling to each other in the dark of the parking lot.

Later, much later, the truth will come out. Steve will learn they've always been each other's covers but never actually together. Robin will apologize because she blames herself for Steve's bathroom, drugged-breakdown, and Steve apologizes for all the awful thoughts he had about Eddie when he thought Eddie was dating them both and lying about it.

Steve will learn that Eddie loves him, too, just as much as Steve loves him.

#Anonymous #steddie #my fic

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moonlinos · 8 months

Text

Invisible string (pt. II)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: Minho is even more determined to make you see the good in love after falling for you, while you’re too preoccupied with thinking you’re not good enough for him.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, pining

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), hand job, fingering, like two seconds of nipple play, slut shaming, swearing

♡ Word count: 13.2k

♡ A/N: I got such a great response on the first part 🥲 thank you to everyone who left feedback. It means a lot more than you realize. I researched what to do on a trip to Japan so extensively just to write this part that I got sad I’ve never traveled there 🫠

← part I ♡ part III →

The night after you and Minho watched the light show, you stayed awake until four in the morning with your roommates as Eunha cried about her ex-boyfriend. You’ve never been the type to hope for someone’s misery, but that guy is deserving of every terrible thing that could happen to him.

After she calmed down, you fell asleep together on the couch. You only managed to check your phone in the morning, finding it thrown on your bed along with your bag. Minho’s string of messages put a smile on your face. You could use the time away from everything, even if it was only for a weekend.

You agreed to his strange invitation without thinking twice. You did, however, insist on paying for your hotel room. Chan was already being far too generous in offering you his place on a trip he had paid for.

Soon enough, two weeks flew by and the Friday of your trip finally arrived.

You’re already waiting outside of your house when Minho’s car arrives. He greets you with a hug, taking your backpack from your hands and placing it on the backseat. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re settled in your seat, and only then closes the door and walks around the car. It’s something he does every time you go out together and it always makes you smile, even though it’s such a minor detail.

��You know, you’re my first friend who can drive,” you comment as he enters the car. “You shot up a lot of spots on my favorite friends’ list just by saving me from taking the bus.”

Minho chuckles. “And here I foolishly thought you liked me for my personality,” he feigns offense, shaking his head. “I actually only know how to drive because of my mom. I was moving to the countryside, and she got really worried I was gonna be stranded there, so she gave me a car when I graduated.”

You raise your brows. “You lived in the countryside?”

“Yep, I moved to Gurye right after graduating high school,” he explains simply, starting the car.

You nod slowly. Truthfully, you wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to seem intrusive. Minho had never told you a lot about his life before starting university — the only things you know are that he has three cats back home in Gimpo and started college late for some reason. You figure he’s a private person who will hopefully open up to you once he’s ready. You couldn’t blame him either; you also desperately pretended as if your life before university didn’t exist.

As you two sit in the car, moving slowly through the awful Friday night traffic, you feel the familiar thoughts of panic overflow your mind. This trip felt almost romantic; just you and Minho in Japan for an entire weekend. You should be running away from shit like this, should be shutting him out before anything more than friendship blossoms between the two of you.

Your fingers pick on the fabric of your sheer tights, pulling and pinching apprehensively as your mind races. Because, at the end of the day, Minho is still a guy. He’s still capable of breaking your heart in the same ways it was broken before, and maybe even in new ways. He could still cheat on you, fall in love with someone else, treat you like nothing more than an object or a nuisance in his life, wake up one day and simply decide he’s had enough of you.

But he’s also Minho.

Your heart quickly countered every single reason your brain came up with on why you should run away from the situation.

How could Minho, who believes that love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself, cheat on you?

How could Minho, who told you that love makes it so that you can only see the one you love, fall in love with someone else?

How could Minho, who does stupid romance movie shit like opening car doors and pulling out chairs for you, insisting that he should walk on the street side when you’re together, reading classic novels, learning how to cook so his mom doesn’t have to, all while having three fucking cats, possibly break your heart?

Part of you hates how you have to do mental gymnastics to even consider allowing yourself to feel something more for a guy, but a bigger part knows the hurt that inevitably comes with love isn’t worth it.

You hear a soft chuckle beside you, and you lift your gaze to find Minho smiling at you as you stop at a red light.

“Is that a style thing?” He asks, gesturing toward your thighs with a nod. You furrow your brows. The light turns green, and his attention is back on the road, a grin spread across his lips. “Ripping holes in your tights. Is that a style thing?”

You look down toward your legs and grimace as you realize you had mindlessly torn two holes in your tights while overthinking. You mentally curse yourself.

“I’m cold,” you lie with an awkward giggle. “Was trying to warm myself up.”

Minho hums, stepping on the brakes as you encounter another traffic jam. He unbuckles his seat belt, turns his body toward the back seat, and retrieves his jacket before draping it over your thighs. He shoots you a small smile and turns his attention back toward the road.

The side of your brain that was against Minho and anything romantic with him just a few moments ago is completely swallowed up, dissipating as you ultimately admit to yourself that you don’t hate the prospect of this being a romantic trip as long as it’s with him.

God, you really don’t hate it one bit.

You two finally arrive at the airport just in time to board your flight with no issues. You’re not big on flying, but the flight is just a little over two hours, and Minho is such a calming presence next to you. He quietly read you some harlequin romance he picked up at the airport bookstore, and you two laughed a bit too loudly at the over-the-top plot and theatrical writing. The two of you were taken aback as the book turned out to be erotica, but hearing Minho dramatically read to you in a whisper about the hunky love interest and his manhood made you laugh until tears formed in your eyes.

After that, you two somehow end up talking about your lives back home. Minho shares how he always cooks Christmas dinner for his family, and his favorite part of the night is always the praises his grandmother throws his way. He explains that although he started cooking simply to help his mother, he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. He said he missed doing it every day, having stopped because his roommates had begun treating him as nothing more than a personal cook. You listen to his every word with a smile on your face that you can’t hide. It feels like he’s slowly opening up more to you about his life outside of university, and even something as small as this detail about his home life makes you feel closer to him.

The flight is so pleasant that you only realize you’ve landed once you see Minho unbuckling his seat belt.

You two take an Uber to the hotel, arriving in thirty minutes — you insist on paying since you’re basically here for free. You stare out the car window in awe the entire ride, Minho fondly laughing at your amazement.

As you arrive, you struggle with your backpack, pulling it out of the backseat with such force you would have fallen backward had it not been for Minho’s hands holding your shoulders. He asks if you’re okay with a chuckle, and you groan about how heavy your backpack is. Packing light wasn’t your forte.

As you two walk toward the hotel entrance, the weight on your shoulders disappears suddenly. You furrow your brows and look behind you. Minho had nonchalantly picked your backpack up by the handle and lifted it off your shoulders, carrying all the weight in his arms. You bite back a smile, murmuring a thank you. He just nods, like he hasn’t just done yet another thing you thought only happened in books written by women.

You feel that damn pinwheel return to your chest, making you feel a kind of thrill that you haven’t felt in a while. A good kind.

The hotel is relatively small, clearly on the cheap side, although it’s still quite charming. Minho mutters an apology as he catches you looking around the place.

“It was the only place I could afford being a broke college student,” He explains with a sheepish chuckle, and you shake your head.

“It’s lovely. I’m so happy to be here, I think I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Minho is the one who checks you in, speaking in near-perfect Japanese to the front desk clerk. You focus on the wood chipping on the table and bite the inside of your cheek as you inwardly berate yourself for finding it so damn attractive. It was different from your classes or your small study sessions. You had never truly grasped just how good Minho was until right now. You didn’t understand a word he said. All you know is that he sounded too sexy for his own good while saying it.

Minho hands you the key and tells you the room number, and you finally make your way up the stairs. He walks beside you the whole way, and you wonder if his room is on the same floor as yours or if he’s just doing this so he can hold your backpack off your shoulders.

As you reach your room on the third floor, he stops you before you can insert the key into the door.

“Before you go inside…” He trails off, pursing his lips before letting out a sigh. “I — we could only afford to pay for one room, so this is actually our room.”

Your eyes widen for a second before you nod slowly. “Oh. It’s… okay,” you assure him, although there’s very little confidence in your voice. The prospect of sharing a bed with Minho makes you nervous, but not for the reasons you thought it would.

“There are two beds! Of course,” He assures you, and you mentally slap yourself on the forehead for feeling disappointed at this information.

It’s because you’ve exclusively been having sex with Hyunjin for so long, you reason with yourself. Your hormones must be making you stupid, making you want something more with someone else who isn’t him.

Yeah, that’s it.

Minho’s your friend, after all. It wouldn’t make sense for you to want anything more with him.

It’s just your stupid hormones.

You turn the key and open the door, stepping inside the tiny room with Minho. The two beds were so close together due to the room size that they might as well be just one. The only other piece of furniture is a bedside table, which basically connects the two beds.

It’s only once you slide your backpack straps off your shoulders that Minho lets go of the handle, and you toss it on the plain white sheets of the bed to your right by the bathroom door.

Feeling a chill run through your body, you let out a groan. The heater in your room is clearly not the best.

“Tights and a skirt weren’t the right choice for this weather. This shitty heater also isn’t helping,” you grumble.

Minho chuckles behind you, and you hear the sound of the bed springs as he all but throws himself onto the bed. “Poking holes in your tights probably didn’t help either,” he jokes, and you force out a chuckle.

It seems you chose today to act like a complete idiot.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom to change into your warm sleep clothes. The first thing you notice as you walk out into the room again is Minho’s bright orange sweater with a cat knitted on the front. He’s lying down, his back resting on the wall since the beds don’t have a headboard, and the color of his sweater might be a bit offensive to the eyes, but it’s quickly forgiven once you take in the kitten adorning the fabric.

You giggle, and he looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours.

“Your sweater is really cute,” you tell him as you sit down in your bed, crossing your legs in an attempt to warm yourself a bit more.

Minho grins. “I know,” He says smugly, “It reminds me of two of my cats because of the color.”

“You know,” you hummed, “You never showed me any pictures of your cats.”

You watch as his eyes light up at your words. He locks his phone before quickly turning it to face you, showing you his wallpaper. Your lips stretch into a fond smile as you analyze the picture: Minho holding an orange and white cat close to his face with a grin, a butterfly filter cutely adorning his nose.

“This is Soonie, he’s the first cat I got,” He explains, turning his head so he could look at the screen as well, “I was thirteen when I adopted him, and I remember begging my parents for almost three months until they agreed. In the end, they loved him so much they allowed me to adopt another one.”

Minho unlocks his phone and opens his gallery, flipping through his pictures like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You purse your lips. It feels like you’re intruding, even though he’s the one who hasn’t moved the screen an inch. You couldn’t think of one person you’d trust enough to so freely view every single picture you had on your phone like this. Minho really was something else.

Most of his gallery is composed of blurry food pictures mixed with pages and covers of books and computer screens filled with codes. Until he reaches a point — before he started university, you assume — where the only thing you can see is pictures of cats.

He stops scrolling and clicks a picture of the same orange cat, this time wearing glasses and a hat. You snort because, of course he dresses his cats in clothes.

“Soonie is adorable,” you beam. Minho furrows his brows and shakes his head, looking at you like he’s offended.

“This is Doongie,” he states like it’s obvious, “The second cat I adopted.”

Your brows furrow as well. “Minho, that’s the same cat.”

He clicks his tongue, closing the picture and scrolling before opening another one; two orange and white cats lay together on a cat tree. Your lips fall open.

“See? This one is Soonie, he has a white nose. And this one is Doongie, his nose is orange,” He explains, and you nod, knowing full well you’d be dead if your life depended on distinguishing these two cats. “Doongie is the middle child, so he’s more temperamental.”

You stifle a giggle at him talking about his cats like they’re his children, much like you do.

He closes the picture once again and scrolls down further. His fingers hover over a picture for a couple of seconds, like he’s hesitating before he ultimately opens it. The screen fills with the image of a younger Minho smiling while holding a gray cat. His wire-frame glasses were round, unlike his current ones, and his black hair used to be shorter. The picture has clearly been cropped, only half of the cat’s body still visible.

“This is Dori. He’s the last cat I got, and he’s actually the only one I call my son.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “I adopted him with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted a dog, but I fell in love with Dori as soon as I laid eyes on him on the website, so she had no choice but to accept him.”

You watch as he smiles at the picture and the memory. You absentmindedly fiddle with your fingers on your lap, an all too familiar ugly feeling bubbling inside you. Jealousy. Not because Minho mentioned a girlfriend — you wish it was as simple as that. Jealousy consumed you when you were forced to face the reality that people have healthy relationships, where one partner sacrifices their own desires just to please their loved one. Where you make plans to adopt a kitten together just so you can call it your son. You know damn well you were never even close to having something even remotely similar to that.

You shake the feeling off, forcing out a smile. “He’s really cute,” you tell Minho, “And he’s my favorite, ‘cause at least I can tell him apart from the other two.”

Minho chuckles, scrunching his nose as he locks his phone and rests it on his thigh.

You two settle into bed after Minho walked you through the day he and Chan had planned for tomorrow. He had organized everything neatly in a travel planning app — from where you would be going down to an estimate of how much you would be spending. You always preferred roughly planning things out mentally whenever you traveled, mostly enjoying going with the flow.

Among all your coincidentally similar little incidents, you finally found something in which you two are complete opposites.

That should, in theory, annoy you, but you can’t help but find his meticulousness endearing. You can just picture him searching tirelessly online, crunching numbers and jotting everything down. The image is too adorable for you to be mad.

“Guess we finally found somewhere we’re different,” you mention with a smile as you tuck yourself into your sheets. Minho remains sitting on his bed, putting his glasses on their case.

He hums. “Rather than different, maybe we just complement each other in this case? You hate organizing, and I fucking love to do it, as you just saw,” he chuckles, “We’d be a great team. I plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”

You nod with a smile, going over the places he chose in your head. You were excited for all but one: the very first one on the list, Inokashira Park.

“You know,” you start with a sigh, Minho’s eyes finding yours in the dimly lit room. “I never talk about this, but I weirdly feel like I can tell you anything. Nobody from our friend group knows this but…” you trail off, gripping the scratchy fabric of the comforter. “One of my ex-boyfriends cheated on me during a family trip to Japan when I was seventeen. I found out ‘cause the girl he hooked up with tagged him in pictures on Instagram. They were together in Inokashira Park.”

Minho hums, his eyes studying your face. After a beat of silence, he shrugs.

“We can skip that if you want to. I just—” He purses his lips, shifting on the mattress. “I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of the experience just because of a bad memory. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You nod, taking in his words. He was right. You were positive none of your exes ever deprived themselves of going back to places where they cheated on you, so why should you? They were the ones in the wrong, the ones who hurt and betrayed you, so why should you be the one to bear the trauma?

Minho rests his back against the wall, playing with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Is that why you don’t believe in love anymore? Don’t feel like you have to answer! I just… I wondered…” He faltered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I wondered what could have happened to make you feel that way.”

“Well, that was just one of five times when love proved to kind of hate my guts,” you chuckle. You didn’t understand why, but the words you held back for so long were bubbling at your throat, ready to spill out. And you were willing to let them. Even if only to a certain extent, you were ready to talk about this pathetic side of your life. You would rationalize it all later. Right now, you simply wanted to talk.

“I’ve had five boyfriends in my life, and they were all terrible in some way. I know, it’s a lot of relationships considering my age.” You scrunch up your face, cringing when you voice out the number.

Minho chuckles, and you’re ready for him to agree.

“It’s really not. There’s no right or wrong number of people to date during your teenage years or your twenties.” You open your eyes to find him leaning on his side, looking at you dismissively. “Some people date more, some date less, some people don’t even date at all. Either way, it’s fine.”

Your lips open and close, then open again. You had always expected people’s reactions to be the same as the ones you heard during high school. From your classmates to your ex-boyfriends, even your friends at the time, they all seemed to be in unanimous agreement that you were at fault for having dated so much in such a brief period. You never thought that maybe people with different opinions existed. And that, maybe, those people would be the ones who you care the most about.

Thinking about it now, after hearing Minho’s words, you were certain neither Eunha nor Soojung — or any of your friends, for that matter — would ever think badly about you or shame you simply because you’ve had five boyfriends. It seemed silly even to think that way now.

It was sad how much your teenage traumas undeniably affected your perception of reality.

Minho is the one to break the silence, his soft voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise you, the memories we make on this trip will be good enough that they override this lousy one,” he vows with a small nod. “And, more than ever before, I truly hope I can change your view of love.”

You smile at his words. “I surprisingly feel my thoughts about many things changing. Love is one of them.”

“I’m glad,” he hums, finally slipping under his covers. “Y’know, love isn’t only romantic. You say you’re closed off to love, that’s really a lie,” he states matter-of-factly, a smug grin spreading across his lips. You bite back a smile and raise your eyebrows at him. He continues, “The love you feel for your family and your friends, platonic love, that’s also love. I’ve been around you long enough to know just how much you love your friends.”

To say you loved your friends almost didn’t seem sufficient. After graduating high school, you left behind all the judgmental and toxic friends you had. You are immensely grateful to have found such good people at university. Eunha and Soojung were the housemates of your dreams, the three of you so different that it truthfully shouldn’t work, but it simply did. Hyunjin becoming your best friend was also a surprise; he was younger than you, and you had never been friends with a guy before — in part thanks to your jealous boyfriends — but he carved out a space for himself in your life and refused to leave. And you were so thankful for that.

And then there was Minho, who had come out of the blue into your life and just as suddenly became such an important person to you. From the way you two first met to your little similarities and how well you got along in such a short time, it was as if fate pulled you toward him.

You smile.

“I do love them,” you tell him, fiddling with your fingers under the white comforter. “And I love you, too, Minho. You’re my friend, after all. In a way, you’re already succeeding in changing my view of love just by being you.”

Minho’s eyes blink rapidly as he looks at you, his parted lips making him look like a confused child before they close. He hums, nodding as a small smile spreads on his lips, which quickly grows bigger and bigger until he’s basically giggling. He hides his face behind his hand, clearing his throat. You feel warmth spread across your chest at the sight. You’re sure if the lights were brighter, you’d be able to see his ears turning red.

You shake your head with a chuckle. The mood has suddenly become a bit too emotional, and you still find yourself running away from these things. However, you were proud of your progress tonight. Talking about love and your past — especially regarding your ex-boyfriends — was already a huge step for you.

You hope Minho knows he’s part of the reason you’re able to take this step in the first place.

“Okay, your turn.” You sit up on the bed, the white comforter pooling on your lap. “I’m curious too, y’know. You’re such a love enthusiast,” you tease him with a grin, earning you a chuckle from Minho, who throws his head back. “Tell me about your romantic experiences.”

He mirrors you and sits up on his bed. “Experience. I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he corrects you, “We met on the first day of high school and began dating the year after that, when we were sixteen. We were together until I was just about to turn twenty-one, so…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was quite the long first relationship.”

“My five relationships combined didn’t last as long as that.” You click your tongue, and Minho lets out a breathy laugh. “Why did you two break up after being together for so long?” You blurt out before you can process the words inside your head. Annoyed with your own self, you scrunch up your face. You really chose today to be an idiot. “If that’s okay for me to ask! Sorry for being nosy, I’m just— I guess I’m curious.”

Minho smiles at you, a fond smile he always shoots your way whenever you are word-vomiting. Much like your other friends, he had quickly adapted to your habit of spilling out words before thinking about them.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Basically, she wanted a quiet and simple life in the countryside, so I did that for her,” he explains, shrugging dismissively. So that was the reason he had moved to Gurye after finishing school. “I began saving up money at eighteen with my job at the convenience store while she gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood, and we moved on her twentieth birthday. I figured I could just do programming jobs from home, anyway, so I completely gave up on my plans to attend university…” Minho trails off, his voice all but a whisper at the end of the sentence. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips as he continues, “I kind of wanna kick myself in the face for that now. It fucking sucks to have started university so late, but it was my own decision. I guess you say stupid shit when you’re nervous, and I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

You had never met someone who would abandon so much of themselves for the person they loved. It made Minho even more admirable to you. However, even though it was his own decision, he clearly came to regret it. People often say love is all about compromises, and you couldn’t help but feel like Minho had been the only one to give up anything in this scenario.

“Were your parents okay with you two making such a drastic move?” You question, your curiosity bubbling inside your chest.

Minho scoffs. “Of course they weren’t. Especially my dad. But we were nearing our twenties, so there wasn’t much they could do to stop us.”

He drums his fingers on his thighs, and you wonder if this subject brought back sour memories — or maybe even good ones he just didn’t like remembering because they had become part of the past. You want to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, but he’s continuing his story before you can speak.

“We adopted Dori and left a week later. We were pretty much broke. All we could afford was a small cottage that hadn’t been renovated in over a decade, but we were happy,” Minho’s voice is soft as he speaks, a smile forming on his lips as he stares ahead, almost as if he’s reliving those moments in his head. “We talked about growing old together and raising our kids in that cottage. And we — god, looking back, this was so stupid it’s fucking funny,” He chuckled, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. “We were actually trying to get pregnant. We barely had money to feed Dori and ourselves, yet it still crushed us every time that test read negative.”

You feel your expression change, a blend of astonishment and admiration washing over you. They must’ve truly been in love. You felt a slight pang of hurt and envy run through your body; it truly was so easy for other people when it came to love.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you lament, although you’re not sure if you’re talking about the pregnancy or the entire relationship.

Minho shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Don’t feel bad, it was a blessing in disguise. I can’t imagine how the fuck we would ever manage to raise a baby at that time.”

“It seems like you two had the perfect relationship.” You force out a smile, waging war against your bitter jealousy.

“It was perfect, until it wasn’t,” Minho shrugs dismissively, “We began to fight a lot after a while. Haneul would always get upset at me for not doing things the way she thought I should do them, down to replying in a way that didn’t fit with what she had hoped I would say. And I was the same, always getting frustrated when she disagreed with me, even if it was about something silly like what to have for dinner. We used to be able to talk it out and come to an agreement in the past — it wasn’t for nothing that we were together for so long — but being in that little cottage, just us two all the time, it became suffocating.”

“Is that why you two broke up?”

