#and it IS kind of normal now after all this time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1800-fight-me · 14 hours

Note

Love your writing :) Could you please do a story where reader/Aemonds wife gets captured and taken on a ship

Before Aemond of course comes to rescue his love

The Rogue Prince

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Rating: M (Mature - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, implied smut

Word count: About 3.5k

Synopsis: Aemond Targaryen is loyal to his family and house above all, but what happens when his wife is captured and in mortal peril?

Author’s note: Thank you for this request! I hope you enjoy it!! Protective and possessive Aemond owns me... also I started writing this before I knew the plot of season two so the timeline of this fic doesn't make much sense but let's just pretend it does, okay? lol

I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Here's the link to my Aemond Masterlist if you want to check out my other stories! Also my requests are open, please send me some more!!

There was commotion in King’s Landing. Chaos. Terror.

You were not within the safety of the Red Keep as you normally were, as you should be.

There was so much screaming you couldn’t think straight.

Alicent grabbed your hand, her other hand in Helena's and pulled you both forward.

The crowd pushed and heaved and you yelled as your hand slipped from your mother in law’s.

Pure terror shot down your spine as the push of the crowd led you away from them, away from your family by marriage, away from the King’s Guards, away from safety.

You were lost in a sea of limbs and panic, your screams completely unheard over the cacophony of scared sounds.

You couldn’t even determine the source of the commotion, you didn’t see it, only the after effect as you were now pushed down the streets of the city.

Water dripped down your cheeks, and when you looked up, the sky was clear. You continued to run with the crowd, in order to avoid being knocked over and trampled.

You lifted a hand to your face, and realized you were crying.

Another hand grabbed yours, and you gasped in relief, as you were harshly pulled to the side and into an alley.

Your gasping breaths slowed as the crowd no longer threatened to crush you.

You clenched your jaw and steeled your resolve as you realized the person who pulled you to safety was a stranger with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

You lifted your chin and yanked your hand out of his.

“Thank you for the assistance, kind sir, but I must get going. My family is expecting me,” you said firmly.

A hateful chuckle came from the darkness behind you.

You whirled around and saw two malicious looking men, behind them in the darkness there were two young women sitting on the ground with their hands and legs bound and gags in their mouths. There was fear unlike any you’d ever known in their eyes.

That same fear now dripped down your spine, but you couldn’t give into it, instead you steeled your spine.

“How much do you think we can get for this one?” The shorter man sneered.

You thought of how your husband spoke to his enemies and tried to emulate that same haughty tone as you looked down your nose at them.

“I am a Targaryen. Return-“

”But you don’t got silver hair,” one of the men blurted out.

You wrinkled your nose, ever the royal, and said, “I am the wife of Prince Aemond Targaryen. Return me to the Red Keep safely and I will make it certain you are rewarded for your goodwill.”

The men’s smiles grew greedy.

“Imagine how much we can get in ransom,” the one behind you muttered.

“That would be an incredibly stupid course of action. The Prince is a viciously protective man and would surely kill any who attempt to kidnap me. He once broke a man’s arm for grabbing me in the halls of the Red Keep. Another time he broke a man’s nose for looking at me too long. It is in your best interest to leave me be,” you said sternly.

The shorter one had the sense to look scared, but the bigger one, the scarier one, looked only overconfident.

“The One Eyed Prince is not in King’s Landing, is he? I hear he is far away tending to the ongoing war within his house,” he said as he narrowed his eyes at you.

You gulped.

“He rides the largest dragon in the world, it would be a quick thing for him to be here to incinerate you all,” you said, your confident tone wavering slightly.

“He’s not here now,” the one behind you said, and before you could look back at him there was pain as something hit you in the side of the head and the world turned black as you fell.

You were floating on a sea of fire, the motion of the waves of flame rocking you back and forth, the gentleness bringing you a sense of peace and reassurance you had not felt since your husband mounted his dragon and flew off to war.

The sky cracked open and rain poured as lightning flashed. But the flames you swam in remained strong, boosted you up, and as a bolt of lightning flashed towards you in slow motion, you held your hand up and the waves of fire surrounded you, protecting you from danger.

As you resurfaced you pointed your finger at the thundercloud and the fire shot like an arrow and decimated it.

Someone shook your shoulder and as you woke, your body still rocked back and forth with waves, only furthering your disorientation as you found yourself somewhere completely foreign.

“Aemond?” You mumbled as nausea threatened to overcome you.

“Princess,” a female voice said and you cracked your eyes open to find yourself in a fully wooden room with two women. They both laid on the floor in the tiny room, same as you.

“Where am I?” You asked bewildered. Your head pounded and as you reached your hand and touched the side of it, you felt a tender bruise and hissed in pain.

“Princess, don’t you remember? We were captured,” the other woman said.

It all came rushing back to you and you pressed your lips together to avoid vomiting.

“Y-yes, where are we?”

“Somewhere in the middle of the sea,” the younger woman said quietly, her tone distraught.

You were on a ship, shoved in a small room, surely in the hull, that had been transformed into a temporary dungeon you discovered as you stood, losing your balance for a moment, and attempted to open the locked door.