Minho nods. “We realized we were merely playing house. Neither of us was happy anymore,” he explains, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “It was like we each had a script inside our heads of what the other should say or how they should act. It wasn’t healthy anymore, so we mutually decided to end things before they got worse.”

Your fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the white cover. You had always been envious of this type of relationship, but you never thought to think about the fact that they can also come to an end. It always seemed to you that your relationships never worked because they weren’t perfect, like the relationships you saw in books or movies — like the one Minho had described with his ex-girlfriend.

You never once rationalized that even perfect things can ebb away. That nothing lasts forever, even if it seems utterly ideal.

“I know how terrible breakups are,” you tell him. “I can only imagine how much worse it must’ve been to you two after so many years together.”

Minho shakes his head with a smile. “I never really felt hurt by it. It was such a perfect breakup she even let me keep Dori without going through a custody battle,” he jokes, raising his eyebrows at you.

“How can it not have hurt you?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You were in love, planning to start a family, and you tell me it didn’t hurt when it ended? That’s bullshit, Minho.”

He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to find the words to explain to you. He hums. “Well, I loved Haneul. I loved her so very much, with every fiber of my being. She was my first love. My mom once said we were probably a couple in another life as well, and I fucking loved that,” He chuckles, “The idea that someone was destined for me and I was destined for them, that we were fated to find each other and be together across lifetimes.”

“Like soulmates?” You ask.

He nods. “Soulmates, yes. That’s what we were. And, after we broke up, I realized maybe people’s understanding of soulmates is wrong. At least to me,” He shrugs.

You let out a chuckle. He really turned a terrible situation into a chance to reevaluate his beliefs. It was the most Minho thing you had ever heard.

“How are people understanding it wrong, then?” You question him, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking at him. Minho mirrors your actions, a grin etched onto his lips.

“Well, for starters, you can have many soulmates in one lifetime.” You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly adds, “For example, Haneul was my soulmate and there’s no doubt about it in my mind. But it ended, because it was time for it to end. I learned everything I had to learn with her, and she did the same. We couldn’t grow together anymore, so there was no point in staying together.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “I never thought of it that way. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a soulmate is unique.”

“It may be so to some people, but I find that way of thinking a bit unfair,” he shrugs. “Haneul found someone new. Wouldn’t it be unfair for me to say her new relationship is inferior to ours simply because we were soulmates? We were soulmates, but our time to be together has passed and she’s with the soulmate she’s supposed to be right now.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against your cheek. “I guess it does make sense.”

He shrugs, feigning smugness. “I am quite the smart man.”

“What about you?” You question, smiling at him, “Have you ever found a new soulmate after that relationship?”

Minho clears his throat, his gaze shifting to look at where his sock-clad feet poked out from underneath the comforter. You could swear you see a tiny smile on his lips.

“I think I did,” He answers with a questioning lilt. “There were some signs, and a lot of things that aligned.” His gaze lifts once more to meet your eyes as he continues, “Makes me think maybe I’ve found her.”

As you take in his words, jealousy rears its ugly head, the feeling almost swallowing you whole. You gnaw on your bottom lip. The way Minho made you feel at times was questionable at best, but you chalk it all up to your jealous nature. You’d always gotten jealous when your friends found new friendships or when they started relationships.

However, that feeling was a bit different from the one currently making you want to bite your lip until it bled out of sheer and petty jealousy.

You let out a heavy sigh, pushing all those thoughts into a neat little box inside your head and locking them up.

“You’re really lucky,” you tell him, and Minho cocks an eyebrow. “That’s why you think love can only be good, because your only experience with it was long-lasting and good until the very end. I’d much rather have love fizzle out than have it end in a way that ended me as well. That’s how it’s always been with me, and I guess that’s why I came to hate love a little bit.”

Minho smiles at you, a genuine smile that reaches his brown eyes. “Well, sometimes love lasts forever,” he asserts, “So you shouldn’t think about how it’s going to end.”

You can feel the pinwheel inside your chest spinning, causing your heart to skip a beat and your cheeks to blush pink. Forcing out a chuckle, you lie on your bed and pull the covers up to your nose.

“You’re back to your hopeless romantic ways.”

“I never stopped,” He corrects you. He lies down as well, facing you, his hand reaching out to turn off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. “Even when I thought you had a boyfriend,” Minho continues, “I was still able to be a hopeless romantic.”

You feel your eyes widen at his words, thanking the darkness that covers you both as confusion and shock swim in your eyes. Did Minho subtly admit he liked you? Were you reading too much into things? Why did this not scare you? It should scare you, should make you terrified, as this is the very thing you’ve been running away from.

You were probably over-analyzing his words.

But why did you hope that wasn’t the case?

The two of you wake up early, hitting the streets of Tokyo immediately after getting dressed. Minho’s list definitely made things easier, with you two hopping from place to place before crossing them out one by one on his phone. Your favorite so far had been the cat café you two went to for breakfast, where you spent the entire hour watching Minho petting and playing with the kittens, the smile on your lips so fond that it probably made you look stupid.

But as you walk around Inokashira Park, that quickly drops to second place on your mental list. It was a beautiful place, especially in the late afternoon sun. As soon as you arrived, Minho took your hand in his without a word. It was unexpected, to say the least, but you were even more surprised to find yourself liking the gesture. You squeezed his hand, smiling at him, before lacing your fingers together.

Your heart was racing so fast you were certain that damn pinwheel brought along a friend today.

After walking around for a bit, Minho abruptly stopped, letting go of your hand and moving to stand behind you. You furrowed your brows as his hands came to cover your eyes. With his lips incredibly close to your ears, he whispered, “I have a surprise. It’s a place that wasn’t on the list. A museum I think you’ll like.”

You felt goosebumps rise all over your body at the sound of his low voice coupled with his breath tickling your skin. You silently thanked the cold weather — had you not been wearing long sleeves, Minho would have seen the effect he had on you, and you would’ve had no other choice but to throw yourself in front of a taxi on the way back to the hotel.

The two of you waddled awkwardly, Minho still standing behind you with his hands over your eyes. He giggled the whole way to your destination. You were too immersed in not focusing on how his body brushed up against yours with every step you took to even think about laughing.

His broad chest so warm against your back, his arms wrapped around you, his lips grazing your neck once as he bent down to whisper something about the museum being just around the corner, and his lower body continuously brushing and rubbing against your ass as you two walked. You had to fight the urge to push your body against his every time that happened, wondering if that would be enough to get him hard.

After Minho’s supposed confession last night, your mind had truly thrown every bit of worry and shame you felt about being attracted to him out the window.

It felt almost liberating, being able to say fuck it and simply feel.

So you were attracted to Minho; why should it be a big deal? You shouldn't deprive yourself of these silly experiences just because love scares you.

Maybe being scared was okay sometimes. Maybe it was worth it for the right people.

Just as your mind was running wild with thoughts of Minho’s body pressed up against yours, his voice whispered in your ear again. You had arrived, he announced, removing his hands from your eyes.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you made out the words on a wooden sign before you. Minho had taken you to the Ghibli Museum. Before you could stop yourself, you were throwing your arms around his neck with a gasp.

You could just kiss him at that moment. That was how happy you were.

After walking around the museum with a smile engraved onto your lips, your cheeks hurt in the best way possible. Minho hurried you as you looked through the overly expensive gift shop, reminding you that the swan paddle boats would be closing soon. You whined but ultimately had no choice but to leave the shop as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Mourning the loss of a Soot Sprite plush perfect for your collection, you grumbled to Minho about how he had no heart as you two ran across the park.

You made it just in time, being the last ones in line on the pier. Minho insisted on paying for your tickets, and you agreed only after he explained it would be your compensation for the loss of your precious plushie.

And now you sit beside him on a swan paddle boat, failing miserably at containing your giggles as Minho adjusts his life jacket.

“You know,” He starts with a dramatic sigh, “You’re not gonna be laughing if we crash and you drown.”

You poke his arm, making him look at you just as a smile spreads across his lips. “I’m only laughing ‘cause you look real cute.”

You begin to paddle, and it is surprisingly easy — especially because Minho is the one guiding the boat with a steering wheel. The scenery is quite dull because of the cold season, with most trees already bare of leaves and the sky a blend of pale blue and white.

“I wish it was spring,” Minho speaks beside you as if he’s read your thoughts. “The cherry blossoms are fucking gorgeous.”

You look over at him, his eyes fixed ahead as he steers the boat around the pond. His glasses reflect the pale sky and obscure his eyes, but you’re sure he’s blinking rapidly like he usually does whenever he’s focused.

“Did you come here with your ex-girlfriend in spring?” You blurt out.

Minho’s lips stretch into a grin as he turns to face you.

“No,” he answers simply. “But I want to come with you.”

It’s only then you realize he had been doing most of the work paddling, as he easily controls the speed at which the boat glides across the water, slowing down until you two are stopped at the edge of the pond.

Your mind races, but not as hard as your heart does.

“With me?”

“With you.”

His eyes are fixed on yours, and his left hand grips the steering wheel tightly. You part your lips, but only silence is stuck in your throat. Drawing yourself out of the impromptu staring contest the two of you had gotten into, your eyes shift down to stare at your purse which lay across your lap.

You softly utter the only two words your mind can conjure up. “Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Minho’s voice is also quiet. You hear him shuffling beside you, turning his body so he fully faces you. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you’re protecting yourself, but I’m—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and your eyes shoot up to find him biting his lip, his brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. “I like you so much I think I might implode if I do nothing about it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. There is still a part of you that’s screaming out run away, this is terrifying, you’re on your way to another heart-wrenching breakup — but that part has become so minuscule, so insignificant now, it feels like nothing but muffled background noise inside your head. Because a much bigger part of you is begging for you to just say, “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

Minho’s hand leaves the wheel and gingerly touches your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin before he closes the distance between you. It isn’t the first time you kiss Minho, but it is certainly the first time your entire being is fully enveloped in only him; from the way his slightly chapped lips still felt so soft against your own to how his strong hand finds your waist and pulls you closer to him.

And his taste. Minho coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and licks into it, your senses being taken over by the taste of the watermelon candy he’d been eating all day until you’re positively drunk on him. Your heart racing and your hands shaking like a teenager having their first kiss.

You go to grab his shirt, desperate to pull him even closer to you, but your hands collide with the damn life jacket he’s wearing. You whine into the kiss, annoyed, and Minho only chuckles against your lips. He bites your lower lip, pulling softly before releasing it and pressing another kiss to your pout.

“I take back what I said, the life jacket isn’t cute,” you mumble against his lips. His smile grows, and his lips crash against yours again, his hands tangling in your hair.

He groans into the kiss, barely pulling away before whispering, “Don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

You hum. “Well, you can kiss me anytime now.”

Minho’s lips spread into a grin, and he closes the small distance between you for one last kiss before he pulls away, your noses brushing. His eyes are dark yet soft, as if longing and affection had melted together.

“I want to be with you,” He says, “But I want you to think about it before you say anything because I know how scared you are of love. And if by the end of our trip I haven’t given you enough reasons to give me a chance, I’ll let you go and move on with my life. If you want to stay friends, I’ll happily do that. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll also respect that.”

Your heart swells with his words because Minho is the complete antithesis of everything your ex-boyfriends taught you that men were.

And, for the first time in so long, you feel the kind of nervousness that’s nothing but good. The kind that leaves you with trembling hands, a racing heart, and a dizzy head. The kind that only love can provide.

Despite his request, you’re eager to answer him right then and there, but just as you’re about to speak, the sky roars and dark clouds gather above. You jump in your seat at the sound, and Minho’s hands instinctively wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. You smile, simply nodding your head and giving his lips a small kiss.

Minho struggles a bit, but he’s eventually able to turn the paddle boat around, and you two begin to paddle back toward the pier. The light rain quickly becomes heavy raindrops drumming on the roof of the boat, and you dread the walk back to the hotel as neither of you thought to bring an umbrella.

“Y'know,” Minho starts. “There’s a myth here in Japan that says if you ride this boat with a girlfriend, then you’ll break up soon. I kinda always believed that.”

You let out a chuckle. “Really?”

He hums, nodding his head. “So I’m choosing to also believe that if you ride it with someone you like, they will become your girlfriend soon.”

Minho turns to look at you with a smile as you stop at the pier, removing his life jacket and exiting the boat without another word. You bite the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt at holding back a smile. Minho helps you out of the boat, his hand taking yours and pulling you toward him gently.

You two run back to the hotel, Minho holding you close to him with his hand around your waist. The streets are mostly empty as people squeeze under bus stops and shop awnings to shelter from the rain, and it almost feels like you and Minho are the only people in Tokyo that night.

You two giggle the whole way to the hotel. Even when you are struck with the realization that the power has shut off on the entire street upon arriving, you simply turn to each other and laugh even more.

You clumsily manage to take a brief shower in the darkness, changing into your sleep clothes as quickly as you can. You realize with a grimace that if your room was cold before, with the shitty hotel heater on, it’s basically turned into an icebox now.

Wrapping yourself up in your comforter, you shiver with a groan just as Minho walks out of the bathroom.

“Bet you miss that shitty heater now, huh?” He jokes, and you faintly make out his silhouette in the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

You let out another groan. “I'm gonna freeze to death tonight. I've made peace with that. Thaw me with a hairdryer in the morning, please.”

Minho chuckles, sitting on his bed as he checks his phone. You make out his features in the moonlight coming from the window, and he’s wearing another sweater, black with more cats printed on it.

Such a cozy, warm-looking sweater. You curse yourself inwardly for only packing t-shirts to sleep.

As he locks his phone, an idea hits you, and your words are faster than your thoughts — as they always seem to be whenever you’re around Minho.

“Can I lay with you for a bit?” You ask, “Just for a bit, until I get warm? My bed is right under this damn window, and I don’t have any sweaters I can sleep in, and I know I joked about making peace with freezing but—”

Minho cuts you off by calling out your name with a chuckle. “It's okay. You don’t need to make up a thousand excuses. I'm cold, too,” He says simply, scooting to the side to make room for you in his bed. “Come here.”

You smile, ripping the covers from your body quickly like a band-aid and all but jumping from your mattress to his. Minho instructs you to lie on the left side of the bed, facing the wall. You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s like the sidewalk thing. So I can protect you if a serial killer comes into our room.”

“Oh, so a serial killer’s gonna come into our room?” You ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as you scoot on the bed and slip under the comforter.

“Well, I—” Minho stammers, pausing with a sigh. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table before he continues, “I don’t know, okay? I just… wanna take care of you in every way possible. Even in this weird scenario that my mind made up.”

His words slip out of his lips quickly, much like yours do when you’re nervous and can’t make yourself stop talking. You wonder if your habit is rubbing off on him, and you can’t help but smile.

As Minho settles into bed, you feel your body stiffen up. The two of you lay on your backs next to each other in the cramped bed, and you feel like you can’t move. Hyunjin was the first guy you ever slept next to, and even then, it was after you two had already had sex, so there was no room for feeling awkward. With Minho, everything feels so new. If kissing him had made your hands shake, laying next to him makes your whole body tremble.

You lay like that for a while, watching as the thunder lights up the ceiling until Minho turns to lie on his side.

“Wouldn’t we get warmer if we cuddled?” He trails off in a whisper, clearing his throat after his words leave his mouth.

You open your mouth to answer but know you’ll only end up word-vomiting again with how nervous you feel, so you simply nod, turning so you’re facing Minho as well.

His arms quickly find your waist, pulling you closer to him until your noses are touching, and you feel his breath on your lips as he lets out a sigh. Before you can make sense of what’s happening, Minho presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, making your mind go hazy. You two stare at each other for a beat, your lips agape and eyes wandering through each other’s features until he breaks the silence.

“You make me nervous,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding it towards his chest. You feel his heart beating quickly through the thick fabric of his sweater. “In the best way possible.”

You smile, whispering back, “You make me nervous, too.”

Clutching at the fabric of his sweater, you pull him closer to you, slotting your lips together once more. Minho’s hands hesitate, his left hand barely touching your back before he changes his mind and grazes your shoulder with his touch, only to settle for cupping your cheek. You smile into the kiss, taking his hand and placing it firmly on your waist. He grips the fabric of your shirt just as you did and brings your body flush against his.

The kiss is hurried, as if you two will be forced apart tomorrow and this is your only chance to feel each other. Minho licks the seam of your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasp. His firm grip on your waist, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, and how with every stroke of his tongue, he devours you almost greedily — it’s downright impossible to keep the whine that forms in your throat from slipping out, Minho’s mouth swallowing the muffled sound.

And then he’s pulling away, and you’re left chasing his lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at that.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He suggests, his voice breathless. You can’t help but wonder if you practically moaning while simply kissing him had made him uncomfortable, and you inwardly berate yourself, mortification washing over you.

So you only nod, turning to face the wall so you can properly cuddle this time. Minho wraps an arm around your waist, and you wait for him to pull you closer, but he never does. You furrow your brows. Was it that bad? You can’t be faulted for reacting like you did, especially with how he kissed you. So you take it into your own hands to shift closer to his body. Your lips part as you feel his hard member pressing against your lower back.

Oh.

So that’s what’s going on.

You bite back a grin, feeling Minho tense up behind you.

“And here I thought you were like a romantic lead in a PG-13 anime,” you joke, smiling as he chuckles, clearly more at ease.

He uses the hand that had been resting against your stomach to pull you even closer to him, pressing his body against yours. “I am romantic,” He whispers, lips close to your ear. You only then realize he’s hovering over you. “But I’m still human.”

You fight back the urge to shudder at how his voice drops an octave, all low and soft, and, god, how his breath grazes your neck.

You search your brain for something to say but come up empty. Being nervous has rendered you speechless for the first time in your life.

“Let’s sleep now, okay?” Minho presses a quick kiss on your cheek. “I’ll lie far—”

“I can help you,” you blurt out, turning to face him. Going to sleep is the last thing you want right now. “If you want.”

His eyes wander across your face as he pulls on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush things.”

“There are ways to do this that aren’t… rushing.”

Minho hums, but his eyes are now fixed on your lips. You move to lie on your back, and he slowly climbs on top of you.

“As long as it’s okay with you, I don’t care what we do,” he whispers. You smile, pushing his black hair away from his face with your fingers.

“It’s more than okay with me,” You answer simply, using your hand on his hair to guide him down into yet another kiss.

You can feel him still hesitating, so you grab a fistful of that silly sweater of his and pull him closer to you until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, breaking the kiss. Minho nods hastily.

“Yes, please,” he groans, “I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

With a breathy chuckle, you move your hand between your two bodies, cupping him through his sweatpants; he’s even harder now, and you subconsciously bite your lip. He closes his eyes, his left hand resting on your waist before squeezing lightly as he hides his face in the crook of your neck with a shaky sigh. It might simply be because it’s your first time being intimate together, but Minho’s timidness is genuinely endearing to you.

Your palm grinds against him gingerly, and his body trembles under your touch. His hand travels from your waist toward your lower stomach, and you let out a quiet gasp as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. He lifts his head off your neck, his face so close to yours you can feel his unsteady breathing on your lips.

“Can I touch you, too?” He whispers, and you nod a bit too eagerly.

“If you don’t, I think I’ll die too.”

Minho grins, his head dipping lower until his lips are pressed against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You’d be lying if you said finding Minho so hard after only kissing you hadn’t turned you on — kissing him alone also made you more aroused than you were willing to admit. But you were more than ready to go to sleep without doing anything about it after offering to help him, so the fact that he wants to do the same for you makes your head spin. This was not on your bingo card of things that could happen during this trip.

He pulls your shirt up slightly, only enough for him to slip his hand inside your sweatpants. He hesitates twice before cupping you through your underwear. His dark eyes meet yours, whispering against your lips, “You’re fucking soaking through your panties, and you weren’t gonna tell me?”

You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing. Wasn’t he shy just two minutes ago? Your mouth opens to answer him, but your brain is far too cloudy to form any coherent sentence, so you settle on a nod. He hums, pressing a kiss to your agape lips.

Once you feel his thumb tentatively brush against your clit through the thin fabric, you find the courage to slip your hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers immediately brushing against his member. Minho shudders at the touch, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Your brows shoot up at the fact that he had foregone wearing boxers, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

“I never wear underwear to bed, so don’t think I was trying to seduce you,” he jokes.

“Too late,” you hum, “I was seduced the moment I saw your bright orange cat sweater.”

Minho grins, sucking your lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side painfully slowly, his middle finger gliding from your entrance toward your clit and spreading your arousal. With a sigh, you bring one leg to wrap around his waist, and he adjusts himself so he’s properly hovering over you. You take this opportunity to slide his sweatpants down his hips, his hard cock finally free from its confines. He groans low in his throat, his tongue suddenly licking into your open mouth as his right hand intertwines with your left, your fingers locking together. He presses your clasped hands onto the mattress beside your head.

Your hand now glides through his length, the palm of your hand beginning to rub at the head of his cock and Minho sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss, his eyes remaining closed. Pressing your thumb to the slit, you gather as much precum as you can and spread it through his member. You quickly find that it’s not enough, wanting it wetter and messier and—

Minho whines as you stop touching him, eyes shooting open. Bringing your hand to your lips, you lick a stripe on your palm and let a glob of spit fall on it before finding his cock again, wet both with your saliva and his precum as you begin to stroke him gingerly. With a quiet moan, Minho’s hips buck up at the touch and he kisses your lips again. You giggle into the kiss, inwardly thanking Hyunjin for teaching you that guys love sloppy shit like this and, in turn, making you realize you do too.

You avert your eyes from his intense gaze as his finger moves to find your entrance, pushing in slowly before moving at a steady pace.

He squeezes your hand. “Look at me,” his voice is all but a whisper, low and hurried. You turn to lock your eyes on his once more, immediately biting your lips to stop a moan from slipping out of your lips as his thumb begins to rub your clit in circular motions, and he slips another finger inside of your aching cunt. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep yourself from vocally begging him not to stop.

You focus on your own hand as you stroke his cock, your steady pace gradually quickening. Minho’s pace mirrors yours, and soon the small room fills with the noise of his finger swiftly pumping in and out of you mixed with the sound of your hand stroking him.

“What do you like?” Minho asks suddenly, his breath hitching as you tighten your fist around his cock. Your mind is far too clouded by desire and pleasure to fully comprehend, so you hum, your brows furrowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours with a quiet moan and curling his fingers inside you, causing your eyes to shut tightly and a whimper to escape your closed lips. “Look at me, baby,” he repeats himself, his voice firm and his shy demeanor having completely shifted. You slowly open your eyes. “What do you like? I — fuck,” He curses as your hand twists on the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, tell me.”

You’re definitely not used to being vocal about what you want or like during sex; your ex-boyfriends always too selfish, and Hyunjin too confident for you to even have had the opportunity to do so. Coupled with just how good you felt, you know you won’t possibly be able to speak a word without moaning the way you’re trying so hard to avoid. You settle for guiding his hand, which was tangled in yours, under your shirt. Minho immediately massages your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple as his eyes find yours once more.

You feel as if his gaze is setting you ablaze, his eyes boring into you. It felt as if all his desire was accumulated in his dark eyes, clearly visible in how he watches you like he’s drinking in every last drop of you through his stare. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before; it makes you feel so wanted, so desired, as if the only thing Minho could ever need in this moment is you. That alone makes your body tremble, your left hand holding onto his shoulder for purchase as you feel you might float away at any second.

If you were told a couple of hours ago that something as simple as having Minho’s fingers inside you would have you so euphoric, you most definitely would have laughed.

Minho groans into your open mouth, his breathing heavy and his brows drawn together tightly. You force your lips shut once more as his thumb rubs your bundle of nerves more hastily. Your hand leaves his shoulder to tangle in his black hair, futilely attempting to tug him even closer to you before you kiss his agape lips that spill out groans and sighs like a mantra.

It’s almost all-consuming. His fingers inside of you, the warmth of his hand on your breast, his cock pulsating beneath your touch, his hot breaths that fill your lungs as he sighs into your kiss, and his eyes — his damn eyes that look at you as if he wants to eat you whole.

You finally allow yourself to moan as you feel your orgasm building up, whimpering his name against his lips as your strokes on his cock turn messy and desperate among the copious amounts of precum. Minho growls, pulling your hand from his hair — his grip on your wrist so firm it stings a little — before he pins you down to the mattress, fingers messily intertwining with yours again.

This time, you’re unable to restrain your whimper at his actions; Minho had always been gentle and sweet, something as simple as him pinning you down to the bed has you clenching around his fingers. This duality of his you just discovered is something that stirs up curiosity inside of you.

“I’m gonna come,” He announces with a sigh, his hand squeezing yours. You can only nod as you melt around his fingers, your whole body trembling. Minho soon follows, his cum spilling into your hand and your shirt, a low guttural sound leaving his throat.

His eyes only leave yours as he leans down to connect your lips again, giving you small kisses before a stifled laugh escapes him. You furrow your brows, and Minho grins.

“Sorry for getting your shirt dirty,” He mumbles against your lips, the two of you unwilling to move for the time being.

You shake your head with a chuckle. Although you cringe slightly as you feel the fabric of your shirt stick to your stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Minho shifts on top of you, and you only then realize his fingers remain inside of you. Your body jolts faintly at the stimulation, his name falling from your lips in the form of a whine. He grins at you again, all lopsided and handsome, before bringing his hand to his lips. You watch with agape lips as his tongue flicks out to lap at his fingers before sucking on them with a hum, his eyes locked onto yours once more.

Once again with this newfound duality of his. He’s pure romance and gentlemanly behavior, but seemingly so alluring and shameless in bed. The way he looks at you alone makes you clench around nothing as if you didn’t come mere minutes ago. And it’s such a simple act — you can’t count on one hand the number of times you watched as Hyunjin licked his fingers clean after being inside of you — but the contrast of his calm and endearing everyday personality and him suddenly pinning you to the bed or licking your cum off his fingers while looking into your eyes makes this entirely different.

You would’ve never expected this from Minho, and it makes your brain stir up with thoughts of what he would be like while eating you out or while fucking you. Would he pin you to the bed again or pull your hair, or maybe—

The sound of him clearing his throat interrupts you from your thoughts, and you only now realize you had been staring at the ceiling while fantasizing about Minho fucking you. Great.

Once your eyes meet, he’s quick to avert his gaze. “I will, uh, pay to wash your shirt when we — when we get back,” Minho stumbles over his words, his eyes now fixed on your shoulder. “If you want. But, like, I got it dirty, so…” He trails off, and you purse your lips to muffle the giggle that bubbled up your throat as it seems all the confidence he had only minutes ago had dissipated into dust and left his body.

He was back to his usual self. You can’t help but smile as you realize you adore any version of Minho.

He pushes himself off of you, muttering that he’ll be back before disappearing into the small bathroom. You remove your soiled shirt, wiping your hand on it, only to blanche at the sight of the logo printed on the fabric. It’s one of Hyunjin’s shirts that you had stolen ages ago. You mumble a string of apologies to him as you pull the covers off your body. After discarding it on your bed, you change into the first t-shirt you fish out of your backpack, worried Minho might come into the room and see your naked chest — as ludicrous as that was, seeing as he was knuckles deep inside of you less than twenty minutes ago.

Minho returns to the bedroom just as you’re closing the zipper on your bag. He silently takes your hand in his and wipes it with a towel, his head lowered as his eyes focus on his actions. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“There’s really nothing there anymore,” you inform him. “I wiped most of your cum on my shirt.” You nod toward the crumpled-up fabric thrown across the bed. Minho’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a small noise, nodding his head slowly before ultimately pressing his lips together. Under the faint moonlight that lights up the room, you almost miss how his cheeks dust a shade of pink. You smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. Minho hums, smiling back at you and dropping the towel on top of your shirt.

Soon, you find yourself back in bed with him, Minho pulling you into his chest, his hands now offering you pleasure by gingerly massaging your scalp. You are almost asleep — listening to his heartbeat through his sweater, smiling at the soft snores that escape his parted lips — when it dawned on you.

You notice just how different being with Minho had been. How kissing him alone made your hands shake, how even without being fully intimate, the way you felt with him tonight was incomparable.

Minho’s words from months ago about how sex with someone you love eclipses the feeling of sex with any other person linger in your memory. You hum, a smile on your lips as your eyes flutter closed again.

Before they shoot open.

Because holy shit.

If it felt that way with Minho, it can only mean you’ve fallen for him.

Awakening to the sound of the heater’s soft hum, you feel Minho’s arm tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. His gentle breathing brushes against the nape of your neck, and you cautiously turn your head, careful not to wake him, only to be greeted by his tender eyes already gazing at you with a soft smile. Cuddling with Minho is another thing that feels different. You feel safe, adored from how he holds you to the way his eyes look at you.

As he realizes you’re also awake, he suddenly turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as his ears slowly turn a light shade of red. You frown, chuckling a bit at his actions, before settling yourself across his chest.

“The power came back a while after you fell asleep,” he explains.

You giggle as you assume maybe he’s shy because of what happened last night. But your smile fades as your mind begins to overthink, your subconscious screaming that maybe you should feel shy, embarrassed. Weren’t you too easy? Letting him touch you like that after just a few kisses. Does Minho think you came into bed with him for that reason?

You think back to the last boyfriend you had, who berated you for how ‘whorish’ it had been when you asked to have sex with him instead of waiting for him to initiate it. And how your first boyfriend would tell you — every chance he got — that you acted like a slut, touching him as if you knew it would make him have sex with you. How, at the end of your relationship, he told you maybe you acted that way because you knew that sex was all you were good for. How another ex had laughed as he told you that even though you went through so many guys, you still managed to be a terrible fuck, and that was the reason he had to cheat on you.

There were also the murmurs around your school whenever you started a new relationship. Another one? She’s boy hopping so much she’s gonna get through our entire class in less than a year. Some girls just can’t stand to be alone, it’s kind of sad.

At some point, you had detangled yourself from Minho, now lying on your side and looking out the window. You never understood why so many people thought that way. You had five boyfriends from fifteen to eighteen, and in each of these relationships, you were either cheated on or broken up with in a less-than-pleasant way. But you did have the awful habit of jumping into relationships with little thought, often because you felt incomplete without a romantic partner — as romantic as high school relationships can be, anyway. Being single and content for almost four years now, you were proud to have worked on that.

But you still can’t shake off the feeling that maybe you were a bit too… forward. You were single, sure, but you were quick to jump at the opportunity to have Hyunjin as a fuck buddy. Perhaps people were right about that.

“Is everything okay?” Minho’s voice pulls you away from your racing thoughts. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I just zoned out.”

Sitting upright on the bed, you stretch with a sigh. Minho takes your hand before you can realize it, placing it on his chest and gently playing with your fingers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. You gnaw on your bottom lip, pulling at the skin until it stings.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night,” you blurt out. Minho’s gaze shifts to focus on you, confusion swimming in his brown eyes and his hands halting around yours. Oh god, why did you say that?

“Forward?” The question trails off his lips, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

With a sigh, you grimace at your own words. “Yeah, forward, like I was throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if it came off that way. I swear I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“You know what I mean, Minho,” you mumble, but his eyes remain swarmed with confusion.

“I really don’t.”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, annoyed not at him but at yourself for having brought this up in the first place.

“You know, Minho,” you groan, “Forward, like, slutty. Like I asked to come to your bed just so you would fuck me.”

His expression softens, his eyes widening. He sits up as well, his hand still clutching yours.

“Why the fuck would I think that?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What happened last night was completely natural. We made out, we got horny, we took care of it together. You didn’t even ask me to touch you, I did it because I was dying to do it. You weren’t forward — you weren’t slutty.”

You feel the heavy veil of worry lift off your shoulders at his words. It was definitely going to take a while for you to work on that aspect of your trauma. This had never been an issue with Hyunjin since you were pursuing nothing more than a sexual relationship with him — things were different with Minho.

Minho was the complete opposite.

After countless moments of your heart racing and your hands trembling because of him, you finally confess to yourself that your affection for Minho extends well beyond platonic feelings.

With a small smile, you slowly nod your head. “Sorry for bringing this up, I just… didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

Minho smiles, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “That wouldn’t have made me think badly of you. I’m not some Victorian man who thinks women should be burned at the stake for showing their ankles,” he chuckles, and you bite back a laugh. “Even if you had been slutty, so what? I’d like that just as much.”

You playfully hit his shin under the comforter as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Minho was unquestionably different.

“We gotta get to the airport soon,” he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head, carrying your hand along the way. “I had to book the earliest flight I could to save up some money.”

With a frown, you retrieve your phone from under your pillow and check for the time: seven-thirty a.m. You feel a pang of guilt as you recall how you are essentially on this trip for free.

“Why didn’t Chan help with the tickets?”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek before his lips stretch into a barely-there grin. “Chan was never coming to this trip,” he blurts out. You feel your lips fall agape.

“What?”

“I… planned this trip by myself. Only for you and me,” he explains. “I wanted to get far away from everything that distracted us so I could concentrate on showing you the good side of love like I’d been trying to do with all those fruitless attempts at taking you on dates.”

You take in his words and find yourself smiling at the gesture — the white lie Minho told pales in comparison to everything else he has done for you, both during this trip and since you met him. Truthfully, you didn’t even realize he had been taking you on dates. You mentally slap yourself in the head for that, believing he simply wanted to spend time with you as a friend.

“I’ll pay you back for my part of the trip as soon as—”

Minho’s voice interrupts you with a drawn-out ‘no.’ He smiles as you stare at him, puzzled.

“This entire trip must’ve been so expensive, Minho.”

But he’s unrelenting, shaking his head with a squeeze of your hand.

“I told you,” he says simply. “I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1 @malunar28replies @jazziwritesthings @finchyyy @bloom-ings @linocz @minhochaos @lastgreatamericandynasty1

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tazzy-the-eighth · 10 months

Text

MISERYVOGUE MAGAZINE

NO IDEA

We're not too sure how these two muzzled their way in here. But sparse says they only got this far being the plus ones to the heir himself, Beezlebub Jojo heinous. Threatened by his partner to allow them to sport our attire.

The infamous Two Shoes with a Blue Horns. It just can't be. Wearing a soft, delicate and lively look, that brings light. How despicable.

#Misery High #Misery High AU #Jimmy Two Shoes #Jimmy AU #AU #alternate universe #fanwork #original art #fanart #digital art #illustration #jimmy two shoes #2000s cartoons #cartoons #teletoon #2000's #illustrator #artist

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webslingingslasher · 8 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/webslingingslasher/739562902099492864/the-panic-attack-please-im-cackling-jdjdjdj-it

also he would feel so bad😭😭 the fetishise ask thing got me thinking. imagine she lies or pretends she’s not a virgin at first just bc guys are super weird when they find out ab it, so she does that just as a protection thing/to get weird guys off her back. so Peter doesn’t know & imagine they’re making out or whatever but he’s super quick with it and suddenly there’s a dick in front of her and she starts panicking JAHAHAHAAHA

I csnt stop laughing picturing this. he’d be so confused but so worried HABABA

*cleaning out my inbox* an: this is not our trouble/reader. this is an au with our peter!

you got a little too far into it. in your defense, your friends told you instinct would take over and you’d just fall into it and you’d do anything when you’re horny and in the moment.

but right now, in this moment, you’re panicking because someone other than you is taking your shirt off, and someone other than you is touching your breasts.

you got this, you can handle this. you’ve made it this close, what’s a little closer? you could finally get it over with, and with a guy that’s astronomically hot. god was giving you a chance and you weren’t about to fuck it up.

you can handle being tossed to the bed, you can handle warm palms cupping your ass, you can handle a brush of his core into yours. you can handle peter taking off his pants, you can handle peter… peter… he’s-

peter’s got a big dick, and it’s coming right at your virgin body, and you can’t handle this. how are you supposed to lie your way out of this? or was it into this?

it doesn’t matter, he’s going to know the second he tries to put it in. fuck, is he going to put it in? yes, that’s how sex works- okay, fuck, shut up!

peter’s got a gleam in his eye, how fucked were you about to make things? you’re the one that came onto him and now you’re freaking out because there’s a real deal penis and real deal sex situation happening and you have no idea what to do.

‘that’s a penis.’ your hands clasp over your mouth, it was the least sexiest thing you could say and it shows on peter’s face.

‘i’ve…’ you swallow hard and feel everything in you ignite, you’re praying to any god listening he just takes you out of your misery right then and there. isn’t premarital sex a sin? you should be burnt at the stake.

‘i’ve never seen one before.’

‘oh, jesus christ.’ a shuffle, it’s out of your sight and you can’t begin to explain the relief. you stare down at your hands, if you didn’t have to walk by peter, you’d be out of his room in a second.

you peek up at a flash in the corner of your eye, your shirt was outstretched and pushed into your hold. ‘if you can’t see mine, i can’t see yours.’ your chest doesn’t feel as tight, he’s not mad, just a little thrown off.

‘i’m sorry.’ you’re still shy when you meet his eyes, even if you’re fully clothed. ‘but like, i didn’t tell you i wasn’t a virgin.’

peter crosses his arms over his chest. ‘and you didn’t tell me you were until it got too real.’ he’s right, your shoulders slump, isn’t it just embarrassing? not even the lying, just the fact you’re in college and you’re still a virgin.

‘i just thought it could get it out of the way, i don’t know.’

peter scoffs, ‘well, you don’t do it like this.’

does that mean he’s off the table, did you shoot too high? ‘so, you don’t have sex with virgins?’

‘it’s not in my day to day schedule, no.’

‘you’ve never taken a girls virginity?’

‘did i say that?’

‘no.’ it’s unsettled emotion, it’s the only reason you huff and cross your arms at him. yes, make this his fault.

‘i thought you’d be the perfect candidate, but i guess not. i didn’t know frat boys actually cared this much.’ if peter wasn’t going to kick you out before, he would now. you offended him.

‘the fuck? sex is a whole different ball game when you’re a virgin. you don’t know that yet, i do. it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable and have a good time, that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t tell me.’

you started something, he wasn’t stopping.

‘i’m not saying there aren’t guys like that out there-that’ll do what you want, but it’s not me. if you want to get it over with like that, fine. but i’m not doing it in one night.’

you naw on your bottom lip, if you got this far what’s one more question? ‘so, would you?’

‘would i what?’ you chew harsher, it was easier to just pretend you weren’t a virgin. you shouldn’t never stopped him. ‘take my virginity.’ you spit the words, before he could try to repeat himself, ‘i mean, at your speed or whatever.��

peter has a series of emotions run through his mind, they all tell him it’s a bad idea. the heightened emotions, the awkwardness, the whole hurt thing, he just never really thought he’d have to go through it again.

‘you don’t know me.’ it should be more than enough, but you counteract him. ‘i know. that’s kind of why i chose you.’

a deep inhale, ‘you baited me? was this your plan?’ you try to clear the idea with your hands. ‘no, no, no! the plan was to not tell you but then i got scared. but since you already know… you know?’

‘no.’

you drop your head into your hands, everything is getting worse. you should’ve went through with it. ‘everything is awful and i want to die. i’m so sorry, peter. we can just forget this ever happened and if you see me around campus, no you don’t.’

you try to paint yourself invisible, instead you get a half earnest sigh from peter. ‘alright, look, you’re fine. it’s fine. you’re actually… strides ahead than i was when i was a virgin, okay?’

of course he says that, he’s already been through it. ‘but im too old to be a virgin!’

‘pft, what? no. have you seen 40 year old virgin?’ you cry out into your hands, ‘im not steve carell!’ you really had to pick a man? was that really the only option you had?

‘be honest with me, the pathetic virgin-‘

‘stop.’

‘- if i do this with another guy will he know?’ you hold on tight for the answer, it’s not long, it’s immediate. ‘yes.’ you’re not sure if he’s just saying that so you don’t throw off another guy.

‘no, seriously. would he-‘

‘yes.’ you exhale a ‘fuck.’ game over, if you really wanted this, you’d actually have to find someone to date you. that sounds like actual hell.

since you’re already in the pits, ‘peter?’ a hum, you finally blink up at him. ‘are you sure you won’t do it?’ you watch him take a solid breath, his next words chosen articulately.

‘when did i say i wouldn’t?’

you explode in a smile, you were right, you chose the right person. ‘you will? like, you’re gonna make me not a virgin?’

peter thinks- no, knows it’s a bad idea, but you’re going to do it regardless and he knows he’s better than a majority of guys on campus. he’d actually make sure you’re safe and comfortable. was he really about to do all the first steps with someone he didn’t know?

yeah. he was.

‘yes. i’ll take your virginity.’

#frat!peterxvirginreader #frat!peter drabbles #just in case- reader is not a loser and being a virgin in college is no big deal but these are her anxious thoughts. that’s all

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months

Note

coffee and a lemon slice with lance stroll? rivals to lovers but really everyone can tell he’s in love with her

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? hit up the menu for all the desserts & other treats. i'm open to different fandoms too if that tickles your fancy! we have a great staff of servers who'll get your orders to you asap!

lemon slice ("i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.") + coffee (rivals au) served by lance stroll (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, rivals-to-lovers, snark & bickering, fluff, counter sex, semi-clothed sex, semi-public sex

you didn't mean to laugh in the face of that reporter. but if they were going to ask such a stupid question then you were going to laugh! to be a woman in the big leagues of formula one meant sometimes being a bitch.

like when you laughed in the face of sky news.

"i'm sorry!" you said, "that was terrible of me. but no, i'm not in some secret relationship with lance stroll! i really appreciate that people stop asking who i am dating, i promise you it's not some loser on the grid. they'd eat my rubber before they kissed me." you laughed once more.

you got a stern talking to the week after in belgium, which had you teammate, max, almost laughing into his fist. as if his head wasn't on the chopping block.

you shoved the current champion, "don't laugh dickhead, it's not that funny."

"they're suggesting media training for you." he laughed as you two walked down the hallway, which made you shove him again.

you glared at max, "well, at least i don't have a bed time, verstappen. what are you, ten?" you waved your arms at him in frustration. which only made him laugh more.

you passed by various people while walking to lunch. but without looking you knew exactly when lance was walking by. it made you staggered in your step a little, but you refused to look at him. you kept your head held high.

max pretended that he didn't notice. but internally smirked, for the one swore off drivers. you did have a massive crush on lance stroll. but, there was no need to fret. lance was obviously into you as well, as apparent by his gaze lingering on you long after you walked by.

the dutch driver slapped you on the back, "well, i guess we're both fucked then." then flashed you a smile. both in regards to how you act in front of media and how your obvious feelings for lance.

it was after belgium that you were face to face with lance. it was a party after the event and you were nursing a beer. your loss was pretty brutal, you were fighting in the back of the grid with the likes of stroll. something you weren't comfortable with.

but he soon joined you in your misery. you froze for a moment before he nudged you in the arm and held out his own drink. you clinked glasses together as he said, "to losers."

you smiled back at him, "to losers." you hated to admit it, but you kind of understood lance. his passion for the sport but also being the face of your country. you on top of it had to live in max's shadow, not that he took glee in it.

"you never look me in the eyes." he said after a sip of his beverage, "you'll always look at everyone else in the eyes. but not me. maybe it's because i'm buzzed as all hell, but.. do you hate me?"

you swallowed, "we're rivals, lance. remember in my first season you said the driver you wanted to go toe to toe with was me? you stated your intentions about me."

he scratched the back of his neck, "well, yeah... why wouldn't i? you usually out position me. you're a killer on the track, of course i'd want to go wheel to wheel. going against you is challenge in itself... driving against you makes the sport fun." he gave a small smile.

you raised your eyebrows at him, "what?"

he nodded, "yeah, it was the media who made us rivals in every headline... i just wanted to be good... like you." he swallowed, his cheeks growing flushed, "nevermind."

you felt your face heat up as well, "i mean, i fucked up this race. so, you could easily catch up." you took another swig of your beer, the acidity of it didn't sit well in your stomach.

"doesn't mean anything. i've seen how you are. you're the best."