“We already tried that,” the one with the dark hair said.

You sighed. “Of course you did.”

“How long have we been in here?” You asked, panic filling your chest.

“My guess is a day and a half,” the younger woman said.

You sank to your knees and allowed the tears to fill your eyes as the despair hit.

You later learned that the names of the women you were trapped with were Marrion and Eliza. They were both as terrified as you, but managed to learn as much as they could about the men who held you, which they relayed to you in hushed tones for fear of the guard outside the door overhearing.

“Is it true that your husband will come to rescue you?” Eliza asked hopefully.

You pressed your lips together. “Yes, but who knows how long it will take him to learn of my capture, to find me?”

Both the women looked down in dismay.

You knew that Aemond would abandon his war, his family, his life for you. You knew he would fight, would bleed, would die for you. Such was his love and devotion to his wife, but his family knew that as well, and a small voice in the back of your head worried and warned you that perhaps his scheming grandsire would prevent word of your predicament to be sent to your husband.

You wondered if you prayed to Vhagar if she would hear it and lead your husband to you, she was practically a goddess of war in her own right. You didn’t believe in any of the other gods your husband and his family worshiped.

“We need to make our own plan in the meantime,” you said firmly and they nodded.

You lifted your skirt and pulled out the sapphire embedded dagger strapped to your thigh that your husband gifted you on your name day.

Your companions had watched the men’s patterns before you awoke, and you based your plan off that. Listening to your husband and offering him support taught you a decent amount about strategy, and hours of training with him had taught you self defense skills as well, and it was time to put both to use, this time with you having the element of surprise, not the horrible men who stole you.

The next day, when the guard unlocked and opened the door that kept your prisoner, you were prepared to charm and simper, but the man smiled at you in a way that made your stomach sink, and threw a dress at you.

“The captain demands your presence, you have ten minutes to ready yourself,” he said with another lingering look before turning and slamming the door shut again. The lock was loud as it was clicked back into place.

“Well that makes things a bit easier,” you said and both women laughed in shock with you before they helped you make yourself look more presentable.

As you made your way towards the captain’s office, the pirates aboard the ship stared and sneered. You blinked against the brightness of the sun as it glittered over the blue sea. There was no sight of land that you could see, nothing but depthless ocean, no option for escape but a watery grave.

Your hopes of an easy getaway were dashed, you had no idea how long you would be forced to remain on this ship until it reached land and you could enact your strategy for release.

There was also no sight of Vhagar, no dragon roar in the winds, no dashing husband with a sword in hand, no one to save you.

Your heart sunk to your stomach.

The captain grinned at you, and you held in your grimace as you followed him into the room he led you to.

There was a table in the center of the room, food laden upon it, and your stomach growled in protest.

He chuckled at the sound, “Please, eat as much as you desire.”

He sat across the table from you and you waited until he filled his plate and took a few bites, before you tore into the food before you, uncaring of being ladylike due to the feeling of starvation.

“I hear you are a princess,” the man said and you looked up at him as you used your napkin to wipe your mouth.

“Your men stole me from my wedded family,” you said.

“The Targaryens,” he said.

You nodded, unable to withhold your glare.

“They’re not my men, in case you are interested, just men who sell me goods that make me gold,” he drawled and you resisted the urge to slap him.

“I am not an item to be bartered and sold, I am the wife of Aemond Targaryen and you will release me safely or my dragon will burn you and your entire operation to the ground,” you said, softly but with passion.

He had the gall to laugh at you.

You gritted your teeth and attempted to quell your temper, but your fiery temperament was difficult to leash, it was what attracted your husband to you in the first place.

“You’re a hateful bastard,” you spat.

He laughed again, “Guilty as charged. Princess, when we reach our destination across the sea, your husband’s family will be contacted and ransom will be posted. My crew and I will get our money and you will be returned home.”

You glared, wishing your look could kill. Your hand inched up your leg, grazing the sheathed dagger hidden under your skirts that hadn’t been found and confiscated during your capture.

Pirates began screaming and then there was an earth shattering roar.

You smirked.

He pulled out his sword and pointed it at you and rested the tip against your throat.

“You will die for this,” you purred.

“Stay put,” he said as he then stood and walked past you to the door.

As he opened the door, there was the most glorious sight to behold. Vaghar cast a shadow over the ship large enough it was nearly dark as night. Aemond’s silver hair shined as he climbed down a rope from her saddle and landed on the ship, his sword out and began slaughtering.

“Targaryen,” the captain yelled as he stepped out and stood on the bannister, looking down as your husband cut down his men.

You stood and quietly slipped your dagger from its sheath as you crept behind the captain.

“Where is my wife?” Aemond bellowed.

Heat filled you in response to his presence, his rage.

The captain opened his mouth to respond when a blade pierced the back of his neck, pushed through, and broke through on the other side of his throat, before the dagger was withdrawn. Red splattered as he choked on his own blood, the only sounds of his surprise.

He turned around to look at his attacker and you gave him a feral grin.

“I told you that you and your entire ship would burn,” you said sweetly before you pushed him over the railing, ignoring the sound and sight of his crippled body on the wood as you looked up at your Aemond.

The fighting had indeed paused as all were shocked by the death of the captain.

“I am here,” you said, blood spattered and filled with relief.

Aemond released a sigh of relief and gave you a feral grin.

“Come to me,” he said as his sword clashed with another, the men regaining their wits and attempting to kill him once more.

Everything in you wanted to yield to his command, to run to him, to be in his arms, but you had one more task to complete.

“In a minute,” you called out as you took off running back towards the cell you were kept in. As you looked back, you saw the confused quizzical look he threw at you as he continued to stab and end the lives of the men who stole you from him.

You raced down the hallway, having memorized the way, and saw the guard as he unlocked and opened the door where your companions were kept.

You stabbed him in the back, and ripped your dagger out, so when he turned around in surprise, you stabbed him again in the heart.

You yanked your dagger from him as you looked at the women, and yelled, “Follow me!”

You ran back from the belly of the ship to the safety of your dragon. But as soon as you were out in the open and saw him again, you realized he was in trouble.

He was the most skilled fighter, but he was overwhelmed by numbers. You threw your dagger at a man about to stab him in the back, and it found its home in the enemy's forehead.

You then picked up a sword off a deceased body and attempted to fight, but the sword was quickly knocked from your hands.

Your foe held his sword to your throat and you huffed in frustration.

Marrion and Eliza hid behind you, and at least eight men stood between you and Aemond.

“Enough,” the man who held your life in his hands yelled.

The fighting stopped and Aemond’s gaze met yours across the ship. Fire gleamed in his eye, blood coated his hands, splattered across his clothing, his handsome face, his silver hair. He was a god of vengeance, your protector, the bearer of your heart and soul.

“Return my wife to me,” he snarled.

“We outnumber you, yield,” the man closest to him said through gritted teeth.

“I do believe you are forgetting something,” Aemond said with a smirk and Vhagar roared loud enough to rock the boat.

You huffed a laugh.

The men took a step back from your husband, shaking in their boots.

Aemond held his hand out to you, you looked back to the man who threatened you, and with a sigh he lowered his sword from your throat. You ran into Aemond’s embrace, he pulled you close with one arm even as he continued to hold his sword up against the men.

The other two women followed you, and hid behind the two of you.

“My love,” he murmured, “Climb aboard Vhagar and lead your companions to do the same. I will be there momentarily.”

You pressed a kiss to his blood smattered cheek and did as he ordered. You climbed the rope that led you to Vhagar’s saddle, and as you got settled, you assisted the others in doing the same.

Aemond continued his stand off with the men who remained. When one jumped forward, attempting to attack, he unleashed himself.

The opponents were no match for your dragon, despite their numbers, and Aemond slayed as many as he could, before grabbing onto the rope.

With words in High Valyrian dripping from his tongue, he ordered his dragon to fly, taking him higher and away from the men who attempted to take you from him.

Only moments passed, and then he yelled, “Dracarys.”

Liquid fire encompassed the pirate ship and it burned just as you predicted it would.

You watched the ship, the men on it, burn to ashes before sinking into the ocean as Aemond climbed atop Vhagar’s saddle and situated himself behind you, wrapping his arms around you, the other two women behind him.

“Let’s go home, my love,” he said in your ear, gently and reassuring.

You nodded, sinking into his embrace, and only tearing your eyes from the wreckage when it sunk beneath the watery depths.

The return to King’s Landing was quick, and trusted guards returned the women with you safely to their homes, but not before you offered them jobs in the Red Keep, which they tearfully accepted. Descriptions were given of the men that sold you to the pirates, and you knew they would be dead by nightfall. f

Then, your husband led you to the small council chambers, you walked in feeling bashful, but he strutted in, led you to sit as he stood behind you, one hand on the back of your chair the other on your shoulder.

“Aemond!” His mother exclaimed.

He ignored her and instead glared at his grandsire.

“Why was I not properly informed that my wife had been stolen,” he growled.

“You left your post,” Otto replied.

“I don’t give a shit about my post. My wife was in danger. Days went by, days that she was no longer in your protection as you had promised,” he said, his voice raised.

“Aemond, we were doing everything we could to get her back,” Alicent attempted to soothe.

“Not enough,” Aemond said through gritted teeth.

“It was a calculated decision to not inform you, the hope was that we would have her back safety before you discovered that she was ever gone-“

”You calculated wrong.” Aemond said, his voice low and dark, the promise of violence so strong that you looked back at him and placed your hand atop his own.

“Aemond, I am fine, I am safe,” you reassured.

He glanced down at you, the words seeming to smooth some of the jagged panic inside him.

“And we are so grateful that you are,” Alicent replied.

Aemond looked back up.

“We need you to return, you and Vhagar are essential-“

“Fuck that,” Aemond said as he tugged on your hand, pulling you up out of your chair and by his side as he turned to leave.

“Aemond!” Alicent protested.

“My wife will stay by my side,” Aemond announced as you both exited the room.

”My love?” You asked, breathless as he walked swiftly through the halls of the Red Keep, keeping you with him.

“I will return to the war efforts on the morrow and you will come with me, do you understand? I cannot breathe when you are not near me. I cannot breathe when you are not safely in my arms. I cannot- “

“Aemond, look at me,” you said gently as you placed your hand on the side of his face.