"are you hitting on me?" you asked, not too sure where this stream of consciousness series of compliments were going.

there was a beat of silence before he said, "yeah... i found out that apparently everyone knows i have feelings for you.. so i wanted to tell you before you found it out from someone else." he waved his hand a little, "i like you... and i know you don't date drivers. so i get it. i just didn't want to lie to you anymore.

you looked at him in shock, "for real?"

he nodded, "yes, on my life. i am certain." the collar of his button up felt stiffer and sweatier. he ran his hand through his hair, "nevermind, just forget about it. if you hear anything from anyone else, they're lying."

maybe it was the rush of the day's race, maybe it was the sweaty beer, maybe it was the alignment of the stars or the placement of the moon. maybe venus was in retrograde and mars was half price. but you grabbed him by the front of the button up and pressed your lips against him.

you noticed the taste of burt bee's chapstick and melted into the kiss. he put his drink down beside him and took you in his arms. when you parted the kiss, you pressed your forehead against yours and held his face.

"the no driver's rule-"

you sighed, "some rules are meant to be broken, i guess. i just told them that so they'd stop asking. i do hate that they were right. stupid press."

he dared himself to kiss you once more, this time a little softer as your hands curled deeper into his shirt. the kisses continued until you broke and ended up sneaking across the event towards the single-stall bathroom.

you two kissed once more, once you locked the door. he pressed you up against the counter before he picked you up and placed you on top of it. his hands were on your breasts, feeling the flesh through the blouse you wore.

you were beautiful, so painfully beautiful that you felt a surge of pleasure in your gut. when he pulled away, you held his face. you stared into those beautiful brown eyes, "i think we suck at beings rivals." you panted, "i think we should be lovers."

he captured your lips once more, "that sounds like a plan to me." he chuckled, "means i'll finally beat you on the grid."

you pulled him closer, your forehead against his. before you pulled him into a searing kiss, "good luck, stroll." then pulled away to get your pants around your ankle. your blouse was on your shoulders and soon your panties were around your ankle as well.

he admired the sight of you, his cock now in his hand. the washroom was a little cramped but still the space between you two felt too big. you kissed him on the lips as he pressed his cock against your slick pussy.

"i like it when you beat me." he admitted.

"oh yeah, why?"

"because it drives me to be better. one day i'll beat you though." he chuckled, "be the best driver there is." he slowly sank his cock into your cunt. he swore under his breath as he rocked against you. he started to really thrust his hips against you.

you took him to the root and felt the curl in your gut. years of tension finally came to a head and now were in such an intimate position. you said to him, "you could never beat me, lance."

he gripped your shoulders as he moved against you. he said, "one day. one day you'll see me on the podium." he chuckled, "i'll win for us, don't worry." his cock stretched you in a way that you felt the blood rush in your ears.

the entire thing felt painfully erotic.

"well, aren't you a sweetheart." you held onto him tightly and continued to make out with him. he rutted against you, you held onto him and panted heavily through your nose. when he pulled away, you braced yourself with your arms on the counter to give lance the ability to have a better angle.

"i'll be good to you, don't worry. i'll win for you" he panted, his hands on your hips and his eyes on your breasts. he could feel the heat in your body and how the cat got your tongue as he nudged against the back of your pussy, "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making."

you moaned a little louder before you forced yourself to keep it down. you said to him, "i said, good because maybe you'll actually win." you clung to him as he moved against you.

you felt the heat on your exposed back, the feeling of him so close to you was nice. you kissed him on the lips once more as he fucked you. you clawed at his clothed back as he fucked you.

you both felt the heat all over, the thrump of your chest as he buried his cock into you. it was so painfully hot, it left you feeling flushed. the feeling was painfully erotic. you felt a hot passion with lance as you kissed him once more.

you both panted through your noses as you thrusted up against one another. the pleasure was undeniable. you hoped that no one could hear you, but it was too late now. your body yearned for him.

there a bit of praise off of lance's lips when he said, "you're beautiful."

it was no surprise that you both came at the same time and kissed one another to keep quiet. your lips felt desperate against him. the kiss was

he pulled out and got his cock back in his slacks. you panted as you reached over to get your blouse off the counter. the heat was still in your cheeks as you put it back on.

his voice cut through the silence, "do you want to come to my hotel tonight? i'd love to have you on the bed rather than on a counter." he chuckled as he pushed his hair back out of his eyes.

you licked your lips, "i'd love to, stroll. now why don't you lead the way." then winked at him. your no-driver rule was broken, but what you got out of it was the love of your life. <3

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yns-world · 3 months

Text

Queen of Hearts

Title: Queen of Hearts

Pairing: Homelander x Supe!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical and mental anguish

A/N: dc/the boys au sort of. fem reader.

dare i say fatima is coming out of retirement??? we don't know....but we enjoy whatever fics we can LMAO

i just finished the first season of the boys and i absolutely love my man homelander 😩 my dms are fully open for any and all homelander requests--hcs, drabbles, stories, etc!!! lmk if y'all wanna see more of this supe!reader :) (please keep your requests spoiler free thank you)

as always, enjoy!

Queen of Hearts. America’s Heart. The healer for The Seven. One touch from her can soothe any pain and mend the fragments of the mind and body.

From a very young age, Y/N was dubbed to have “angel hands”, with the ability to mend her family’s aches with just a single touch. By the time she was in high school, she was mending to her friends and their stress-induced ailments. With one brush of their hair, she was able to relieve them of all the mental or emotional discomfort.

When the recruitments for the next member of The Seven were open, Y/N applied because she had thought that she could provide aid in the face of all the misery and destruction that is left behind in a superhero’s wake.

She got in, of course. But she also got more than she could chew.

Y/N’s original hero name was going to be “Angelica”, to pay homage to what her father would call her gift of “angel hands”. Vought had other plans.

“From now on, you are the reigning Queen of Hearts!” A contract broker exclaimed. Confusion painted Y/N’s face.

“I thought I was going to be Angelica?”

“Angelica is just another name, and you are not ‘just another person’. You are going to save millions, you are going to have an entire kingdom of dutiful followers that will worship you-- a benevolent monarch that bestows mercy on all those in her way. You will tend to those who suffer the greatest of pains: a heart shattered by grief.” Y/N didn’t know if she was speaking with a lawyer or a salesman from the sound of his spontaneous speech. From that day forward, her fate was sealed.

From the very first press conference of her debut, Y/N was merely a little girl of the past, and the Queen of Hearts had begun her infamous reign.

Signing posters with her face on it, performing interviews on talk shows, the Queen of Hearts was just getting warmed up for the real rally.

When it came to the devastating wars and protests that went on in the nation, the Queen was sent to inspect the scene. Of course, the Queen always outperformed. Visiting house to house, sitting down with not just the victims, but the neighbors of the victims. Getting to know each and every citizen that could even have heard about what travesty had gone down. And during these visits, the Queen would have a healing hand on the people while her voice poured honey into their ears.

It worked. Each and every time. Just like how Vought wanted.

What people don’t realize, what people refuse to discuss, is how her powers work.

Her powers neither heal nor destroy, they simply conduct the transfer of pain into her body. She feels everything they have felt, she swallows all the things that their body has been fighting off. And she carries these burdens with her.

Her career with The Seven was lucrative in the first few years. What the nation needed most was not just a hero, but a mother. The Queen of Hearts provided that.

Vought had trained her how to take on the burdens of thousands of people at once, but lacked in training her how to dispose of the weight she now carried.

When she was younger, Y/N would go into periods where she would shut herself off from the world. For weeks at a time, she would be paralyzed from the anguish, she could feel the poison slithering up and down her body like a parasite, and she would silently pray for death.

But the Queen can’t just take time off from her role. With nowhere else to turn, she drowns out her sorrows in the only alternative-- fight grief with the cause of grief.

“According to Insider information, it appears that the Queen of Hearts is allegedly dating notorious criminal and psychopath, Joker. When asked for a comment, the Queen replies with: ‘He’s a person, too.’”

Feeling too many feelings all the time, hearing so many shouts of terror and agony in her head, the only antidote she seeks for is the exact opposite-- a man that couldn’t care less for the public. A man that bestows this agony onto others.

If Y/N could never escape from this hellhole of a life, then maybe the Queen could have a taste of what it’s like to live a different life.

On his wild, maniacal hunts for money and killing, the Queen would be riding shotgun while the Joker took the wheel of his gold-decked lamborghini.

Vought was pissed when the news broke out, but there wasn’t much they could do but assign the Queen smaller missions out in the middle of nowhere to try and “separate” her from the Joker until the news died down. But the Queen was tired of listening and bowing her head. And she also learned of how much they needed her rather than her needing them.

Everytime the Joker would start a fiasco with dozens of victims, who would be the first at the scene? None other than his loving girlfriend, of course.

The public reaction might’ve been worse for wear in the beginning, but now that the Queen is doing damage control for her maniacal boyfriend, the public sees no problem with this relationship.

If anything, it has opened the minds of thousands, and created a path for heroes and villains of all kinds to band together. And of course, where there’s money to be made, the companies come swooping right behind them.

But there came a time when the Joker took it too far, when not even the mother of the nation could undo his wrongs.

On his insatiable conquest for hell on Earth, the Joker attacked a nuclear power plant in an attempt to dismantle a system that was already built on the blood of its people.

The Queen of Hearts was at the scene before first responders or the press, and what she saw alone left her writhing.

The shrieks of innocent civilians, pounds of flesh and skin melting off the bone, shaky hands reaching out from the ground for a savior.

The people needed a savior.

The people needed a god.

She could not be what they needed her to be.

She fought that instinct to flee for so long, she pushed back and stayed for years. She gave up skin into the game, she thought that she had killed off that child inside of her. But it was in this moment-- where everywhere she looked was another soul begging to be put out of their misery, where there were thousands of souls waiting to be added onto the tremendous weight she already carries-- was when all of that weight finally cracked.

Queen of Hearts looked up at the night sky, expecting to see stars but only to be met with clouds passing overhead.

Well, one star did strike through the suffocating fumes-- Homelander.

She met his face, her eyes were filled with despair and her face twisted in despair, and he gave her a reaffirming nod. He would take it from here.

Homelander watched as the Queen’s mask fell from her face and Y/N bolt into the night-- just before anyone noticed.

In the following weeks since the nuclear plant incident, Y/N holed up at the tower. Both the heroes and corporate knew it was better this way.

“Let sleeping dogs lie.” Stillwell said.

When she finally emerged from her self-induced banishment, the Queen was reborn.

Stillwell hosted a PR conference the size of which whenever she would debut another hero. And that she was.

“I introduce to the world a new era of superhero. Please welcome, Sultana!” Out from the curtains came the new and improved Y/N. Replacing her red and black garments from her Queen of Hearts days was a lavish gold and evergreen suit.

New suit, new hair, new smile.

This time, Y/N knew better.

This time, Sultana would stick to the script.

The script included her being with Homelander, and she was fine with that. During team-ups, during walks across the red carpet, during meetings with Congress, Sultana would be right by Homelander’s side with a smile and a pleasant wave. Just like Vought intended.

Just as Homelander wanted it to be.

Afterall, they weren’t superheroes, that’s foolish to think they are.

They just played a pretty part, and gave a bright smile.

DON'T BE A GHOST READER! let me know your thoughts and how you feel about this fic!!! i love talking to each and every one of y'all <333

lmk if y'all wanna see more of this supe!reader type of stuff...or if y'all wanna see this specific character :D

if you enjoyed this post, then please consider reblogging :) every little bit helps and i greatly appreciate it <3

i'm open to homelander requests as of right now, so feel free to drop your ideas!!!

as always, please check my pinned post for request rules and the fandoms i write for :)

#yns world #the boys #the boys x y/n #the boys x you #the boys x reader #the boys tv #the boys season 4 #homelander #homelander x y/n #homelander x you #homelander x reader #the boys fanfic #homelander fanfiction

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seokgyuu · 10 months

Text

part of the @svthub 70's collab

Lee Seokmin is a very successful and admired Detective in the NYPD. Up until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. But when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of New York City and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile Serial Killers, which contains none other than you - Seokmin’s High School Sweetheart.

Pairing: Detective!Seokmin x FBI Agent!Reader

Genre: Criminal Minds/Detective AU, exes to enemies to lovers, Serial Killer AU, angst, Smut (MDNI!)

Warnings: Serial Killer theme, description of violence, description of dead bodies, cult themes, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide, character death (none of the main characters); smut warnings: fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, usage of the word “baby”, begging, reader has female anatomy, unprotected sex, creampie

Wordcount: 15.8k

a/n: I finally made it!! after months and months of writer's block I finally finished this fic, and I am actually really happy with it. Please mind the warnings, as this goes into darker themes. I also want to note, that I am no expert in terms of criminal language especially during the 70s in the us. So, if you spot anything that isn't all that accurate, i apologize! I also want to thank @multi-kpop-fanfics, @bitchlessdino & @strawberryya for reading through this and telling me i, in fact, do not suck at writing lmao. ily guys!!

taglist: @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, @wongyuseokie

Lee Seokmin was a proud man. Proud of his grades in school and university. Proud of the man his parents had shaped him into. Proud of all the cases he had solved as a detective. With pride comes vulnerability, though. Especially in cases like these when he doesn’t have the right to be proud of himself. When he feels lost and helpless and his superiors look at him as if he had never solved a single case in his career.

He knows. He knows he isn’t giving them or the people of New York City anything to go by. All he can do is say he needs more time. Time that no one has.

“More people will die, Lee.”

Seokmin hates Jeffrey Stolper. Hates him like fire burns. There is nothing he can do about it. Balling his fist under the table, Seokmin slowly raises his head. There is a certain emotion in Stolper’s eyes, an emotion Seokmin was happy to say he hadn’t seen many times before. His older colleague was gloating. While they were working together, their boss put Seokmin in charge because of the very obvious numbers differentiating them. Seokmin solved cases. Stolper left them cold. Seokmin couldn’t count the amount of times he had helped Jeffrey from drowning in his own misery, and this was the thanks he got. The older man was gloating because, for the first time in practically ever, Seokmin was lost.

“Thanks, Stolper, couldn’t figure that one out myself,” he mumbled, letting his free hand roam over his sweaty face. Scoffing, the older male with the slowly graying hair leans back in his chair.

“Not the hot shot everyone says you are, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, this is not the time.” Seokmin’s voice is quiet but sharp, and Jeffrey laughs, his chest heaving as he seems to be vibrating with the horrendous sound of his arrogant laugh. It takes everything inside Seokmin not to get up from his chair and punch the hell out of the man.

“Lee, Stolper.”

Both of them get up when their superior walks in, a big man with a receding hairline, a stubble on his strong face, and an old suit on his large frame. Frederic Bream isn’t much of an empath, but he does a good job.

“Captain.” Seokmin and Stolper speak at the same time, watching as the captain nods and then waves his hand, telling them to sit back down. Once all of them are seated, he clears his throat.

“I know you hate to admit it, Lee, but we have no leads on this. No leads and a new victim.”

Seokmin’s heart falls down to his feet. Fuck. Another dead girl? Who will it be this time? He feels sweat starting to form at the top of his head.

“Another one?” Stolper is serious and reaches for the case file Bream put on the table. Seokmin feels as if someone had dumped him in ice water, unable to move, shivering. He hates the fact that Bream is right - there are no leads. So far they haven’t gathered anything from what this monster does except that he always does it the same way.

“Lauren White, 23. Student at Columbia,” Stolper reads, his face in a grimace, “she was found near Times Square, too. Fuck, Lee, I told you to put more patrols out!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if we put every man we have on the streets, this city is huge, Stolper. He could just start moving them somewhere else.”

Stolper doesn’t respond. Instead, he shoves the file over to Seokmin, who takes it with his jaw tensed.

“This is different from before, boys,” Bream clears his throat, “this is a high-profile murder. She is the daughter of the district judge.”

Seokmin looks up from the file.

“Why is this different from the other four victims? Because she has an important dad, suddenly the tables turn?”

Bream sighs, pulling a hand over his red face.

“It’s not fair, I know that, Lee. But this changes everything. The judge is furious. Was a real fucking asshole about it too, even for someone who just lost his daughter. He wants the slasher to be caught yesterday.”

“Oh, and we don’t? Captain, please, this is bullshit!” Seokmin scoffs, throwing the file back on the table and glaring at his superior, who looks straight back at him.

“I know. We all know Seokmin. It’s a bad situation. But, some might say, it did bring something good.”

“And what’s that?” Stolper speaks up, crossing his arms. Bream clicks his tongue.

“We got sent help. From the FBI.”

Silence is what follows. Seokmin feels the ice inside his veins melt and instead get replaced by fire. He knows Stolper feels the same. Everyone here feels the same. The fucking feds.

“They can’t take this from us. We’ve been on this for months,” Seokmin hisses, and Bream nods again, licking his dry lips.

“They won’t take it from us, Lee. They are only here to help. In fact, they aren’t… our usual feds.”

“What does that mean?” Seokmin raises his brows, leaning forward, hands on top of the table.

“They are a completely new department. Focused on the behavior of criminals, analyzing them, trying to figure out what is wrong with them.”

“They are killing people. That’s what's wrong with them!” Stolper shouts, and Bream holds up his hand.

“I understand that you’re upset. God knows I am, too. But there is nothing I can do. Go talk to them. They just arrived.”

The ice is back, and this time it hits Seokmin right in the face. They are here already? Waiting for them? Embarrassment flows through his veins, mixed with an emotion he has never felt before regarding his job: failure. His legs are shaking as he gets up, but he tries to play it off, his body tensing when Bream leads them to the door and opens it.

The hallway to the main hall suddenly feels longer than it is. The walls are closing in on Seokmin, the gray concrete threatening to suffocate him as he walks over the horrendous blue tiles he never understood were placed in the first place. Nothing really seems to be matching in this precinct. Most especially Seokmin and the federal agents waiting for them downstairs. He doesn’t know how his legs lead him to the glass front that shows the inside of the busy station downstairs. Everything is the same gray color. Everything is the same horrible blue. The only difference is the people standing in the right corner of the room all gathered around the whiteboard Seokmin has so carefully put together these past few months.

His hands are sweating. This isn’t fair. This is his case. They aren’t supposed to be here and take credit for what he has done so far. What exactly have you done, Lee Seokmin? The voice in his head reminds him, and he balls his hands into fists as Bream opens the door leading to the stairs that will finally bring him to the federal agents he knows he’ll hate already.

The atmosphere in the room is tense. More tense than usual because everyone in it is unhappy with the current situation. As if it isn't hard enough that there is a killer on the loose, now there are FBI agents trying to take this away from the NYPD? This is his town, Seokmin’s town! No one knows it as well as him. He knows every corner, every store. Every good place to eat, every bar to avoid. The people know him; they trust him with this, and now he is just supposed to accept that he can’t continue what he started?

He doesn’t know how, but somehow, he does end up right behind all the agents and one of the other detectives, Jeanne, and doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he is bitter. His arms are crossed as he listens to Jeanne explaining what is on the board. She had been a part of this - just like all the other detectives had been whenever they could. It’s not like crime suddenly stopped in New York City just because a serial killer was roaming around. If anything, it just got worse.

“That’s about all we’ve gathered. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we got.” Jeanne closes her explanation, and Seokmin watches the backs of the agent's head nodding. Bream then clears his throat, making the others aware that they have joined and once the team of strangers turns around, Seokmin thinks someone has yet again taken a bucket of ice and dumped it all over his head. Because why on earth are you here?

You see him the second he sees you. It’s almost funny how your professionalism slowly slips out of your control, how seeing him makes memories flood your brain and almost drowns you. Why is he here? He, who had left you with a sour taste seven years prior to this moment? Why is he standing there in a well-fitted suit, looking the best he ever had in a precinct that shouldn’t have anything pretty inside it?

“Detectives, may I introduce you to agents Son, Song, Kim, Seok and Y/L/N. They were sent here by the FBI to help us with the investigations.” Jeanne smiles, but Seokmin knows it’s not an honest smile. You see it, too. When you had gotten the memo to go to New York City and help with the slasher murders, you had already known the detectives wouldn’t be too happy to see you and your team.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m the team leader, Hyunwoo Son.” You hear your boss speak, and you want to look at him, but your eyes are back to being glued to Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. The one who had taken everything from you when you were nineteen.

“You too. I’m Detective Stolper. This is Detective Lee.” Bream doesn’t sound sincere. For once, Seokmin is relieved his older colleague likes to speak over him. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to say a word.

Catching a serial killer is one thing. Catching him with someone you share an uncomfortable history with, another. You are sitting as far from Seokmin as you possibly can. With as many people between you as there are.

Hyunwoo is standing at the front with Matthew, explaining what your team has gathered as of now. The rest of the precinct is listening to the presentation, and you just know they are all biting their tongues. No one wants you here. All of them think you’re a fraud. While you understand where they are coming from, you also think it’s time for them to accept the newly found ways to analyze the behavior of killers like the case at hand: the Manhattan Slasher. The air is thick with sweat, and you are sure 70% of it is yours.

“We want to make clear that the work your precinct and especially you, Detective Lee, have done so far is incredibly helpful. We don’t want to discredit what you’ve done and we also don’t want to make you feel as if you’re getting kicked off the case. We aren’t your usual federal agents, Detectives, we are here to be of support to you. You still go outside and look at the crime scenes. You still get to do your work. We are here to assist, to see things we have been trained to see, things you cannot see, not for lack of smarts but lack of training.”

You had always admired Hyunwoo. How he spoke so clearly and calmly, how he never failed to make a person feel seen. You can feel the atmosphere shift. Some of the police officers visibly relaxing in their seats. You still don’t dare to look at Seokmin.

“Now, to what we have gathered. Dr. Matthew Seok will lead you through it.”

Seokmin wonders how old Matthew Seok is. He can’t be any older than 23. How on earth is he already a part of one of the newest FBI departments? And gets to be in charge of the presentation? And how does he already have a god damn PhD?

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Matthew Seok. With the help of the information you’ve gathered, we were able to come up with a profile for our unsub.”

Seokmin feels a scoff in his throat but manages to hold it back. A profile? What is he talking about?

“We are positive the unsub is a white man in his early to late 30s. He most probably grew up with an abusive mother, which explains why he only picks women as his victims. He doesn’t care about their race or social standing, which tells us he doesn’t hate one specific type of woman, but all of them. The age range of his victims is from early to mid twenties, meaning his mother had him young and gave him up around that time.”

You should be used to it by now. The reaction from the precincts. But it bothers you just as much as it usually does. The way they look at each other, the way they are already fed up with you being here. Your eyes wander over to the rest of your team, who you know are just as fed up as you, but they are better at hiding their emotions. Yuqi just stands there with her gum in her mouth, her arms crossed, and hoping she’ll get to go on the field soon. While she is an excellent profiler, she did train to become a field agent. It was pure coincidence that Hyunwoo had overheard her talking about this one case even Matthew had been struggling with. Jungwoo is the quietest one of your team, especially in situations like this. He just stands there, hands folded in front of his frame, eyeing the situation calmly. The team leader himself stands next to Matt still, his arms crossed as well and his gaze wandering over the crowd of people. A traitorous part of you envies him for being able to look at Seokmin without any repercussions.

“How the fuck do you know that?” A voice now erupts from the sea of people. You turn around to see the man who had walked in with Seokmin. Stolper, you think his name was. A frown appears on your face.

“It’s not our job to explain profiling to you,” you say coldly and the older man’s eyes find you - just like Seokmin’s do. You decide to ignore them and turn back to face Matthew.

“Uhm. Yes, well, we do ask you to look into certain… well, behaviors. People like our unsub aren’t exactly the most masculine. He is probably very thin and might even have a disability - perhaps a prosthetic leg or something that makes him feel inferior. Look into churches, veteran centers, see if you find anyone that could match the profile and-,”

“You mean to tell me that the killer could be a vet?” Bream now interrupts, his eyebrows raised. Seokmin presses his lips together. If his colleagues hadn’t been wary of your bunch before, they sure as hell are now. War Heroes? Their precious American patriots that fought for their country and won a war? How could you even dare to speak ill of them?

“No. He most probably didn’t serve. He tells people he did and that that’s the reason he has said disability,” Matthew continues calmly and you smile slightly. It was a reach, your reach, but so far all your reaches had been a shot to the bullseye.

Then there was a sudden thud somewhere behind you, followed by hurried footsteps and news none of you could pretend didn’t make you sick to your stomachs.

This feels wrong. It’s broad daylight, there are people everywhere. You stand next to Matthew, your hands buried in your pockets, and listen to the statement of the girl that had called the police.

“She was just next to me and then.. and then suddenly she wasn’t. I- I was confused and looked around and then I saw this- this man and how he dragged her by the arm into his car. No one did anything, no one- no one helped her and I- I didn’t-,” her voice breaks off and another set of tears well up in her eyes. Seokmin nods understandingly.

“Miss, you have nothing to blame yourself for. It is a busy street and you and your friend were not glued by the hip, alright? We will do our best to find her and you shouldn’t worry about what you could have done differently. You called us right away and that's the best thing you could’ve done.”

Tears are rolling down her face, sobs are erupting from her tiny body, and you wonder if Seokmin would ask her out if it wasn’t for the circumstances. The second the thought hits your brain, you freeze. What the hell? Why on earth would your mind go there? In a situation like this? You shake your head to yourself and look around - the police have put tape around the area where Kelly has gotten abducted. Her friend, Jean is being questioned, along with the few other people who claim to have seen something. But other than the witnesses, there isn’t much to go on about. The car he had dragged Kelly into had been an old one and Jean couldn’t exactly tell what kind. She also hadn’t been able to make out the license plate. So, all in all, it was all more or less useless information.

“Detective Lee, I will need you to go to the morgue with Dr. Seok and Y/N,” Hyunwoo is suddenly there, right next to Seokmin and you hear his voice and feel your stomach tighten. The professionalism has to stay in its place, you know that. There is no room for you to fall back into old patterns; that one silly thought you had earlier was enough. You can’t let it get any further.

But the tension is there and it's suffocating. You’re in the backseat of Seokmin’s car and Matthew is talking the man’s ear off with information you have heard millions of times before. Thankfully your friend and colleague doesn’t feel what you feel, what Seokmin feels, and for a short second you ask yourself how he even became the youngest member of your team - only for you to remember you have never met a mind as brilliant as his, with the exception of human interaction. He isn’t too good at those.

The morgue is just like any other you’ve been in. This one still feels different, though. Probably because of the young girls you know shouldn’t be dead laying on top of the examination tables with nothing but a thin blanket over their pale, lifeless bodies. You should be used to this by now, you think. But you doubt you ever will be.

Matthew is standing next to one of the women, the fourth victim, Fernanda Franco, with this look on his face you’ve seen many times before. You’re standing opposite him, your arms crossed and your eyes shifting over the body, wondering how much pain these women had been in.

“He did a thorough job with the cut,” the coroner says now; he is standing on the side of the room, holding a file, “my guess is he is good with a knife, maybe working with animals.”

“Right,” Matthew mumbles, a frown on his face as he leans forward, eyeing the victim from top to bottom. It’s somewhat fascinating how good he is at spotting things others haven’t seen before. Perhaps it had made you jealous a while back, but fortunately, that is over. Instead of being jealous, you appreciate his work and his abilities.

Seokmin, meanwhile, is also looking through files. Mostly from the crime scenes. How the women looked before the coroner took care of them. The fact that they are all still here, and not yet down under, no funeral held at this point, makes his stomach turn. He knows it’s wrong. But as long as they haven’t found the killer, as long as there might be more evidence on the bodies… Seokmin suppresses a sigh. He wants to give the families the chance to find closure so badly. If only by giving them the opportunity to put their daughters, sisters, grandchildren to rest.

The pictures are still hard to look at. The blood everywhere. The stained clothes. The signs of clear torture. Nothing sexual, at least. But then again, perhaps the killer doesn’t need to sexually assault them to feel arousal. That’s what Matthew said earlier. Seokmin closes the file and pulls a hand through his hair, his hat safely stored on one of the cabinets.

“Dr. Richmond,” Matthew’s voice makes Seokmin look over to where you are standing.

“Dr. Seok?” Richmond walks over to Matthew who is standing bent over the body, his hand holding… the victim’s ear. Immediately, you and Seokmin step closer, both of your eyes glued to the women’s earlobe. Something inside your stomach turns, goosebumps suddenly all over your skin and you feel your breath getting stuck in your throat.

“Why wasn’t this in the files?” Matthew now continues to ask, his eyes not leaving what he found. Dr. Richmond feels his face go pale and sweat starts to form on the palms of his hands. Blood is rushing through his ears and there is nothing he can say, nothing he can try to come up with because the bitter truth is-

“He didn’t know it was there,” Seokmin finishes the thought and Richmond swallows hard, hands wiping away at his lab coat. The detective is right.

“Do all of them have this?” You ask now, finally able to move away from Fernanda and move over to Jennifer Cartwright, who looks way too peaceful for what had happened to her. But then, you are happy she does. A part of you hopes she is feeling peace wherever she may be. When you reach for her earlobe, you already know it will be there. You take a deep breath.

“I’m- I don’t understand. I never… nothing like this ever happened, I-,” Richmond’s voice echoes through the room, but none of you pay him mind. The small crosses, carved into the soft tissue of the women’s earlobes, take all of your attention.

There were only a handful of people in the meeting room. Your team and Seokmin and his superior officer. It bothered you, kind of. More people had to know.

“These crosses, they have been used before,” Matthew is pacing through the room and Hyunwoo is right there at the front of it, his arms crossed and his thumbnail between his teeth. He is thinking, listening.

“This was in the late fifties, early sixties. A cult, they all followed this one man, Jonathan Brixley. He claimed to have somewhat superpowers, and while most didn’t actually believe him, he was such a good preacher, they followed him anyways. They weren’t known for being violent up until they seemed to vanish. Many thought they might have done a suicide pact, but no bodies were ever found. But what we do know is that whenever one of their own died, they would carve a little cross into their earlobe. Almost unnoticeable. Almost like a birthmark - it’s not even that surprising Dr. Richmond didn’t catch on.”

“He didn’t catch on that all of the girls have the same strange birthmark?” Seokmin frowns. You roll your eyes.

“We are all aware that this isn’t the ideal situation, Detective, but perhaps being bitter about it doesn’t make it better.”

It’s the first time you and Seokmin have directly talked. Or more like, the first time you had openly acknowledged each other's presence.

“With all due respect, Agent, I don’t care. I want to be bitter, I am allowed to be bitter. If we had known this weeks ago, we might have cracked the case by now!”

“I highly doubt that, Detective. With all due respect,” Matthew chimes in and the (unpleasant) moment between Seokmin and you is over.

“And why is that?” Seokmin’s superior officer asks.

“Well, as I said, the cult vanished. Finding out where the last remaining members are is almost an impossible task. If there even are any - I doubt they’d wanna be found. For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.”

The atmosphere gets even more uneasy. If that’s even possible at this point. Seokmin scoffs and looks away, his hands in fists. You should know how to de-escalate but your head comes up empty. It’s almost as if there is an invisible barrier that forbids you from actually trying to be reasonable with Seokmin.

Just when Hyunwoo seems like he wants to say something, the door opens. One of the police officers, a woman with red hair you don’t know the name of, comes in.

“We have a situation,” she says and her eyes are full of something even you, a profiler, isn’t so sure what the meaning of is. It looks like fear, confusion, but also something like hope. Immediately, everyone gets up and follows her outside, where you spot the board with all the pictures of the victims on it… and a red thread connecting one of them to a new face.

“That’s the girl I talked to earlier.” Seokmin breathes and he looks over at Ruth, who nods.

“Yes, Detective. Jean told us that she knows one of the girls - Rebecca Twain. They used to go to the same church, same goes for her friend, Kelly, that she called in as abducted.”

Your eyes widen at that and you look over at Matt, who has his hand over his mouth, his face in a frown. A church. That fits the idea of the cult. All of you who were in the room earlier know that. This is good, this is an actual clue, one that might even lead to something after all!

“What church?” Bream now asks the police officer named Ruth.

“She wasn’t too sure. Said they haven’t been there in ages. She knew Rebecca when they were children and Kelly came to join them a few years later. But they haven’t gone to the church in at least 12 years. She said she would call us with more information, but so far she hasn’t.”

It doesn’t take a genius to understand why she hasn’t called the station yet. You sink down, leaning against one of the desks now, a hand rubbing over your face. This was bad. Seriously bad. Whenever a cult was involved in anything, it could only be so much worse than anticipated. Of course, her parents wouldn’t let her talk about it. Who would ever want to talk about something like this? Being part of a cult, if now or in the past - with everything happening these past years.

“We need to speak to her parents. Now.” Hyunwoo is already out the door, probably heading to his car and you look over at the rest of your team, who all seem more or less as lost as you. It turns out to be Seokmin who follows your team leader first and once you see his figure speed past you, you also begin to move.

The ride is quiet. Hyunwoo’s hands are white around the steering wheel. You sit next to him in the front, Seokmin in the back. All of this feels surreal to you and you are sure it’s not that different for Seokmin. Serial Killers were a constant part of both of your lives, but you - you haven’t been for a good amount of years. It’s like a bad taste in your mouth, as if somehow the food you would always cook perfectly suddenly went bad, had a foul ingredient in it, was cooked for too long. You’re not sure what it is, but it doesn’t sit right with you.

Seokmin, in the back seat, feels about the same as you. He is used to gruesome murders, to killers who don’t care about anything but themselves, but he isn’t used to having you around in all of this. Someone from his old life that he doesn’t associate with any of this. Never in a million years would he have predicted you becoming a federal agent. When you dated back in high school, you had always talked about wanting to go into politics, fighting for women’s rights, feminism, all that jazz. You had even applied to all the IVYs, wanting to study political science. So, how did you end up here?

“We will have to be careful.” Hyunwoo now breaks the silence and makes Seokmin and you look at him.

“The parents won’t be too happy to share their story, I can imagine. No one likes to admit they were in a cult, not after Manson.”

You nod and Seokmin scoffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

“One would think people wouldn’t even join any cults after Manson,” he says and Hyunwoo laughs bitterly, nodding slightly as he takes the next right at the intersection.

“Right. Sadly, it isn’t as easy as that.”

You look at Seokmin through the rearview mirror, watch how his jaw is tightened and how his arms are crossed, how his suit jacket is discarded next to him on the backseat. You wonder how long he has been part of this lifestyle, how long he’s been a cop. You hadn’t heard from him in years, not even when your friends offered to do some digging for you. It wasn’t because you weren’t interested. More so because you felt like you would get too invested. Looking away again, you straighten out your shoulders. This isn’t the time to think about the past, there are way more important things to focus your energy on.

Five minutes later, Hyunwoo finally parks the car in front of the house of the Roger’s and the three of you get out to walk over to the front door where Hyunwoo rings the doorbell twice. It only takes about twenty seconds before the door opens and a slim woman with bright red hair and red lips stands in front of you, an apron around her waist and a mitten in her hand.

“Yes?” She looks at you with blinking eyes and the three of you take out your respective badges. The woman’s eyes widen.

It is safe to say that getting information out of Jean’s parents is almost impossible. They are a middle class family with middle class friends, he works in real estate and she does her best to keep the house and children under control. They don’t want to talk about their past at the church, or more like, they try to deny it ever was a part of their lives. Talking to them comes close to talking to a wall, if the wall felt guilt and shame and was worried about its reputation. Only when you mention Jean for the third time, reassuring her parents that they aren’t in trouble and that no one was going to find out, that the only mission you had was to find the missing girl and find out who had killed the other innocent women - they budge.

Mr. Rogers gets up, a certain shake in his knees, and walks over to one of the dark hardwood dressers standing on the right side of the spacious living room, where he opens a drawer and takes out what looks like a little notebook. You, Hyunwoo and Seokmin look at him attentively.

“We haven’t talked to anyone from that church in years. Or well, we hadn’t. Up until a few weeks ago. You see, there used to be this… this farm. It was for retreats, we would go there every other month. Sing and pray, meet new people from other parts of the country,” he begins to explain as he walks back, reluctantly handing the notebook to you. Taking it with a small thank you, you look at the page he had opened it to and see a number and a name.

“This is the name and telephone number of the couple that bought the farm years ago. We- we haven’t been going to the retreats since 1961, but a couple weeks ago an old acquaintance from the church called us. Kathryn Anderson, she was pretty close to Pastor Brix-,” he stops himself mid sentence, “to, uh, to Mr. Brixley. She wanted to know if we knew who bought the farm.” “And what did you tell her?” Seokmin asks now.

“He told her no. That we were never interested in knowing,” Mrs. Rogers now answers the question for her husband, “you see, when we left the church it was mostly because of Jean. We figured after a while that perhaps this church wasn’t what we wanted for our daughter. So, we left. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. A couple months later, the whole thing fell apart anyway. Kathryn wasn’t around for that because she had been arrested about six months before we left the church. Got a good couple of years behind bars for attempted murder, the woman. When she got out, she couldn’t reach anyone - after all, the church didn’t exist anymore. Jonathan had perished, no one knows where he ended up and she was unsure what to do. So, she finally got a hold of us and wanted to know everything about the farm. But again, we told her we didn’t know who bought the farm. We just told her it was over and that she needed to find a different safety net.”

You look over at Hyunwoo, wondering if he thinks the same thing you do.

“But you obviously do know who owns the farm now.” He says calmly. The housewife swallows, then nods.

“We do. Paul actually sold the farm to them.”

How convenient, you think. Hyunwoo smiles and Seokmin clicks his tongue.

“I see. Well, thank you for the name and number, but now it would be great if you could also let us know the address.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, your arms crossed in front of your chest. Hyunwoo is sitting at his makeshift office desk, rubbing his temples.

“What exactly do you not understand, Y/N?”

“Why we need to go to the farm. Or no, why he and I need to go.”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Matthew confirmed it, the cult used this farm back in the day. There could be a lead there. And you and Detective Lee are going because you’re my best agent and he’s their best detective. I also feel like you two need some bonding time. Honestly, I’ve got no clue what your issue is with him, but you’ll need to get your act together. This is a serious case and I can’t have you dislike the main detective.”

Dislike. That’s one word to describe it. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“So, you will drive to the farm with him and talk to the couple as well as check out the surroundings. See if you find anything that could be helpful to the case, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hyunwoo nods, satisfied. He then waves his hand, telling you to get out and do your job. You suppress a sigh and instead walk out and almost into your newly assigned partner - Seokmin. He looks about as happy about the situation as you feel, but neither of you says a word while you walk out of the precinct and to the car that would take you the 100 mile drive to Schnecksville, Pennsylvania.

“You drive.” Seokmin’s voice rips you out of your thoughts and you thankfully react quick enough and catch the keys he throws at you. Rolling your eyes, you walk over to the other side and open the car, sitting down in the driver’s seat. The second your door is closed and Seokmin’s door is closed, his presence almost drowns you.

“I was always better at reading maps than you,” he mumbles next to you and you feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach turn and you decide to ignore him and instead start the car.

Seokmin presses his lips together, the map on his lap and his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears. Bream really thinks he did something. Putting Seokmin in a car with you for the next two hours. Apparently, your little bit of tension did not remain unnoticed and now this was his punishment. But what was he supposed to do? Tell Bream that you were his ex-girlfriend from high school who he had left seven years ago with nothing better than a pathetic letter goodbye. It hadn’t been his finest moment, but god, he was nineteen. Back then, he had enlisted in the army after high school, something he was bound to do anyways, and being cowardly as he was, he just hadn’t felt like telling you in person. Then, when he had been discharged, he had signed up for the academy and here he is now. He knows he should say something, apologize for the way he left you. But his pride and the shame don’t let his lips move, don’t let the words come out. And so he just looks at the map and waits to give you instructions. That’s what he can do. That’s how he can cope with being next to you.

The drive is long and quiet and you turn on the radio at one point, listening to quiet music almost soothing. The highway is wide and the city is behind you and you wonder how long you’ll have to be in this car before your head starts to actually fume from all the thoughts running around.

When you see the sign for Schnecksville, you almost sigh in relief. Seokmin tells you which exit you have to take and you follow his instructions, wondering how you actually got through this drive without any actual communication besides his directions.

Schnecksville is filled with nothing and a gas station. You also pass a motel and a convenience store on your way to the farm that is a few miles away from the city center. Once you finally arrive, you can’t get out of the car quick enough, shoving the keys into your jacket when the car is locked. The farm is bigger than you had anticipated and Seokmin, who has discarded his jacket and hat on the backseat, looks just as surprised as you.

“Guess we have some ground to cover. Come on.” He takes the lead and you follow him, even though a part of you feels the need to run ahead. You don’t. You’re not a child.

The woman who opens the door is in her early sixties with graying hair and a cat in her arms.

When you and Seokmin introduce yourselves and show your badges, she gasps slightly.

“Oh, you know, my sweet peach always runs out when I open the door, she is sick, can’t really find her way back when she gets out. Come on in, agent, detective.”

Her name is Mabelle Travis and her husband is Keith Travis, but he isn’t at home right now. He is getting some groceries for them.

“How kind of your husband to help you with that,” you say as you sit down on the couch in the pastel colored living room. Mabelle nods, letting the cat back down.

“Oh, he is the one with the driver’s license, dear. I can only go grocery shopping if he comes with me. Or our son is in town.”

You nod and look over at Seokmin, who is looking at some of the family pictures on the dressers by the door.

“Your son doesn’t live with you, ma’am?” He asks and Mabelle shakes her head as she sits down on one of the horrifically green armchairs.

“No, Detective. He used to, you know, live with us. But that was before we bought the farm. My husband always dreamt of having a farm. When he retired, he thought it might just be the time.” She laughs and looks from Seokmin to you.

“But, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we were wondering if you’d be alright with us looking around the farm? We don’t know if you know, but the farm used to belong to a church before you bought it.”

“Ah, yes. We did know. I think that’s why we got it cheap. What exactly are you looking for, agent?”

“We’re not sure. But we think the church might have some connections to a case we are currently working on.”

Mabelle nods, her face in a frown.

“Oh my. Well, you’re in luck then. We bought the farm years ago, but only recently moved in. So, most of the barns are still untouched. Only this house has been through some construction,” the cat jumps up on her lap and Mabelle smiles down at it, her hand carefully caressing its fur.

“That’s good news, Mrs. Travis. We’ll go take a look then.” Seokmin nods his head towards the back door and you smile at Mabelle before getting up and following Seokmin outside. There are three barns in total - one is large and two are on the smaller side, leaving the two of you with enough ground to work with for the next few hours. You exchange looks and decide to check out the smaller space first, a barn that is completely bare except for a wooden table at the far right that holds a few blueprints. Seokmin checks them out, his eyes scanning them for anything out of the ordinary. You, meanwhile, begin to knock at the wall, listening for hollow spaces, but also come back with nothing. The barn seems as normal as a barn could be.

The second one is a little trickier. It’s not empty, instead it’s filled with boxes that, after checking as good as each and every one, all seem to be empty. You check your wrist for the time, wiping your forehead with the back of the other hand. You’ve really been at it for the last two hours.

“I think we should move on to the last barn. I doubt the rest will hold anything of worth. Come on.” Seokmin is next to you all of a sudden and you flinch, looking away from your watch and at the man, who has sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes are set on your face and you wonder if you look just as exhausted as he does. Clearing your throat, you nod and turn away from him, walking out of the barn and to the next one.

Seokmin sighs, following you outside and grabbing your arm once he catches up with you.

“Y/N, I am just as delighted about doing this with you as you are with me, believe me. But perhaps we should at least try to do our job.”

His words sting more than they should have and you are well aware of that. Funny to think that such wounds would have healed after seven years. You shake off his hand and turn around to face him.

“Oh, is that right, Seokmin? You’re just as delighted as I am?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “As far as I can remember, Detective, you left me with nothing more but a joke of a letter.”

Seokmin bites down on his tongue. You are right. Maybe it wasn’t right of him to compare the two of you.

“I know that. I know I hurt you. And I should have apologized for that years ago. I was young and-,”

“Let me guess? Stupid? That is in fact correct, Seokmin. But I don’t care about an apology, at least not anymore. I just want to get this over with, not have chit-chat with you about the past which neither of us can change anymore. So, will you go to the third barn with me so we can finally leave this stupid town?”

Seokmin watches you walk away, his heart heavier in his chest than before. He really should have reached out sooner. Pulling a hand through his hair, the detective suppresses another sigh and finally follows you to the third and last barn for you to check.