You had pulled him to a stop right in front of your chambers, they had gone unused since you wed him as he had immediately moved you into his own.

His breathing was ragged, panic still threatening to pull him under.

“You saved me. I am here. And I will stay by your side always, if that is what you desire,” you said softly but passionately.

His lips crashed into yours.

His grip was tight as he pulled you against the hard planes of his body.

Your heart soared as his passion threatened to consume you. The waves of his fiery passion threatened to pull you under as his tongue tangled with yours and he moved, leading you to step back until your back hit the door and he pressed you against it. His hands roved from gripping your hips, one grazing the underside of your breast, the other caressing the side of your throat.

He pulled his lips from yours long enough to rest his forehead against yours and breathe out, “Always?”

“Always,” you promised as you pulled his lips back to yours.

His hand reached the handle of the door behind you, and he guided you into the room. He spent the night proving his devotion to you, imprinting himself on and inside your body, giving you pleasure of unparalleled heights.

And the next morning, your dragon kept his promise of always, and brought you with him, holding you tight and close on Vhagar’s back as he returned to wage war against his foes.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd #aemond x reader

259 notes · View notes

writeonwhiskey · 2 days

Text

the skz house: ch 19 (18+)

a/n: thank you @bahablastplz for editing! i appreciate you 🩵 and thank you, readers, or your patience.

[ read chapter 18 here ]

Chapter 19: Of Christmas & Chokers

Over the next few days, the comfortability between you and Chan deepens. Whether you’re in the room or out being tourists, you remain almost glued together—holding hands, sitting on his lap, hugging each other, kissing. Your conversations flow naturally and without tension. In an alternate universe, perhaps this would have been an ideal trip for a couple in love. As delusional as you may have become in believing this could be a new normal, you keep one foot grounded in reality. Well, maybe not the whole foot…but at least a pinky toe.

Your days are packed with several activities such as a nighttime ATV ride, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. You both have the time of your life letting loose. Speeding, swerving, screaming at the rush of it all. You’ve never seen Chan smile so much. He is different when he’s free of the responsibility of being Chapter President…he’s carefree. You tell yourself regardless of how this ends, you’ll be glad you at least got to see him like this.

You go to a local amusement park where Chan is determined to make you face your fear of rollercoasters. However, after the second ride leaves you nearly in tears, Chan puts that mission to rest.

You venture back out on the water on a jet ski. Chan lets you do most of the driving that day, but you soon realize it’s a set up. When you’re far out enough from the beach, his hands on your hips find their way between your legs. He kisses your neck and tells you to turn off the jet ski. He fucks you with his fingers until you come, whispering in your ear how hard his cock is and what he plans to do to you later.

One of the days while you and Chan are out, the hotel staff add holiday decorations around the room, including a small, 4ft tree in the corner near the balcony windows. It makes you squeal with glee upon seeing it. You assume it’s all the hotel’s doing. Lee Know wouldn’t have done something so nice. Would Chan? He doesn’t claim it, if he had put them up to it. It doesn’t matter, though, it makes you happy to see and feel more of the holiday spirit.

When Christmas Eve comes around, there’s a break in the itinerary since a lot of places are closed for the holiday. You wind up sleeping in quite late for your standards and when you finally open your eyes, Chan is wide awake in the bed next to you. He’s sitting up, back against the pillows, laptop in front of him and headphones covering his ears. He’s consumed by whatever he’s doing, but as soon as you turn to face him, his eyes shift from the screen to you.

“She has risen,” he jokes, moving one headphone away from his ear.

“I needed that,” you reply, stretching beneath the blankets. “How long have you been up?”

“A while,” he says with a shrug. “Just working on our chapter project.”

You smile inwardly. Typically, his response would have finished with ‘a while’, you would have had to dig and pry for any further information. He, for now at least, is freely providing you with further details.

“Chapter project?” you ask. You recall hearing him discuss it months ago, but never knew what it was.

“Just something we have to put together to memorialize the year,” he tells you. He turns the laptop so you can see the screen. You recognize the sight of a music program with tracks and layers but have no further understanding of it.

“Putting your minor to use?”

“Kind of. It doubles as my senior project for the minor, so that’s a plus.” He starts moving things around on the screen, opening a folder aptly titled ‘Chapter Project’. He clicks on a few files, opening them to show you as he speaks. “I want to incorporate songs I’ve worked on with different things from the other members—Hyunjin’s artwork for example.”

You know Chan is a good student. All of the members are, really, but you know some of them drag their feet and procrastinate until the last minute. You’ve caught Hyunjin, Changbin and Jeongin rushing to meet midnight deadlines more than once.

“Can I hear something?”

You sit up on the bed, back against the pillows like Chan. The blanket falls from your chest, exposing your breasts.

“Only if you put those things away,” he says, looking pointedly at your breasts, then up to your eyes, then back down again.

“What things?” you ask innocently, leaning back against the headboard and pushing your chest out even more.

Seizing the opportunity, Chan leans over and captures your nipple in his mouth. You let out a surprised scream as he bites down around it. You push him away, swatting his arm. You promptly pull the blanket up to cover them before holding out your hand for his headphones.