The Travises invite you for dinner and Seokmin and you are both too polite to decline. Thankfully Mabelle is incredibly talkative, loves telling you all the tales about their son, Henry, and how they used to live in the city but then moved to a smaller town. She is excited about her husband’s birthday coming up soon and Henry coming over to visit, and basically her favorite topic to discuss is him. You try your best to resist the urge to look over at Seokmin next to you, to see if he is as amused about this as you are. He is not your ally, not your friend. You shouldn’t be looking for his gaze, shouldn’t be curious of his thoughts.

“Does your son visit you often?” Seokmin now asks after taking a sip from his glass filled with tap water.

“Not as much as we’d like.” Mrs. Travis sighs and pats her husband’s hand.

“He is busy with working in the city, not always available.” Mr. Travis now explains and Seokmin and you nod. That makes sense. You try to remember the last time you had time to visit your own parents. You couldn’t even really remember.

“If there is something we want to check again, would it be alright if we came back?” Seokmin asks when you finally stand at the front door, saying your goodbyes. The Travises nod, allowing you to come back whenever. After waving at them you walk back to the car, Seokmin now getting into the driver’s seat. As you sit down on the passenger seat the atmosphere quickly becomes tense now that you’re alone again. The second your doors are closed, a familiar sound is heard.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

Rain. It’s starting to rain. What starts with a few drops on the windshield turns into a full on piss of rain that has the both of you staring at the scene for a few seconds. When a second later you hear thunder so close it almost shakes the car, Seokmin reluctantly starts the engine.

There is no way in hell you can drive home in this weather. As much as the both of you hate it, you’ll have to stop somewhere and wait out the storm. Seokmin suggests the motel you had seen on your way here and you nod, knowing there wasn’t much else you could say or do. Having to stay somewhere with Seokmin, somewhere you couldn’t just flee from, seems like the number one worst scenario you could find yourself in. You look at him from the passenger seat, trying to my sly about it but of course he notices your eyes on his face.

“Believe me, I would rather not do this either, Y/N. But I’d rather be safe than drive on the highway in this weather.”

You don’t answer him. Mainly because you would have to tell him he is right and that’s most definitely not going to happen.

“What do you mean by that?” Seokmin looks at the bored looking woman in her fifties. She sighs and shoves the one room key towards him again.

“I mean, Sir, that there is only one room left. We are fully booked. Have you seen the rain?”

It’s very obvious a rhetorical question but Seokmin is about to go on a rant to tell the woman that, of course, he has seen the rain but how on earth does this justify there only being one room in a god damn motel miles away from any big city?

“We’ll take the room,” you quickly interject, handing the lady your credit card that she looks at with a straight face.

“Honey, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think we take those things?” You feel your cheeks heat up, retreating the card again.

“That’s 16.50$ for the night,” she continues and you hand her a twenty that she takes without a word, shoving the change over the wooden surface, “have a pleasant stay.” She shoves down the small plastic window and you and Seokmin exchange a quick look before making your way to the room you will now have to share.

There is only one bed. You stare at it and so does Seokmin. Because - of course there is. How could you have not asked the woman at the counter? But then again even if you had… there wasn’t much you could have done about it. Maybe a saw, you think, just saw it in half. The two of you stay silent for a good minute, before Seokmin finally sighs, pulling a hand over his face.

“Looks like we can’t do much about this. Just… it’s just one night, alright? We can do this.”

You don’t really understand why he would say that. Why he would speak for you, when you both know it isn’t okay and you most definitely can’t do this. You take a deep breath, throwing your bag onto the very dirty looking armchair next to the door.

“Whatever,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you make your way into the bathroom, if only to get away from Seokmin for a short while. His presence is stressing you out more than you thought it would. Perhaps that had been foolish of you - thinking this wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to ever happen. But at the same time, it’s not like Hyunwoo had given you much of a choice. He had straight up told you to get your act together and yet… You sigh, the door closed next to you. The bathroom isn’t even half as bad as you had feared. It’s small and the shower could need a scrub (or three), but other than that it’s decent. The toilet looks clean and the mirror hanging over the sink shows you your exhausted face. Dark circles under your eyes that you touch with your cold finger tips. You remember how you looked back in High School. How much you smiled, how happy you were almost every single day. And all because of him. He, who promised you the world only to rip it away when you needed stability the most. It wasn’t fair. Him being here, him playing such a big role in something so important to you. Finding this killer that took lives like it was nothing. Seokmin is here with you and he sure as hell isn’t going anywhere else. The effect he has on you is annoying, to say the least. You don’t want to feel this way, feel insecure and small and like you need to prove yourself to him. He isn’t worth your energy, your thoughts. Not him as a person at least. Him as a Detective is a different story. Another deep breath followed by some water that you splash into your face, is what finally makes you step out again and face your ex-boyfriend that has taken a seat on the bed, the case file spread next to him.

He is handsome. High cheekbones, perfectly shaped eyebrows. His hair is styled back, but slowly the front strands are falling into his face. His face is in a small frown as he looks at the documents, as he tries to make sense where you all fail to find any. Your heart betrays you by skipping a beat, by suddenly sending a wave of sadness over you. He never told you why he left. He just did.

“Anything making more sense now?” You ask cautiously, walking over to him with slow steps. Seokmin looks up slightly before shaking his head.

“Not really,” he mumbles, “it doesn’t make sense. None of this. Why is he curving the crosses into their ears? Why is he choosing these girls specifically?” You sit down on the other side of the bed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Well, Matthew told you our theory. Abusive mother, hatred towards women.”

“But why- why would he just go after any woman if his mother was a certain type?” Seokmin looks up at you and you feel a sting in your chest. You shrug.

“You’re right to question this theory. It’s not perfect and it will take a few years until we can really say that we have a high percentage of accurate profiles. So far we’ve been good, very good. But not as good as we can be. This unsub is unique because he doesn’t have a type - it almost seems random. Like he goes out on the street and sees a girl and just takes her,” you lick over your lips, letting your eyes wander to the window, the storm on full display, “he is violent, but he also kills them quickly. No signs of sexual abuse. It’s odd and not like anything we’ve seen before.”

Seokmin listens to you speak and allows himself to actually listen. The whole profiling thing - it most certainly hasn’t been something he trusted so far. But now, hearing your words, seeing the look on your face - he almost feels ashamed of his earlier suspicion.

“It’s just-,” he begins, his hand pulling through his hair, “it’s confusing. Why would he not go for people who look like his mother? Why is he not taking revenge on her over and over again?”

You feel your thoughts stumble over that sentence for a good thirty seconds. Seokmin is right - why wouldn’t he take revenge on his mother over and over again? Why would he kill women that look nothing like her? Without really noticing, you get up, your feet carrying you over to the window, staring at the rain outside, hoping it would give you the clue you so desperately need right now.

“You agree, don’t you? That it is odd!” Seokmin gets up too, only to turn around and look at the files again, his arms crossed, eyes scanning all the pictures and clues the team has gathered so far.

“Yes, it definitely is odd,” you mumble, heart racing in your chest.

“Okay. We’ll go over this again. There has to be something we’re missing. A connection between them, a club they all go to. Anything, just… fuck, it feels as if there is clue right there, hidden in plain sight and we are missing it because it’s too damn obvious!”

Hidden in plain sight. You blink against your reflection in the window. Hidden in plain sight. Matthew had said the same thing back at the precinct.

For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.

You swirl around, eyes wide and Seokmin looks at you with a confused expression.

“What?”

“The barn,” you breathe, eyes flickering to the table, where the car keys lay right where Seokmin left them, “we need to go back.”

Seokmin tries to stop you, the storm still howling outside, but you’re not letting him. This is too important, too obvious. You want to kick yourself for not realizing it earlier. For seeing something that was right there, but not actually seeing it.

You run to the car, soaked from head to toe when you sit down on the driver’s seat. The door to the passenger seat opens and Seokmin plops down, just as drenched as you are.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, will you tell me what the fuck is happening right now?”

Instead of answering, you start the engine, the wipers doing their best to clear your view.

“Y/N!” Seokmin repeats loudly and you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“It has to be in there! In the barn. All those god damn empty boxes. One of them has to have something in it, something they don’t want us to find. Fucking hell, we could have had the whole team here by now, Seokmin! If only we hadn’t been lazy!”

“Wait, hold on. So you think the Travises have something to do with this?” Seokmin asks and you shrug.

“Honestly? I don’t think they do. But it’s still their property now. And most of these boxes are theirs. I’m sure we’ll find something there. We just have to look at every single box.”

You’re almost in a haze, Seokmin thinks. Your eyes have completely changed and the way you drive this car would have been scary if only you weren’t so damn impressive. You have been impressive the whole day, Seokmin thinks. He would never say it out loud (not to you at least) but this job seems to fit you like a glove. Never did it cross his mind back in High School that you’d end up in the same field as him. He gulps down the nostalgia and instead looks out the window, wondering if the rain will stop anytime soon.

It hasn’t been long since the two of you left the Travises and yet, when you arrive, the house is dark. Checking your watch you see it's already after 9pm.

“They said we can come back whenever.” You say more to yourself than Seokmin, but the latter still nods, cursing under his breath when he steps out of the car and into the horrible weather. You run alongside him, passing the house and first barn, setting foot in the one you had a hunch about with both of you drenched from head to toe. Ignoring the cold creeping up, you begin examining the boxes once again. There is nothing extraordinary about them. They are the usual cardboard boxes one uses for moves, all over the country. It’s nothing you haven’t seen thousand of times before and-

“Y/N, look at this.” Seokmin’s voice fills the silence that has only been accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder before. Looking over at him, you see that he is holding up two different boxes upside down. There is a green dot on both of them. Your eyes widen. Quickly, you check your own box - but nothing. There is no dot. Confusion mixed with frustration begins to rise within you and you throw the box to the side, pulling clam hands through wet hair.

“There has to be a system,” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to calm yourself down. Seokmin hears your words and looks around the room, trying to make sense of how the boxes are lined up. They all look the same. They were all stacked the same when you came in earlier today. There isn’t anything about them that makes one different from the other - except for the dots he had discovered. His brain is working at full speed, his eyes roaming from one side of the room to the other. Only when he looks down, does he see something.

“Y/N, look,” he puts the two boxes he held up to the side and crouches down, your figure standing over him a second later. There were clear lines painted on the floor. He looks up at you and you feel your eyes beginning to shake, as you move as quickly as possible, shoving more boxes to the side and focusing on the floor. And yes, only a few moments later you find yet another line, one that contains boxes with more dots - orange ones. But it doesn’t stop there. Seokmin finds another line and boxes that, once again, don’t have a dot. He wants to pull his hair out, but once you begin looking at the boxes with him, your gaze full of determination, he calms down. Together, the two of you turn over every single box until, after what feels like hours, you let out a gasp. The box you’re holding now doesn’t only have a red dot on it - it also contains something. Seokmin is next to you right when you pull out the small key that makes both of you almost jump in glee. Your hunch had been right. Now all you had to do was find where the key belonged. Your eyes met and without words, Seokmin went to the left side of the room and you to the right one, both of your hearts beating at rapid speed at this point. Neither of you wants to or will leave this place until you find whatever door is hidden behind the wooden planks decorating the walls. Your hands flew over them, knocking to hear a hollow sound, anything that would indicate there being a hidden space. Nervous sweat was now mixing with the rain on your face, the earlier cold all forgotten thanks to the adrenaline you were feeling.

“I got something!” Seokmin suddenly yells after a few minutes and you immediately turn and run over to him, seeing him break the wall free of the plank. Just that there is no wall. It is a thin wooden door with a small lock that looks like it was made for the key safely stored inside the pocket of your jeans. Without any hesitation, you move forward, key back in your hand after pulling it out, and reuniting it with its lock - the door clicking open a second later. Seokmin and you look at each other again before you push the door with your hand, it easily swings open for you and Seokmin to see a narrow hallway led down by an old looking staircase. There is a string hanging down from the ceiling which Seokmin pulls on, lighting up the hallway for you to see more clearly.

“Well, let’s go,” you say and Seokmin nods, both of you with one hand on your gun belts as you walk down the stairs, all the way down to a door that, thankfully, isn’t locked. Pushing this one open as well, you are met by another hallway, longer this time, with three doors leading to different rooms on each side. You feel adrenaline rush through you as you begin walking, Seokmin right behind you. The first two doors lead to empty storage rooms, you taking the ones on the left, Seokmin on the right. Your hands feel clammy and your senses are all heightened as you continue to the next door, opening it at once and checking the insides carefully, gun in your hand. No one is in there - but it’s also not empty.

“Seokmin!” You call out and the man is beside you right then, eyes scanning the room. It’s an office, or at least it appears to be. Right on the wall across from you hangs a portrait of a beautiful landscape and only barely hides a very obvious closet of some sorts. You shove your gun back into your belt and walk straight up to it, while Seokmin goes to examine the desk standing at the left side of the room. He pulls out a pair of gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls them over his fingers before he begins to open each and every drawer.

“There isn’t much dust around here,” you suddenly say and Seokmin looks over at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone comes here regularly. Cleans it of dust, keeps the floors clean.” You look around for a moment, then your focus is back on the painting hanging over the closet. Your hands are also wrapped up in a pair of gloves and you move slowly as you grab the edges of the frame to heave it off the wall. It occurs to you that the last time someone was here, they hadn’t succeeded in putting the painting back into its usual spot. You can tell because it comes off the wall without any problems, having been crooked from the beginning on. Now, you lean it against the wall next to you, before your hands open the closet.

“Is something in there?” Seokmin walks over to you now, nothing interesting inside the desk.

Once he comes to a halt next to you, he feels himself gasp. There is a whole shelf with files that seem to be alphabetically organized. Your heart beat speeds up once more as you grab a random file (Br-Bu) and open it.

“That-,” Seokmin’s eyes widen. As you continue staring at the page, he moves to pull out more of the files. He brings them over to the desk and opens them one by one, until he finds all the names he has been looking for.

“Broshard, Cartwright, Franco, Rogers, Twain and White.”

Seokmin and you are staring at the files. It was all of the girls’ parents. They had all been part of this cult before. It made sense, of course it did. And yet, having it here, black on white, was still a shock. This meant their connection had been right there, so easy to grab, and none of the parents had thought about sharing this with the police. You lean against the desk, hands pulling through your damp hair. Seokmin’s hands are propped on his hips, his eyes reading over the names over and over again.

“We have confirmation now,” he states, “we need to call the precinct.” He looks over at you and you nod, your hands still resting in your hair. Worry rushes through Seokmin and he finds himself standing in front of you a second later, his hands around your wrists to bring your hands back down softly.

“We will get him,” he says then, eyes boring into yours, “we will get him and he will be punished, Y/N, I promise you.”

It’s unprofessional, he knows it and so do you. You don’t ever promise to catch a killer.

“Why didn’t the parents tell you?” Your voice is quiet and Seokmin sighs, shrugging. His hands are still holding you.

“I don’t know. Shame, fear? Whoever is doing this is a cold blooded murder, Y/N, they were probably scared he’d take even more from them.”

“More than a child?” You look up at him, letting the feelings that you’ve been holding back finally crack through.

“I guess so? We will find all of this out tomorrow, we just need to get back to the motel and call the precinct.”

He says the words but doesn’t move. Neither do you. You both stay right where you are, your eyes locked on each other. The air around you shifts, the exhaustion mixes with something you only have faint memories of.

“You are incredible, do you know that?” Seokmin whispers finally, “the way your brain works - it’s incredible. Admirable.”

His body heat engulfs you, makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. You swallow down your doubts and instead let your heart do the talking.

“You’re just as incredible, Seokmin. All the work you’ve done in this case already… if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Seokmin feels himself holding his breath as his one hand moves from your wrist to your fingers, interlocking them with his own while the other moves up, cupping your cheek, thumb caressing the side of your chin. He feels your skin, the softness he remembers better than he wants to admit.

Neither of you is sure who does it. Who dares to close the distance. But you’re kissing, his lips warm and familiar on yours. Your arms move by themselves, wrapping around Seokmin’s neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue licking over your bottom lip slowly, asking for entrance that you give him without any hesitation. He kisses better than he did back in high school and his hands are more experienced, moving down and up to grab your hips and hoist you on top of the desk, standing in between your legs now. You grab his face, your tongue licking against his, feeling the stress and discomfort of the day leave you with every touch of his skin. The kiss grows more and more desperate, both of you panting against each other and only after a good five minutes do you part, his hands in your hair and yours on his nape.

“We should get out of here,” he mumbles against your lips then and you nod, letting him help you down the desk.

This time the drive isn’t awkward. It’s filled with something else, something you haven’t felt in so long. Not just regarding Seokmin - but in general. Your work is your everything and you and your team travel around the country more than you don’t. Wanting someone, feeling wanted by someone, this hasn’t happened to you in a while. Your gaze keeps wandering to the driving Seokmin, to the man that had once hurt you so much and now was the only thing you could concentrate on.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that I will park this car on the side of the road and not give a fuck about anyone seeing what I want to do to you, Y/N.”

His deep voice made your insides turn deliciously, the heat between your legs rising as you licked over your dry lips, eyes shaking as you nodded, averting your gaze from Seokmin’s intoxicating frame. As much as the idea excited you it also seemed like a stupid idea considering the motel really wasn’t that far away.

It doesn’t take half as long as it usually would with Seokmin speeding down the road, finally parking the car in the parking lot, getting out of the car and opening the door for you, his hand around yours in no time as he leads you to the door, both of you drenched again when you step inside. But even with all the tension between you two, Seokmin walks over to the telephone on the wall, passing a young man who just seemed to have left his room to go outside. You present him with a nod when he smiles at you, quick to look at Seokmin again who is now dialing the number of the precinct.

When he explains what you found, he speaks quietly and rushed, you by his side the whole time, holding his fingers between yours. The tension doesn’t subside, it only gets shoved to the side as Seokmin talks to his superior, who was still at the station at this time, waiting for your call. Your head feels dizzy, the situation bizarre but also somewhat addictive. The second Seokmin hangs up, knowing his colleagues will leave for Schnecksville as soon as the storm gets better, he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to your room with hurried steps.

The door falls shut behind the two of you and your body is pressed against it, Seokmin’s one hand skillfully wrapped around both of your wrists, pinning them over your head as he dips down to kiss you, his thigh pressing between yours. A moan escapes you, your hands wiggling under Seokmin’s grasp. He kisses you with the same desperation as before, his free hand underneath your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin.

Nothing is inside your head except the need for him. You don’t want to feel anything but his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue feels against yours - hot and wet and perfect. He moves his arm around you again, picks you up as if you weigh nothing, carrying you over to the bed where he drops you, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. There is no light in the room beside the one coming from outside, making him look angelic. His carefully styled hair is falling into his face now, his lips red from your kisses. His pupils are blown out and the look in his eyes runs shivers down your spine. You watch as he gets rid of his jacket and belt, following his movement as you sit up a little bit, skillfully opening the belt with your gun and leaving it on the floor next to the bed, feeling the mattress move the next second as Seokmin lowers himself onto the bed. Your hands find his nape once more just as he presses his lips against yours again, hands roaming from your hips to your stomach and under your shirt, gripping your breasts one by one and moaning into your mouth when his thumb feels the stiff nipple underneath your bra.

His tongue licks against yours again, your back arching against him as he moves to kiss down your neck, biting and licking and kissing all the same. When he hears your sounds, he feels himself growing harder, his composure almost breaking as he takes off your shirt with your help, shoving the cups of your bra to the side to dip down and suck your nipple into his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist as you push him closer to you, teeth sinking into you bottom lip. It feels like electricity between you, the way he touches you sends shocks through your body in the best way possible.

“God, I can’t believe I have you under me again, fuck,” Seokmin breathes against your neck now, his breath tickling you. “Been thinking about you so much, you know? About how much more I know now… how I can make you cum, baby, eat your sweet pussy and have you scream my name.”

His words send another wave of shivers down your body and you nod, wishing for nothing more than for your and his clothing to land on the floor.

“Seokmin… just want you to fuck me, please, need you so so bad.”

He groans, cock twitching and he finally moves to open his pants. It’s all hurried and a little bit frantic, the way you pull on his shirt next and the way your bra basically gets ripped off your frame by him. It drives you crazy, how he kisses you, pushing you further up the bed, your head hitting the pillow as he devours your lips and tongue, his hand squeezing your tits over and over, his stiff cock right there between your legs, still caged in by his briefs.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He breathes out, his fingers now moving downwards, ending up over your clothed pussy, making you squirm.

“Fuck, so bad, Seokmin. Please.”

He sucks on the skin underneath your ear and lets his fingers shove your panty to the side, sliding through your wet folds and moaning against you. You’re so wet, wet and ready for him.

“I wonder if you still taste the same, baby,” he mumbles, continuing to let his fingers glide through your lips, letting one of them sink into you. Your pussy practically sucks him in, eager to feel him inside. Seokmin kisses you again and your nails are dragging along his back as your hips move against Seokmin’s digit inside of you.

“M-more, want more of you,” you cry out when you come up for air and Seokmin nods, letting a second finger slide in too, fully finger fucking you now as he smothers your neck with more kisses, preceding to suck marks onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, your whimpers becoming more and more frenzied. You need his cock and you need it now. So, you let your hand wander down, grabbing around the wrist of his hand that is currently fucking you.

“Want your cock, Seok… fuck me with your cock.” His eyes meet yours, gaze almost crazy as he curses under his breath, nodding before pulling his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean - making you whimper in the process. He licks his lips after.

“Still so tasty, baby… all for me.”

He kisses you one more time, deep and emotional and dizzying, before finally ridding himself of his briefs and you of your panties, hand pumping his length a few times. You watch and swallow, remembering how he had felt back then. He had been your first. And now he was going to claim back what he had made his so many years ago.

When he sinks into you, both of you cry out in pleasure, his arms on the mattress next to your head and his lips kissing your cheek, chin and lips. You are still hugging him close, fingers pressing into his nape and back. His first thrust is deep and slow and your eyes roll back, a long moan escaping your kiss-bruised lips. He can’t keep going slow, he knows that. As hard as he tries - he knows he won’t be able to control himself. Which leads to his thrusts becoming faster, to his moans becoming louder and your pussy clenching around him more often. It’s hot and wet and quick, it’s making you feel like you’re in a dream, his teeth sinking into your flesh, your cries spurring him on. Your legs are around his hips, his cock hitting you right where you need it to with every thrust and when you feel his hand sneaking in between you, thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing it in perfect circles, you know you won’t last long.