He hands them over with a smile, and you put them on. He shuffles a few things around on the screen before a video starts. You assume the graphics are of Felix’s design as it feels like something you’d see in a video game. A song accompanies the images and you’re surprised to hear Chan’s voice over a jovial sounding beat, followed by Seungmin, then Changbin. You didn’t know any of them could sing.

The video is only about a minute long but you feel dumbfounded when it’s over. You remove the headphones and pass them back to Chan.

“I like it,” you say with a smile. “It’s…surprisingly good.”

“You underestimating me?” he asks teasingly.

“My mistake,” you say sarcastically, placing a hand over your heart. “Is that a cover?”

“No, it’s an original song,” he tells you, turning the laptop back so it’s facing him. “Just waiting on Felix to finish rendering the rest of the graphics, then that one will be done.”

“You’re doing more?”

“A few more. It’ll be a mini-album.”

“Do I get a copy?”

“Hmmm…maybe. If you ask nicely.”

“Oh, never mind then,” you say nonchalantly.

Chan turns to look at you, biting his tongue between his teeth to keep from smiling as he nods.

“I’ll remember that.”

You slide down against the pillows, then turn on your side so you’re still facing him.

“I had no idea you guys could sing,” you tell him.

“Participating in choir was mandatory at our boarding school,” he shrugs. “We can hold a note.”

Chan is full of so many surprises. Most of them pleasant, these days. You want to uncover all there is to know about him, but you know you’ll never be given the time.

You cuddle up to him as he puts his headphones back on. You just lay there and watch him work, expertly navigating around the screen as he continues composing the song. You want to ask why he’s not majoring in music. You already know the answer to that, though. The choices for his future aren’t exactly his to make. His parents decided he would major in business, and sadly that’s all there is to it.

Your heart aches for him—you can see the work he put in to make something creative, the passion he has for it. And he can’t even pursue it.

It’s now 11:00pm and you and Chan have just returned to the hotel room. After dinner you both wanted to get out of the room for a bit and ended up at one of the only places open—the Magic City casino. The hours spent there are a bit of a blur. It was news to you that anyone playing at the tables or slot machines could get free drinks, so you both decided to indulge. Being so far from the hotel, though, Chan didn’t let either of you get too drunk.

As soon as you’re back to the room, Chan excuses himself to make a phone call and disappears out onto the balcony. You change into your pajamas—a pair of thin, loose fitting shorts and matching top—and return to the living room. You turn on the TV, stopping on the first channel you see playing a Christmas themed movie to entertain you while you wait for him to return. From all the food and drinks, you start to doze off until the sound of the heavy balcony door opening stirs you.

“Everything okay?” you ask when he comes back in.

“Mm,” is his reply, with a small nod of his head. “It’s Christmas day back home. I’m gonna get changed.”

You can only nod as well. His tone sounds a bit sad so you’re not sure what to say. Maybe he’s missing spending the holiday with his little brother and sister. And that makes you sad. It’s your fault he’s not with them.

Chan comes back into the living room clad in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He sits down next to you and throws his arm around the back of the couch behind you.

All of your life you had never considered yourself to have a one-track mind but now? With Chan? Seeing him in those grey sweatpants puts one thing at the forefront of your mind, drowsiness and sadness pushed aside. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself.

“Should I open the bottle of wine the hotel left?” you suggest.

“Sure,” is his simple reply.

You stand and retrieve the bottle from the kitchen, along with two wine glasses. You pop the cork and fill both glasses before returning to Chan, handing him one.

“You sure everything’s alright? You seem a bit down…”

You don’t want the tension in the air to linger through the night and this trip has built your courage to address him this way.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells you with a soft smile. He clinks his glass against yours before downing his in one go. “You trying to stay up ‘til midnight for your present?”

You take a sip from your wine glass; happy he’s taking the initiative to change the subject to something lighter.

“I don’t see any presents under that tree,” you say, looking in the corner where the small tree is lit up.

“I haven’t put them there yet.”

“Them?”

As in multiple.

He nods.

“Oh no,” you say, a look of panic taking over your features.

You weren’t sure the two of you would even be exchanging gifts. Not only that, but you don’t feel like you truly know enough about him to get a well thought out present. And you love giving gifts. Hyunjin has a never-ending need for art supplies, so you immediately knew what to get him. You were completely puzzled when it came to Chan.

It was only after the staff added the tree that you thought it’d be nice for him to wake up with something under the tree. Being on vacation, though, you were in a bit of a predicament. All you really had convenient access to was the gift shop.

He must sense your apprehension.

“It’s okay if you didn’t get me anything,” he tries to appease you.

When the panicked look on your face turns into a frown, he takes the wine glass from your hand and places it next to his on the side table. He then pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him and cups your face with both hands, stroking your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“It’s fine,” he says in a sharper tone that makes you nod in acceptance.

“I would have never imagined I’d be spending Christmas Eve with you, let alone exchanging gifts,” you tell him, leaning your forehead against his. “From English classmates to this? Never in my wildest dreams.”