“You feel so good, baby, take my cock so fucking well.” He moves, on his knees in front of you now, your legs over his shoulders the next second. The new angle makes you see stars, especially with his thumb still on your clit.

“F-fuck, Seok! I’m so close.” Your cry makes him smirk, his movements becoming less and less controlled, as he is chasing both of your releases. You give up on keeping your eyes open, enjoying the way he feels, the way he hits you right where it feels so incredibly good. Your body is on fire, everything feels more intense and if you had the capacity in your brain you’d probably worry about exploding.

And you do - you explode only a few seconds later, your orgasm hitting you hard, leaving you to cry out his name, nails back in his skin, leaving clear marks that he will be proud of later.

“That’s right, baby, look at you, so pretty coming on my cock, fuck,” Seokmin feels you pulsate around him, feels how your pussy clenches over and over, milking him for all he has and there isn’t anything he can do but reach his own high, cum shooting out his cock and into your spent core. He collapses on top of you, your legs falling off his shoulders, spasming at the intensity of your climax. His breath is right there in your ear and you finally open your eyes again, fingers moving to stroke through his hair. You stay like this for a while, just catching your breath, feeling him so close after so long. Only when he slips out of you, laying down next to you, his lips pressing a kiss to your cheek, do you regain some senses. Smiling at him, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

When you come back out, Seokmin is asleep. Chuckling, you pick up his shirt from the floor and slip it over your head before laying back down, cuddling into his side and letting yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

For Seokmin it’s not a dreamless sleep, though. It hasn’t even been two hours he’s been asleep when he wakes up, cold sweat covering his body. He looks down and sees you peacefully sleeping right beside him, one of your hands on his bare stomach, the other under your own cheek. In any other case he would have loved to look at you for as long as he could, but this isn’t like any other case.

The man, he thinks, the man we saw yesterday. Seokmin gets up, careful not to wake you up, grabbing his underwear from the floor, just like his pants. You’re in his shirt so he has no other choice but to leave the room with his chest still bare. His feet carry him out the room and to the small entrance space, right to the phone where he dials Bream’s number again. The second someone picks up, Seokmin begins talking.

“It’s the son, Sir, the Travises son - he’s the unsub.”

The area in front of the farm hasn’t been this busy in years. There are cop cars everywhere, a S.W.A.T team is about to arrive. Seokmin has his hands pushed into his pockets as he talks to his superior officer. You are standing further away next to Matthew and Yuqi, listening to Hyunwoo’s orders.

Seokmin had recognised the son, Henry, from the pictures at the house. You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“Don’t linger on those feelings, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says, “it had been a long day.”

Yes, a long day that ended with you being too horny to do your job properly. You don’t tell him that of course. Instead, you press your lips together and just nod.

Henry is inside the barn now, the barn you and Seokmin found the secret door in last night. His parents and the missing girl, Kelly, are with him. It’s a classic hostage situation and yet even your team is at a loss of words. It all doesn’t make sense right now. Why is Henry doing this? You let your gaze flicker over to the barn, wondering what he is doing to them right now.

The head of the S.W.A.T team is walking over to Hyunwoo now. They apparently arrived just now

“We are ready for your orders, Sir,” he says, shaking Hyunwoo’s hand. Your boss nods.

“Alright, thank you. I’ll let you know when you can go in.” The man leaves again after that and you look at Hyunwoo, unsure.

“We need him alive, don’t we?”

“In theory, yes. But it’s not always easy, you know that. Whatever is going on inside of him, we will only find out if we get him out, but we need to look at the bigger picture. We need to figure out what his deal is.”

Just then, Jungwoo arrives at the scene, carrying a white box.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, putting the box on top of the police car next to you. Seokmin is suddenly next to you, his arm brushing against yours and making you shiver. You ignore the effect once again.

“Henry Crawl, 36, was adopted by the Travises when he was 9 years old. It says here that his mother committed suicide and the Travises took him in - Mrs. Travis being is paternal aunt. She felt responsible for him, considering the father left right after his birth and his mother died.”

“So, they aren’t his biological parents. They didn’t mention that.” Seokmin frowns.

“Which means that there is a chance his mother was part of this cult. Is there an autopsy report for his mum?” You take step closer to the box and Jungwoo nods, handing you the document. Scanning it, your eyes widen as suddenly the reason for all of this is starting to make sense.

“There were signs of abuse - of years of abuse. Scars, bruises, internal damages.” You shake your head, “he isn’t killing women because he hates them. He kills them because he is avenging his mother.”

“She was part of the cult, probably around the same time as the parents of the girls. They probably knew about the abuse and he somehow figured it out.” Matthew chews on his bottom lip as he shoves his glasses up his nose.

“We need to talk to him. Need him to let the girl go as well as his parents.” Hyunwoo looks over at the truck where all the special units are gathered. He excuses himself and goes over to them. The atmosphere shifts, there are nervous droplets of sweat running down your face. The storm might have stopped, but it’s still slightly drizzling down on you. Seokmin’s hand finds the small of your back. You flinch, your head turning to look at him wide eyed.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re going to get them out of there,” his voice is soothing you, as much as you hate to admit it. You swallow down whatever you’re thinking and shake his hand off, before walking over to Hyunwoo and the special forces, leaving Seokmin behind.

“I want to talk to him.” Your voice breaks through the conversation Hyunwoo is having with the captain. Both of them look at you, eyebrows raised.

“Y/N-,” Hyunwoo starts, but you interrupt him.

“You know it has to be me. I am roughly the same age as his mother was back then. I am a woman. I know what is going on inside his head. Please, Sir, let me do this.”

If there had been more time, maybe they would have argued with you. But there isn’t any time. And so, they nod. As much as it makes you nervous, you also know that you’re right. You’re confident that you can do this, that you have the ability to save this girl and Henry’s parents. Taking a deep breath, you look over at Seokmin, who’s eyes speak more than a thousand words. He knows why you walked over there and he knows that you are the only one for the job. The smile on his lips reassures you more than you want to admit.

Not even five minutes later you have a walkie-talkie in your hand. The other one landed in the barn roughly a minute ago. Now, you’re waiting for Henry to respond after your first attempt at contact. The rain is still falling softly, the sun nowhere to be seen in the sky. It’s early, you’re not sure how early, but you estimate it to be sometime after 6 am.

“I won’t let them go!” The voice coming from the device in your hand brings you back to the here and now, blood rushing in your ears.

“Henry, hello, it’s good to hear your voice,” you say softly, looking over at one of the windows of the barn, wondering if he is watching you.

“I don’t- I won’t let them go,” he repeats and you lick your dried out lips.

“Okay, Henry. I hear what you’re saying, alright? You don’t want to let them go. Could you tell me why?”

“They need to pay for their sins!” It’s not hard to make out that he’s enraged, crying, but still hurt and confused.

“What are their sins, Henry? Can you tell me?” You look over your shoulder at the rest of your team, Hyunwoo nodding at you and you nod back.

“You- you really want to know?” The shift in his voice tells you that your question had been exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, Henry. I want to know, I want to understand.”

There is silence on the other line for just a few moments. You remain calm and don’t ask again. It’s important you give him space, important for the hostages as well as to earn his trust.

“They- they knew about my mum. My adoptive parents. I heard them say it. They knew why the police came to visit. It was because of her, because of mum. She was tortured by them, by the whole cult! And everyone who knew about it and didn’t do anything needs to be punished.” His voice is shaking as he speaks and you wonder if the hostages are in the room with him or if he has them hidden underneath the barn in one of the rooms you found last night.

“You’re doing this for your mum, Henry? You’re avenging her life?”

“Yes!”

“I understand. You did well, Henry. You hurt them the way they hurt you. They should have never taken your mother from you, Henry, that was wrong of them,” the words leaving your mouth aren’t what you’re actually thinking, but they will do the trick. Henry will trust you, he will listen to what you have to say.

“I- I did this for her. I wanted her to know I never gave up on her. B-but-,” he stops and you hear a sob, sure now that he is indeed crying.

“But? You can talk to me Henry, I am here for you.” You bite your lip, hoping you’re not pressing the matter too far.

“B-but…,” Henry starts again, “but he- he betrayed me. He told me- he told me they were the only one’s at fault. He told me he wanted to avenge her too…”

He? You once again turn to your team, all of their faces in frowns.

“Who is “he”, Henry?”

No answer. Henry isn’t responding. You feel a slight panic arise inside of you.

“Henry, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me, okay? Just- tell me about you, about your mum. You must miss her dearly, right?”

“My mum deserved better than what she got. She shouldn’t have killed herself, she should have fought through it! But she couldn’t. She was so scared of what they had done to her, what he had done to her! I wanted them all to suffer, wanted them all to know what it feels like losing someone they love. And I did that, I did that to him too!” He gets louder with every word.

“Henry, you’re frustrations are valid. But, please, it is enough. You’ve showed them, you’ve hurt them. Enough people have died, Henry. Let your parents and Kelly go and you will be free.”

Henry is silent for a short while again.

“If he doesn’t respond, we’ll go in,” the S.W.A.T team’s leader is now saying to Hynwoo and latter holds up his hand, as if to signal to give it more time.

“Henry? Can you do that for me?” You ask again. Everyone is growing more and more uneasy, the more time passes. Your hands are sweaty and you feel like the rain isn’t the reason for why your clothes are damp again. Just when Hyunwoo is about to take his hand down, to let the special unit do their job - the doors of the barn open and Kelly runs out, the Travises right behind her. They all seem completely out of it but there are clear signs of relief on their faces. Seokmin and Stolper run towards them, helping them when they see, that Mr. Travis is limping and both women are spurting wounds on their face. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before pressing the button to talk again.

“Henry? Henry, are you there?”

“My parents always loved me. They raised me when mum died. But they knew, you know. They knew! Which means, they need to suffer, too.”

Your heart skips a beat when you throw the walkie-talkie to the side and run towards the barn, your team right behind you. You don’t think you’ve ever run as fast as you do right now. The air is tight around you and its rough to breathe.

Henry is right there at the back of the barn, holding a gun to his head. You scream and Hyunwoo shoots forward to tackle him down - but it’s too late. The shot is heard but your eyes are closed, your knees growing weak but you stay standing. Henry is dead even before he hits the floor and there is nothing you can do.

The hostages are free, so it counts as a win. The Manhattan Slasher is finally caught. He lays there, dead on the ground. He is getting carried away now, by two coroners who present you with a nod as you wait for Matthew and Jungwoo to come back upstairs. You hadn’t felt like you could go downstairs and see whatever Henry had left for you to find.

You're sitting outside now, seeing Seokmin approach you, with a file in his hands. You look up at him, blinking against the rain. When he stands in front of you, it’s almost like the sun showed its face after all. He isn’t smiling, though. He just radiates this energy that immediately gets your spirits up.

“The judge,” he says, handing you the file, “it’s all in here. He was the one controlling Henry. Told him all those parents were the reason his mum suffered. And while it’s not all a lie - the judge himself was the actual perpetrator.”

With a slightly shaking hand, you reach for the file and open it, reading through what is evidence of Seokmin’s words. Now, this was something neither you nor your team has predicted. You swallow down a set of tears.

“He used Henry. But for what?”

“My guess is as good as yours, but, if I may try myself at your job: They probably got fed up with his shit. Told him they would rat him out to the police if he didn’t turn himself in for abusing that woman. He began killing their children as a way to keep them quiet. My guess is, that he has been keeping them quiet ever since Henry’s mum committed suicide and they all only recently began to wonder if maybe this was wrong.”

Seokmin’s words reach your brain and they make sense as much as they don’t. You’ve been working this job long enough to know that there will never be something as full closure. People act irrationally all the time, do things no one understands. There is nothing you can do about it but wait it out, wait for the injustice to die down within you. In the end there is no point to try and understand people like this. Not that these parents deserved to have their daughters get killed.

You thank Seokmin with a small nod and he sits down next to you. Next there will be the arrest of the judge. Then the parents will be questioned, and will get a punishment of their own because they didn’t stop the murders when they had the chance. You know they couldn’t because they were scared, but the law is clear.

You feel Seokmin’s hand capturing yours and you look over at him. The business around the farm isn’t done yet. Boxes get carried and there is more forensic personnel than you’ve seen in a while, probably taking apart the basement you and Seokmin had found. It should be relief you’re feeling but right now you’re just tired.

So, when Seokmin pulls you against him, arm around your waist, you don’t even try to stop yourself from laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

header by @wongyuseokie.

#svthub #svthub.collab #lee seokmin fanfiction #dokyeom fanfiction #seokmin fanfiction #seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #dk x reader #dk fanfiction #svt x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen smut #svt smut #dk smut #dokyeom smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #ksmutsociety

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jazzyblusnowflake · 6 months

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OKAY SO

since yall wanted me to talk more about this Demon!Uzi and Hunter/Exorcist!N,V,J au I'm just gonna write down my ideas here just to get them out of my head-

thanks to @purrple-bat for helping with some of the ideas :D

some details may be nsfw cuz i mentioned it previously so that's your content warning🔞

also there may be plot holes and its not fully complete or whatever im just trying to get this out of my head 😭 main ship is NUziV // ViolentBitingBiscuits

the Au is an urban setting- not a forest and fantasy dnd kinda thing-

Tessa is the leader of several groups of teams that are demon hunters and exorcists.

J, V and N are in the same team and those are their codenames.

Uzi is a halfie, with Khan as the human parent and Nori as the demon parent. they are referred to as "Changelings" too.

Uzi cannot be exorcised from her demon side or she will become a mindless unresponsive zombie. methods have still not been found on how to exorcise these demons and disabling their powers without killing them, mostly due to the lack of anyone caring.

Demons feed on different things related to humans, mostly their emotions, with a heavy preference on fear, pain, anguish and etc

some more bolder demons will kill or drink blood of humans but even in the demons society that's a taboo and if any leads are traced back to you being a demon, you will be eliminated by your own kind before the humans can get to you.

Uzi was caught by accident, fully blended in as a human.

She's cheeky and likes making humans miserable and playing around with them, but she's not really one of the threatening ones, she doesn't want to or care about hurting them.

Doll is a full demon and is kinda like a sister figure to Uzi [but not really cuz sometimes they f-], always advising her to get away from humans and she might end up getting hurt or some shit.

Nori has multiple lovers, she feeds off the love and lust but she considers it a just a treat, she's actually one of the most powerful demons around and absolutely loves feeding off of nightmares, trauma, horror and dread. she does have a soft spot for khan tho as her only human lover. khan is generally just dumb for loving a demon as his wife. smh

Nori is a high ranked demon meaning she could share her energy with other demons if any of them would want to pass as normal humans and just live in society. also could send out demons to capture or punish one of their own for breaking rules.

Uzi starts out weak but upon capture, bluffs a lot about how powerful she is and that she likes to play around with them.

They keep Uzi to get information out of her about other demons.

On attempts at getting away she does end up getting closer to N.

Uzi likes feeding on misery and angst but the genuineness of Ns affections made her thirsty for more.

She ends up also getting closer to V from bantering and sometimes talking about stuff and etc and sometimes sparring and fights when she attempts to escape. N saves V at one point before Uzi did some real damage. V grew to actually respect her more after that.

Uzi was let go after a while since they checked and she wasn't really at a power level to threat anyone [much to Uzi's resentment that she could be powerful if she wanted to >:( ]

Hunters and exorcists have magical seals hacked into their bodies for protection. their arms have these symbols that can be used as weapons that appear in translucent shapes like claws and shields and swords. 5 pair of vertical eyes appear above their heads and a glowing X marks their face when they are using their powers- marking that the demon cannot get into their heads. their eyes glow gold once using their powers despite the original color of their eyes.

the same kind of powers and seals appear on demons but they don't hack it into their bodies, they gain it with ranks. demons have human forms and demon forms, changelings are just weaker from the beginning. unless they are possessed...

V and N start giving Uzi "treats" whenever she helps them out in catching more dangerous demons. this ranges from kisses, bites, their blood toooooo more intimate stuff :3 at first this starts out as an idea to get her to talk but after a while V couldn't help but to feel affection towards this pint sized little gremlin.

Uzi gets overwhelmed when she is showered with affection by being in the middle of V and N, she is touch and affection starved and she gets easily addicted to it, wanting to claim the two as her own.

V and N putting seals on Uzi that makes her enjoy their touches and intimacy more but edging her and keeping her from releasing until she gives them the info they need. Uzi probably would tell them the info anyway- she just likes to see how far she could handle the two before she breaks into a begging, pleading mess.

Uzi purrs and does everything in her power to keep anyone from finding out...

Drinking demon blood makes Hunters gain more power, and drinking human blood makes demons feel pleasure and ecstasy as well as gaining more power, especially if the human is a hunter/magic user.

Uzis wings are sensitive and she likes to clean them with a wet cloth. N and V like to help her with this. and her tail mouth too lol.

The demons have a hellish demon sect that even they all fear... i think you can guess who the head of it is...

Aaaaand i think thats all for now idk. bye- //exploads

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rinniessance · 10 months

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BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE ༊*·˚ - leon kennedy x fem!reader x satoru gojo

leon kennedy has been announced mia after 24 hours of no contact. high brass doesn't care that you only came back from a mission a day prior, injured no less. when you're dispatched to spain, the last thing you expect is to get a special kind of rescue mission.

this is my entry for @rinhaler's gaming collab - MASTERLIST 🎮

꒰ warnings: nsfw - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ resident evil au. kind of following the plot of resident evil 4. aphrodysiac sex, unprotected sex, pet names (it's my staple <3), oral sex (f receiving), slight dacraphyllia, squirting, two dicks in one hole, cream pie. forgive me if i forgot any tags ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ // word count: 5.8k ꒱ ꒰ notes: we love pure self-indulgence in this house .ᐟ.ᐟ tagging @mymegumi and @lilacliliess because they support my delusions about fucking two blue eyed men:3 ꒱

it’s been uneasy 24 hours in the D.O.S headquarters – ever since leon kennedy stopped responding to any attempts at communication, he’s been announced MIA this morning. given the sensitive mission of retrieving president’s daughter, the urgency to dispatch someone for another rescue is being pushed by the high brass, sending everyone on a search to find an agent capable enough of handling the job. as it turns out, out of dozens of people working in this forsaken organization, you’re the only one qualified.

“are you shitting me, hunnigan? i just came back from the mission last night. did you not see the stabbing wound?” for dramatic effect, you raise your t-shirt, showing freshly bandaged area where the deep cut resides. coming into the work this morning, the most stressful part of your day was expected to be the tons of paperwork you would’ve had to go through – yet as soon as you stepped into your office, you were greeted by leon’s handler, bearing the news from your superiors.

“sorry, you know it’s not up to me. whatever the president says goes.”

“are there literally no one else in this entire building who can be ordered to go instead?”

slumping over your desk, you put your head on top of your folded arms – it takes everything in you not to scream. your own mission was already problematic enough: bioweapon developers have become exceptional in making new B.O.Ws deadlier and deadlier, and knowing leon’s resume, there is a very high chance he was sent to deal with the worst of it.

“you’re one of the few partners kennedy has had while working for D.O.S. you know how he operates; it makes sense they are sending you.”

you know there is no point in arguing – if it’s been decided by the president, you have no choice but to go. it doesn’t mean, however, you can’t be irritated by the whole situation.

“do i at least get paid overtime?” you sign with exasperation, sulking deeper into your chair, hearing hunnigan let out a breathy chuckle.

“maybe if you bring golden boy’s ass back in one piece.”

“great. can i at least go home and make sure i didn’t leave the kettle on or something.”

“you’re not getting out of it, agent,” she says with a smile, and you can only groan. leon will be paying for all your meals for the next 6 months. “the helicopter is already waiting, actually, so you better gear your ass up and head to the helipad.”

“more amazing news.”

hunnigan only pats you on the shoulder – nothing she can say will make this situation suck any less – and leaves the room, letting you wallow in your misery.

“can you just fucking die already?” you yell in pure annoyance, trying to shoot the same person for the third time (you aren’t sure you can call these things human anymore). when the creature finally goes down, hopefully once and for all this time, the view in front of you is grotesque: hideous tentacle sprang out of the poor man’s head when you shot him between the eyes; it keeps moving, taunting you to waste more of your ammo. still holding onto your gun, you cautiously approach the body, slightly poking it with your boot – it doesn’t stir anymore. a sigh of relief escapes your lungs.

“just what the fuck is going on here,” you quietly mumble to yourself, looting any useful items nearby.

you arrived in spain this morning. surprisingly, leon made it easy enough to retrace his steps – he stopped by the local law enforcement which in turned let you know two of their men also went missing after they escorted kennedy to the area of interest. no one volunteered to come with you once you acquired the location of the small village somewhere north of here – apparently people have been going missing in the mountains for a while now – which was fine by you. everything you needed was the car you could use, and you were on your merry way.

in your 5 year long career as a government agent, the kind working in anti-bioweapon divisions, you’ve seen a multitude of… monsters, for lack of a better word. nothing could’ve prepared you for what you’ve witnessed when you arrived at your destination though: villagers turned into something sinister, creatures with no will of their own. you noticed it right away: their bulging veins pulsing with black viscous liquid, eyes shadowed with madness. what a surprise it was that when you finally started shooting them (hey, they started it), mandible-like limbs, shape closer to tentacles, with eyes growing out of them, erupted from their dead bodies, as if a swarm of crazy cultists wasn’t already enough.

you quickly glance at the still convulsing body on the ground, parasitic tendrils clinging onto their last living seconds; just looking at it makes you want to vomit. the smell of puss, heavy in the air, doesn’t help your desire to empty the insides of your stomach. you do not know what causes them to mutate, and you make a note to avoid any unknown substances – you also log a mental check not to get bitten by one of them (just in case).

after escaping a village, getting access to this stupid castle trying to find stupid stupid leon kennedy (you’re sure that what s. in leon s. kennedy stands for), you overheard some of the cultists talking about two prisoners on the basement level. leon and ashley? the goal now is to figure out how to get to the basement (and why does it always have to be the basement).

with careful precision, you finish analyzing the room you found yourself in – it’s a storage space of some kind, and nothing about it is particularly helpful to you. letting out a deep sigh, you sit down to re-collect your thoughts. wandering around this castle with no purpose will only stall you further – and time is something you do not have luxury of wasting.

just as you were about to get up from the chair, you knee bumps into something underneath the table. bingo. you quickly try to search for a keyhole or a puzzle piece to fit in to open the hidden compartment. but the gods are smiling down on you today – it only takes a simple click of a lock for the secret drawer to unlatch. before opening it, you stand to the side (the gunshot wound would mean deaths of all parties you’re trying to get out of here), and slowly push it forward with the knife.