“That wasn’t our first class together,” he says matter-of-factly. He leans back against the couch and takes both of your hands in his, lacing his fingers through.

You furrow your brow at his statement. You wrack your brain for any other class you may have had with him but can’t come up with any.

“What? When?”

“Freshman year…Anthropology 101. In the lecture hall.”

You think back to freshman year and the classes you took. You did, in fact, take an Anthropology course. In a large lecture hall with something close to 100 other students, including your ex.

“I always sat in the back—you were always somewhere up front. Being a nerd, I guess,” he teases. You try to pull your intertwined hands from his to hit him, but he holds onto them tighter, bringing them to his chest. “You look cute when you’re focused, you know that?”

Your brain feels like mush. None of this is ringing a bell.

“Do you remember the presentation you did for extra credit? A family heirloom?”

Now that, you do remember.

“You were so nervous, but I swear it made you look even cuter. The way you talked about the heirloom…” he continues. “…your grandmother’s bracelet, I think it was…”

“Yes,” you say softly.

The bracelet your grandmother gave your mother, who then passed it on to you, and one day you’ll give it to your own child. It feels odd to hear Chan speak about it. Something so deeply personal to you. Granted, you did tell an entire class of strangers about it. But the fact that he remembers it, remembers you?

The fact that he’s known of you this long? Why hadn’t he mentioned it before?

“Why don’t I remember you being in that class?” you ask, struggling to process this new shared history and the words he’s just spilled about you simultaneously.

“It was freshman year…plenty of stuff going on and…your ex,” he shrugs.

He hits the nail on the head with that comment. That class is where you met him.

“You know, the first few weeks of the SKZ house before we bring anyone in?” Chan asks rhetorically, “I thought maybe I’d work up the nerve to talk to you while I could…but then he was there. Always sitting next to you. Even with the class we had this semester. I thought again, maybe it was a sign, you know? But he was waiting for you outside the door after the first class ended.”

You feel a pang of sadness, hearing that. Maybe in a different timeline if he had come talk to you, things would be different. You imagine getting to know a bright-eyed freshman Chan, eager and optimistic to take on the world. Maybe he would have opted out of having an assignee if it were possible, maybe he really could have been yours.

“I remember one of the last lectures you came in with your eyes all puffy,” he continues, disrupting that dangerous train of thought, “like you’d been crying. You didn’t sit anywhere near him that day. I always wondered what happened.”

You open your mouth to speak but close it immediately. What can you say to that? To any of this? Had he really paid such close attention to you? All this time?

“He used to treat you like shit, you know.”

At that remark, you set your lips in a firm line. You untangle your hands from his and cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s true, but hearing Chan say it hits too close to home.

“And you treated me any better?”

Chan takes in your closed off body language and a silence falls over you. Neither of you want this bubble you’re in to burst yet. Perhaps he’s regretting saying any of this at all.

“The day you showed up at our house…” he speaks up again after a while, “I felt sick to my stomach, y/n. Like the universe was playing some sick fucking joke on me.”

He places his hands on your thighs, squeezing and rubbing them.

“When it came time to choose assignees, I couldn’t let you end up with anyone else. I’ve never pulled rank like that before as the chapter president, but with you I had to…and I knew Hyunjin would be good for you, too.”

You shake your head in disbelief.

The day in the hot tub creeps back into your mind. When you told Chan that your time with Hyunjin had been great and he replied with ‘I know. I’m glad’. You didn’t fully understand it then. Now, it’s as if Chan knew the emotional rollercoaster he was going to send you on and wanted to make sure you had a harness. Hyunjin.

You let out a low breath and place your hands on top of your head, locking your fingers together. This is a lot to take in.

“So, your plan was to selfishly claim me and treat me like shit?” You ask after a moment.

“I wouldn’t call it a plan,” he says in a sad tone. “I knew that I was attracted to you and after our first few nights together I had to do something to keep boundaries in place.”

The conversation you shared on the beach clarified his drive for the spankings and edging. You understand his reasonings. You know that his sexual desires and fantasies with you are kept separate from his emotional connection to you. However, it’s confusing and frustrating to know he clearly felt something for you prior to you joining the SKZ House and still kept that brick wall firmly in place between you.

“So, you wanted to fuck me and still treat me like shit then?” You can’t help the bitter edge to your tone.

“I didn’t wanna get to close—clearly I’ve failed,” he admits. “It’s just always been in the back of my mind how long I’ve wanted you and now that I get to have you, there’s an expiration date.”

“What happens when we get back? You start treating me like that again?”

He averts his gaze from you.

“I don’t know how to—” he stops abruptly and shakes his head.

“Chan,” you say softly, reaching out to turn his head back to face you. “Please.”

“I don’t know how to be with you and be genuinely happy in this fucked up situation, y/n. I’m not gonna want it to end…but it has to.”

You sigh, resting your hands on his chest. As much as it hurts to admit, he’s right. You don’t like the thought of having to leave either of them. With Hyunjin, though, you know he will move on with ease which makes losing him slightly easier. Chan, on the other hand, after all the ground you’ve broken, the progress you’ve made…having to throw it all away will be hard. On both of you, you’re coming to realize.

But how else could you have gotten to know him? If you hadn’t shown up at the SKZ house, Chan would have once again had another assignee and not been able to interact with you anyways. Perhaps you both should at least be thankful for the time you’ve been given and enjoy it while you can.

“You can’t go back to being an asshole, Chan,” you tell him softly.

“I know.”

He grabs onto your hips and pulls you closer to him until you’re forced to lay against him. You rest your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You stay like that for a while, the movie playing in the background but neither of you watching it. You want to remember this moment, how it feels to physically and mentally be this close to him.

An alarm suddenly goes off on his phone and Chan quickly silences it. He cups one hand around the back of your neck to guide your head up. His brown eyes bore into yours, still lingering in this shared moment. You hold his face in your hands, staring right back, not backing down. It’s not an intense stare…more like one of silent pleading and unspoken questions. You bring your face to his and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Wait here,” he says, kissing you once more before sliding you off his lap.

He disappears into the bedroom and when he comes back, heads straight for the Christmas tree. He places two wrapped boxes under it and you mentally kick yourself again. You hadn’t even wrapped his. Even so, you can’t hide the smile that takes over your face at the sight and the thought he must have put into this.

“Should I get yours?”

“So you did get me something?” he asks with a smirk.

“I did…but seeing that,” you say, pointing to the neatly wrapped presents under the tree, “I don’t even want to give it to you anymore.”

“It’s fine,” he says again. “I’ll wait until tomorrow. Come pick one.”

You stand from the couch and walk over to him and the tree. Both boxes are square in shape, one larger than the other. You deliberate for a moment before reaching for the larger one. You sit on the floor and pull it towards you, surprised by its weight. You look up at Chan and when he doesn’t move to join you, you pull on his hand until he sits.

“Did you wrap this yourself?”

“I asked the housekeeper to help me out with it,” he tells you.

“Resourceful.”

He taps his temple with his pointer finger.

You start ripping away the wrapping paper to reveal a white box beneath. You can’t hold back your smile as you pull the top part of the box off. You set it aside and pull out the tissue paper. When your eyes land on what’s inside, your mouth drops.

A folded, white lab coat with your last name embroidered across the breast area sits on top. You reach out and run a finger across the stitching. It feels surreal to see.

“I figured you’d need it when you go off to vet school.”

You look up at him, still smiling. You will definitely need it. Along with several other items you were already wondering how you would afford, without having to ask your parents for even more money. That’s part of the reason you ultimately decided to join the SKZ house and save the money they were sending you. At least the majority of it would go towards the next steps in your education.

“Thank you, Chan.”

It’s a thoughtful gift. And you feel the guilt of your shitty gift building.

“There’s more…” he nods towards the box.

And the guilt continues.

You lift the lab coat out of the box and gently set it outside the box. The next item is a set of black scrubs, your name embroidered on the shirt as well. You left them out of the box and sit them on top of the lab coat. When your eyes land on the item at the bottom of the box, your jaw drops again.

You reach inside the box and retrieve the stethoscope. This was one of the pricier items you hadn’t been looking forward to purchasing. You bring it closer to inspect, smiling widely. You immediately recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. It, too, is engraved with your name around it.

You feel your eyes begin to prickle and you blink furiously, not wanting to cry, but you can’t help it. It’s a thoughtful gift. One that you’ll get to take with you when the year is over. A reminder of Chan you get to keep with you forever.

You slowly raise your eyes to look at him, shaking your head softly.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, “Is it not the right kind? I wasn’t really sure…”

“It is—it is,” you say, your voice cracking. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and clear your throat. “It’s perfect. It’s all perfect, Chan. Thank you.”

“Wanna test it out?”

Your smile returns at that and you nod, placing the ear tubes in your ears and sliding closer to him. He pulls you onto his lap once again, putting your legs on either side of him, your butt resting on his folded legs.

You grab the bell end of the stethoscope with one hand and pull at the hem of his t-shirt with the other, lifting it up. You then place the diaphragm end to his chest and he instantly moves back, grabbing your wrist.

“That’s cold doc,” he says, voice muffled and rumbling through the ear piece.

“Sorry, I’m a rookie,” you reply sheepishly.

You bring the diaphragm end to your mouth and breathe on it to warm it up before placing it back over his heart. The digital reader immediately lights up, reading his heart rate. But you’re not focused on it. You’re looking directly into his eyes, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Sounding healthy?” he asks.

You nod.

“Well, we should make sure the reading is accurate, too.”

He cups the back of your neck and pulls your face closer, bringing your lips to his. With his other hand, he holds your wrist and the stethoscope in place. You can hear his heartbeat quicken as you kiss. You grind your hips against his, causing the steady thumping in your ear to beat faster. You want to get lost in the sound of his body’s reaction to you.

He uses his hand on your back to assist your grinding, making sure you can also feel his body’s reaction to you.

Not wanting to jeopardize the safety of your present, you break the kiss and pull the ear tubes out. His hand drops from your wrist allowing you to turn and set the stethoscope neatly on top of the pile of the other presents behind you.

Before you can even turn back around, Chan is changing your position. He holds onto your back tightly as he lowers you down to the floor.