“no way.”

the gods are smiling down on you– inside the drawer you don’t find a loaded shotgun, a poisonous smoke or anything else aimed at taking you out. instead, you find yourself looking at the map. something akin to relief makes your hands tremble as you unfold the treasured piece of paper, looking at the building blueprints, as fresh as if this was drawn yesterday.

tracing the way down to the basement level, you try to decide the easiest and shortest way. some of the rooms might require a key, deducting it’d be smarter to stick to the main rooms which are less likely to be locked. shoving the map back into your side bag, you reload the gun and slowly leave the room, looking for any signs of being followed. making sure the coast is clear, you start your way down.

leon, you better be still fucking alive.

leon wakes up from another torturous nap. he doesn’t know how long it’s been: could be 2 days, could be a week. to keep his sanity, he keeps trying to count the meals they bring them, figuring out the passage of time. why is salazar even feeding them? they’d worth more to him dead.

“good morning, sunshine.”

leon groans as soon as he hears the voice coming from his side. he doesn’t need to turn his head to know that satoru gojo is, despite the circumstances they found themselves in, still smiling.

“god, do you ever stop talking? they should starve you,” leon sighs heavily, and leans against the wall. his arms hurt – they have been cuffed to the ceiling this whole time, and the constant chatting from his unwanted companion makes this situation ten times worse.

“oh, common, don’t you have faith in your government? or you’re not important enough to rescue?”

“i might not be but the girl definitely is.”

it seems to shut satoru up, even if for a moment. his comments did make leon wonder if the headquarters organized the search party yet – more time they spent here means more time for the cult leaders to complete whatever it is they want with ashley. him and satoru have been infected with las plagas parasite too, their time is running short.

sighing deeply, gojo also slumps against the wall. both men can feel… whatever they were infected with moving inside their bodies, crawling their way into their brains. satoru is not sure what makes him and leon so special, but no signs of any infection have been visible yet. he wonders if it is a waiting game now: waiting for the moment they start losing their minds. what a sight that would be.

just as he was going to make another comment about their current predicament, both agents hear gunshots coming from the hallway, just outside the prison cells. blood curling screaming follows, rippling through the air, the unknown person emptying their clip into the guards until the room is engulfed in the oppressive silence.

to leon’s great surprise, and a great relief he must admit, it’s not a crazed guard running through the doors this time around – instead, two locked-up agents are met by your face. you hold your gun out, hand outstretched in front of you, ready to shoot the last remnants of the infected. it’s only when your gaze meets leon’s and you don’t identify any immediate danger, the gun is lowered, and you are rushing towards the cell.

“holy shit, it’s nice to see a familiar face,” leon cannot help but smile at the sight of you standing outside the cell bars, trying to break the lock.

“you won’t believe but the feeling is mutual. one too many mutated cultists, and even i started missing your ugly mug,” you throw back, returning his smile. your eyes move to gojo. “who’s that?”

“his partner.”

“no one.”

two men say that in unison, exchanging a heated glance afterwards.

“okaaaay,” you drawl out, “i don’t really care, you can bicker later. what we need to do it we need to get the fuck outta here like right now.”

you rush to uncuff the men with the keys you stole form the guards you shot earlier, and wait until they are able to push themselves on their feet.

“i am satoru gojo,” mysterious blond introduces himself properly, and extends his arm. you shake his hand and mumble your name back. you don’t know why but he makes you nervous.

“okay, all formalities for later. both of us are infected with that new plaga parasite, we need to extract it immediately,” leon interrupts the intense staring contest you entered with satoru, making you snap your attention back to him.

“well, then you’re in luck. i passed something that looked like a laboratory on the way here. it’s not too far either, only one floor up.”

“okay, great, no time to waste.”

kennedy steps out the room first, you and gojo following close behind. you’re on full alert – it doesn’t matter that you just took half of the castle down, somehow, new infected keep popping out like bunnies out of woodwork. it doesn’t take long the three of you to reach the desired destination, lab laying just behind the door straight off the stairs.

you cautiously look inside – no one seems to be here. after entering the room, you stand on guard while satoru and leon are looking for anything that might look like the cure. it seems that gods are smiling once again on you today because leon is able to find the last two vials of the vaccine sample. you have never seen him grinning so widely – it would’ve been almost heartwarming if not for the grim circumstances all of you ended up in.

before they can inject themselves with the medicine, the door swings opened and you’re thrown into the shelf, located on the opposite side of the entrance. multiple bottles with unknown substances fall on top of you, one of them breaking and infusing the air with a white powder. before you realize what happened, you inhale the mysterious concoction, immediately bursting into a coughing fit.

“fuck, are you okay?” leon yells your name somewhere from the side, and you try to wave him off. gojo is distracting whoever rammed through the doors, shooting the gun you presented him back in the prison cell. it takes exactly three more headshots for the mutated cultist to drop dead, and you’re pushing yourself off the ground and back on your feet. satoru is eyeing you suspiciously – you’re too busy brushing off your clothes and getting your breathing in order to notice.

“common, jab yourselves with the vaccine and let’s go, we have no time to lose,” you say with coarse voice. leon is also looking at you with worry but decides not to mention anything. both men inject themselves with the medicine, hoping and praying it’ll work, before rushing out of the doors and back on track to find ashley.

running through the corridors of the castle, you can feel yourself getting weaker – there is a sheer layer of sweat covering your spine, goosebumps are dancing on your skin, and a very familiar heat is pooling between your legs. your head feels heavy, you’re barely able to string two coherent thoughts together so you resort to slowly trailing after two men who haven’t stopped arguing about the next course of action.

“i don’t care what you came here for, satoru. i have my rescue mission that still needs to be completed,” leon sighs heavily as he pushes through the heavy doors into the next room.

“sure,” the other blond man quickly agrees, “but don’t you think you government would say ‘thank you’ if you helped securing the source of this outbreak?” gojo questions as he follows leon through the doors. you want to weigh your opinion in but before you can open your mouth, as you cross the threshold of the room, you trip on your own feets and send yourself flying towards the floor. the loud bang makes both men turn their attention back to you.

“god, are you okay?” leon’s by your side in mere seconds, supporting you by the elbow so you can get up. the waves of his body heat wash over you, and you want nothing more but to curl into his body and kiss the spot underneath his jaw. has he always been so handsome? you’re so concentrated looking at leon, you don’t notice satoru standing near you now. he touches your forehead, and it takes all of your willpower not to moan. fuck, his cold hands feel so nice on your feverish skin.

“shit, she’s burning up.”

“you think it’s because of whatever substance she inhaled back in the lab?”

“i don’t know, everything’s possible.”

two agents move you to sit on the table in the corner of the room – they can clearly see how foggy your eyes are, a layer of milky mist dancing across your vision – and leon’s fingers find your pulse point. this time, you are not fast enough to stifle the low whine that escapes your lips. at any other time, you’d be dying of embarrassment but now your body is begging for release, and you’re ready to do anything to get it. anything to soothe the ache building up in your throbbing clit.

“’m so hot…” you mumble as you start taking off tactical t-shirt, baring your sports bra to the two men in the room. “and it really hurts.”

satoru and leon look at each other before they look at you – kennedy will have to work with you in the future so he’s really trying not to look at your perky nipple, shape visible through the fabric, unlike gojo, who’s taking in your current condition with almost sick satisfaction.

“where does it hurt?” satoru asks before leon is able to butt in. as if wanting to confirm his suspicion, you take his hand and guide it to your sex, cupping it.

“here.”

leon is not even able to react before gojo is lunging forward and capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, making your head bang slightly against the wall. you let yourself moan into his mouth, satoru greedily claiming all the sounds to himself. it’s not nearly enough to pacify your accelerated heartbeat, but it’s still making you shudder. you’re spreading your legs to accommodate gojo’s tall frame – but before he is able to move any closer, he is thrown back by leon; loss of his warmth makes you whine.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” kennedy hisses through his teeth, moving away from you and towards gojo.

“what does it look like? don’t pretend like you don’t know this is exactly what she needs right now,” satoru spits back. you think they continue arguing but their voices are being drowned out by the ringing in your ears. heat spreading through you sets everything on fire, and your pants join your t-shirt somewhere on the floor in your desperate attempt to relieve yourself of this scorching feeling. your partner notices it and sharply turns to face you.

“what the hell are you doi-” before leon can finish his sentence, you wrap you legs around him and press your body into his.

“leon, please…” you sob, hot tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, beads of salty water wetting your eyelashes and blurring your vision. hearing your pathetic plea, voice thick with lust and desire, looking at your tears-stained face, mouth slightly agape, and watching your lips, red and messy from satoru’s kiss, glistening in the moonlight – everything about you now screams ruin me and leon is not a strong enough man to resist it.

“what are you asking me to do, sweetheart?” he whispers against your lips in a teasing tone. his switch is almost jarring but you don’t have the brain capacity to mull over his sudden mood change. he moves his hand between your legs now, touching your pussy through your panties. leon’s fleeting touch is sending shivers down your spine, and you culr yourself into him more, whining and panting against his mouth. “jesus, she’s so fucking wet already.”

“i told you, didn’t i? she needs someone to stuff her full of cum,” satoru’s dirty talk comes somewhere from the side. too distracted by leon’s deep blue eyes, gojo’s touch makes you tremble in surprise and turn your head towards him. looking at his face, you’re met by baby blues – it felt like being thrown from the ocean into the endless skies. you think men with blue eyes will be the death of you.

gojo leans down to capture your lips again, re-exploring the sacred geometry of your kiss, while leon is planting wet kisses along your jawline. you mewl in euphoric pleasure, their touches soothing to your burning skin, and you’re completely giving yourself away to the bliss rolling over you in waves. leon’s digits are teasing your clit through the fabric of your panties, and your hips instinctively buck into his hand, making him chuckle into your neck.

“she’s dripping, gojo. i bet she can take both of us unprepped,” leon says to the other agent, still busy with sucking on your lips, invading your mouth with his tongue. at his words, you shiver under men’s bodies, tingling sensation rushing through you.

“i want you in my lap, pretty girl,” satoru whispers against your lips, and you jump off into leon’s arms so the other man can sit on the table first. you move to climb on top of gojo, legs on either side of his thighs, ready to ride him, but your partner’s strong arm stops you from turning around.

“nah-ah, let him hold you spread open for me, i want to taste you first,” leon breathes against your ear, teasing the sensitive spot, making you quiver in his hold. you turn yourself towards gojo and see him grinning as he beckons you with two fingers to come closer. when you end up in his arms, he spins you around, his chest to your back, and makes you sit between his legs on the table, opening you up.

satoru’s masterful fingers unclasp your bra with ease while leon makes a quick work of your panties, shoving them into his pocket, unbeknownst to you. who knows how your relationship will work out after this – he needs something to remember this moment by. you are now sprawled completely naked for the two men’s hungry gazes: your cheeks are flushed, mouth shaped into a perfect “o”, short breaths escaping your lungs – you are truly a sight to behold. gojo wastes no time in cupping your breasts with his hands, trailing his lips on the side of your neck, sucking in hickeys as part of his claim.

kennedy gets on his knees in front of you, looking up into your eyes. gojo’s fingers are playing with your hardened nipple, making your hips buck upwards – right into leon’s mouth. his first languid swipe of the tongue comes just as satoru pinches your sensitive nubs, and you cannot help the pornographic moan escaping your lips.

“jesus, doll, who knew you’d sound so pretty,” it’s gojo’s voice against the shell of your ear, making you shudder. one of his hands keeps massaging your boob, twisting the nipple between his digits, while his other hand goes all the way down and spreads your folds for leon’s easy access. he hums in appreciation, and starts flicking his tongue up and down, drawing tight circles on your clit, sucking on it when he feels your legs tighten around his head.

agent’s movements make you squirm in satoru’s hold, dropping your head against his shoulder as leon continues eating you out. you’re absolutely incoherent now – your fever never dropped so your muscles are aching, toes curling in anticipation of the long awaited release, as you continue moaning through quick breaths.

“finger her.”

leon follows gojo’s command immediately, shoving his middle digit inside, while still lapping at your pussy. your walls clench against him almost instinctively, intrusion sudden but not unwelcome – he groans feeling the embracing heat of your cunt.

“fuck, she’s so fucking tight.”

gojo keeps your legs spread, you trying to close them around leon’s head as he keeps up his assault with his tongue. he’s nibbling on your clit, putting extra pressure with the tip of his tongue, licking it back and forth in quick succession, before flatting it to lick between your sticky folds, all the way down to the drooling hole. leon adds a second finger now, setting up a merciless pace – he is curling his digits in a heavenly way, able to hit the soft, spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and your pussy throb; you gasp loudly.

“i wish we had a phone to record this. you look so divine.”

you clench at gojo’s words, making leon groan. he’s now playing with your tits, rolling your nipple, tugging at them to add the painful sensation to the lit-up nerves. your desperate moans are bouncing among the walls, and gojo decides he wants to hear the squelching sounds of your pussy around leon’s fingers and his tongue’s wet sounds as he sloppily eats you out so he shuts you up with a kiss.

you feel your tummy begins tensing up as two men continue their ministrations: it’s satoru’s hot mouth on yours and his hands squeezing your tits, fingers playing with erect nipples; it’s leon’s tongue lapping at your pussy, precise circles on your clit and his digits scissoring you at a perfect speed, hitting the nerve bundle that rushes to send you over the end. your legs start shaking and you grab onto satoru’s arm around you to ground yourself.

“nnggh-…” you whimper into gojo’s mouth, and he finally lets you catch a breath. “’m so close,” you sob again, “’m gonna cum.”

“yeah, you want to cream all over agent kennedy’s face?” satoru taunts you from behind. “that’s so unprofessional,” he makes a tsk sound with his mouth and squeezes your cheeks to look at him.

“we’re feeling generous today, i think,” he quickly throws a glance down at leon, who only smirks as his tongue keeps licking and sucking at your clit. satoru looks you straight in the eyes as he slowly drawls his next words, “you may cum.”

the orgasm washed over you in glorious waves, rattling your entire existence. you’re scrunching your eyebrows, mouth agape with a sinful moan, as your thighs clasp around leon’s head. you’re quivering in gojo’s hold, his hands forcing your hips down, pressing them more against kennedy’s face. the latter doesn’t stop his onslaught, lips suctioning around the throbbing pearl, fingers still curled at earth-shattering angle. you try to move away but neither man lets you.

“uh-uh, where are you trying to run away? let him drink everything.”

and everything does leon kennedy drink – agent is lapping at your juices like a kitten at a fresh bowl of milk, now substituting his digits with his tongue as he keeps fucking in and out of your needy cunt. ministrations don’t stop, not even when your moans turn into little sobs as your body starts feeling overstimulated. your puffy clit is now ruined from satoru’s finger pads playing with it.

both men can feel your form shaking almost violently, gojo’s gathering your falling tears with his tongue. leon’s finally pulling his face away from your sex, standing up to look at your ruined state.

“god, i only ate her out and she already looks fucked out,” he chuckles to the other blond man, and moves to stand between your legs.

“let me taste her,” before you can react, gojo’s grabbing leon by the back of his head and capturing his lips in a heated kiss. trapped between a rock and a hard place, you can do nothing but observe the most passionate display of carnage you’ve ever witnessed – they were slobbering over each other’s faces, and it made your pussy clench around nothing. god, you can’t wait to fuck them both.

“she’s sweet, just how i like them,” satoru smirks against leon’s lips, turning his attention back to you immediately. “common, princess, you’re going to have to ride me if you want both of us.”

you’re quickly climbing on the table, straddling him. kennedy situates himself right behind you, warmth radiating off him like in suffocating waves. you’re trying to unbuckle satoru’s jeans to free his heavy cock, still trapped in confines of his boxer briefs, but leon smacks your ass, sending you forward into gojo’s embrace. it stings, the outline of his hand already forming a bruise, and you’d be mad if you pussy lips didn’t flutter at the slap.

“you’re taking too long, sweetheart,” you hear satoru, both men undoing their belts and zippers before you can, pulling out their leaking cocks. from your position you could only see satoru’s hard dick as he stroked himself near your aching hole, but what you’ve seen was enough to make you almost scared – gojo’s dick was long and blessed with a perfect curve, just upwards, one thick vein running prominently from the bottom of his shaft ending just before his mushroom head. you’re sure leon’s looked just as pretty.

“you haven’t said a word. you wanna ask nicely for what you want?” you hear leon behind you as he’s pushing you forward again, right into satoru’s chest, and teasing your waiting cunt with his thick tip – the mixture of his spit, your slick and his precum is dripping down satoru’s cock from where he’s positioned just underneath you, and the messiness of it all makes leon groan.

“please, i want your cocks inside me… please,” you sob out again, vocal cords heavy with tears.

“i think this will be our reward for saving us, how about that, huh?” there is a teasing tilt in satoru’s voice, and you grab at his shoulders, mewling like a needy animal in heat.

“yes, yes, anything,” you’re blabbering with teary voice, making men hard at the mere image of you: a capable agent reduced to a cock-drunk slut, an image that makes their cocks twitch.

leon grabs gojo’s member, giving it a couple strokes, surprising the white-haired man but hearing no complaints. his thumb is playing with the drooling slit of his tip, beads of pre-cum decorating the entrance to his flushed dick, and kennedy can’t help but smirk at how blissed out satoru looks. he’s guiding his heavy and red cock inside you, while his other hand rests on your waist. gojo’s forcing your hips down while bucking his up, and he fills you up in one long thrust.

“ah!” you cry out, biting your lip to the blood, metallic taste in your mouth almost overwhelming on top of the mix of pain and pleasure burning through your body. you’re whimpering into satoru’s mouth, while his hand is running soothing circles on your back.

“here you go, such a good fucking girl. taking me in so well, huh? all it took is one thrust, so perfect,” he’s blabbering against your skin as he starts sinking in and out of your sloppy hole. looking down, you can see the bulge in your tummy, and it makes you purr – you not only feel him splitting you in two, you are able to witness it. his reddened tip is meeting your cervix in a bruising kiss, and god, he’s making you fell so good.

you’re so lost in the rapturous sensation of gojo’s huge cock pushing against your gummy walls, you don’t notice leon’s presence behind you – he is grabbing your hips with one hand while his other is jerking his dick, prepping himself to enter you. his tip is near your whole when you finally realize what’s he’s trying to do.

“no! no, it’s too mu- ah!” he doesn’t let you finish before he start pushing himself inside, sliding alongside satoru’s heavy member, making the man grunt.

“fuck, feels so tight and warm,” you hear behind you as kennedy sets a punishing pace, sheathing himself into your abused hole. they are stretching you out to heavens, leon looking at your gaping cunt with pride. it’s fluttering and clenching around their huge cocks, your walls spasming in pleasure as their lengths are grinding against your soft spots. you can hear your pussy queefing, and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin add to the dirty symphony.

“ngg, ngg- feels so, so goo-” you’re unable to finish your sentence as they keep bouncing you on their cocks, manhandling your body however they seem fit. you’ve never felt so full – both men keep drilling into you, like you’re no more than their little personal toy to play with. satoru grabs you by the back of your neck, biting at your lips, sloppily making out with you, while leon grabs your hair, forcing you back on his dick.

you can feel both cocks twitching inside you, approaching climax evident by their shallow breathing, moans hitching at every thrust of the hips. your walls are tightening around their cocks, and men’s whimpering and groaning is sinful to listen to, yet they are determined to make you climax first.

“common, gorgeous, cum around our cocks,” gojo hoaxes from underneath you. leon pushes your hips even closer into satoru’s body, your clit now grinding against his pubic bone, and it’s making you teeter on the edge of your bliss.

your bladder feels pressure you’ve never experienced before as gojo’s cock pressing against it from a perfect angle. leon is digging his fingers into the plush skin of your ass, rutting in and out of you, pushing against your back walls. all of your nerves are on fire, exploding fireworks in your brain, sending all your pleasure receptors into the overdrive. as your second orgasm washes over you, you’re left trembling in the men’s arms, leon’s chest against your back, your sweaty tits against satoru’s broad front.

“that’s a good girl, look at how cock-drunk you are,” you can hear them chuckle between themselves, not slowing down for a second. leon can see the white creamy ring enveloping the base of his cock in a soft embrace – it’s making him lose last of his slipping composure as he starts thrusting extra hard, thus speeding gojo up.

you bounce like a rag doll on top of gojo, having no semblance of control, being completely used by two agents. the pressure in your bladder comes back, and you throw your head back – your body continues quivering uncontrollably as you start sobbing again, tears drawing salty rivers on your cheeks, result of your body riding into stimulation. before you know it, something warm and so fucking wet starts gushing out of you. you want to look down, but men react first by groaning, voice impossibly thick with lust and awe.

“fuck, baby, didn’t expect you to squirt this much. so fucking filthy, i bet you waited to do this the whole time,” gojo grunts from underneath you, and you can only purr in response. it only takes couple more thrusts before leon and satoru synchronize their orgasms, shooting the ribbons of cum inside your womb, painting it pearly white, fucking it in warm and cozy. the squelching sounds ricocheting among the walls are nothing but sinful, and your cheeks flush red from the realization of what just transpired.

as both men pull out of your abused, stretched out hole, the combined mixture of all the fluids trickle down your thighs, making you groan in disgust. now that aphrodisiac has been fucked out from your system, you can’t even bring yourself to look them in the eyes. you hurry to pick up your clothes, but your legs give out underneath you – you’d end up flat on your ass, if not for leon who caught you mid fall.

tension in the air is palpable, electricity dancing on your skin is able to set everything on fire again. you’re ready to break the silence when satoru speaks first.

“you know, kennedy, next time you want to touch my cock, you don’t need to bring a woman between us.”

he leaves the room before either of you are able to force a reaction, and you wish you’d left both of them for dead instead.

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