“I won’t write a negative review just yet—but you’ve got some learning to do, doc.”

You like to hear him call you that.

“I’m a fast learner,” you reply.

“Oh, I know,” he says with a wink.

He remains sitting in front of you, his legs still crossed, while you’re lying down. Your legs are draped over his thighs, feet on the ground on either side of him. He pushes your shirt up to expose your stomach and lightly runs his fingers in a zig-zag pattern all the way down until his hand is between your legs. The thin, pajama shorts you’re wearing are a loose fit and don’t do much to keep him out. Not that you’d want that.

He easily moves the fabric aside and his eyes snap to yours when he realizes you aren’t wearing any underwear.

“I only packed so many for the trip,” you laugh and shrug. “I can’t keep messing them up with you.”

He smirks and nods his agreement.

He slides his fingers up and down your slit, teasing your pussy until his fingers become saturated with your slick. He slowly inserts his ring and middle finger inside of you as he places his other palm on your lower stomach. You rock your hips against him in response. He curls his fingers, pressing against your inner walls each time he withdraws his hand, all the while applying steady pressure with his palm.

You can really feel his fingers rubbing against you, and you know he can too. His eyes are on his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, then move up to your writhing body, then your face. A soft smile plays out on his lips as he watches your reaction. He adds his thumb on your clit into the mix and you let out a moan.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes.

You bite your lip between your teeth, arching your back. You’re too caught up in the sensations to formulate a response.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” he asks, slowing them down. “Or on my cock?”

You moan again.

“Both.”

“Greedy,” he says with a soft chuckle, still moving his fingers in and out at an achingly slow pace.

“Mmmm, yes. For you.”

Any part of him you can have.

He moves his fingers quicker, thumb still circling your clit. You sit up a little, placing your hands behind you to hold you up as you move your hips against his fingers.

He arches an eyebrow at this, a devilish smirk on his lips. He withdraws his fingers, and you protest with a whine and pout. He brings his fingers, coated in your slick, to your face and spreads it around your pouted lips. He watches closely as you lick your lips, then brings his hand to his mouth, sucking off the rest for himself.

The sight of him enjoying your taste always sends you off the rails. You grab a handful of his shirt and pull him to you until his lips are on yours. He seems a little startled, but he allows it. You kiss him, taste him, taste you.

Before you can have too much, he breaks the kiss but keeps his face against yours.

“I want you to open your other present now,” he says, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“Not in the morning?” you ask, catching your breath.

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. “I wanna see it on you now.”

He stretches to the side to retrieve the present and you wrap your arms around his waist to keep from falling back. He grabs it and returns to his upright position before handing it to you.

You take the present and rip the wrapping paper, much less delicately than you did the first. What could this be? He wants to see it on you? You’re excited to find out. You toss all bits of the paper behind you without a care until just the box is left. You lift the lid from the box and inside is what appears to be…a collar?

You look up to Chan with an arched brow and he just smiles widely, baring all his pearly white teeth. The part of the collar that rests on the back of the neck is black, with a belt buckle-like fastener. On the front is a thick, silver linked chain (much like the one he wears on his wrist) with a silver heart hanging from it. The heart itself has several tiny jewels spread evenly around it. The way they glitter in the light, you hope its cubic zirconia…but knowing how deep Chan’s pockets go, they might just be diamonds. You bring the heart closer for inspection and see the words 'Good Girl' engraved on it.

You’re not sure what to make of it. Both the cost, the phrase and the gift itself. He wants you to wear this? Like a dog?

He takes it out of the box and drapes it around your neck, moving your hair out of the way so he can fasten it in the back. You look up at him as he hooks a finger through the heart and tugs on it. Pulling, pulling, restricting until it’s taught against your throat.

Oh. Oh.

“This okay?” he asks.

You appreciate that he’s asking. You’re convinced you’d let him walk you through the street with it, so long as he asks first.

You close the distance between you, placing your lips on his to convey your consent. He tugs a little tighter on the collar as you kiss before releasing it fully.

In the next moment, your hands are on his shoulders, pushing on them until his back is now against the floor. He doesn’t resist at all.

You reposition yourself comfortably on top of him. You put your hands on his biceps, squeezing them tightly before sliding up his arms to his hands. You move them up above his head then lace your fingers between his, holding them in place as you kiss him. You grind your hips into his and he lets out a moan. You feel his hardening cock pressed between your legs. You grind against it more, sliding your clit along his length. Your kisses become quicker, sloppier, as you keep grinding on him.

He tries to move his hands, but you squeeze them tighter. He lets out a grunt and uses more force to break free—reminding you that he was allowing you to keep them there. He sits up and wraps one arm around you, pulling you close as he starts to stand up. You wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. He walks you both back over to the couch.

He unhooks your legs and lowers you so you’re standing in front of him. He leans down and claims your lips again, but you want him undressed. You reach for the hem of his shirt and start pulling it up. You break the kiss to get it completely off his head and before he can kiss you again, you push him onto the couch.

You lift your shirt above your head and as you’re reaching back to unhook your bra, you give a pointed look to his sweatpants. He lifts his hips from the couch and pushes them down.

“Does it look good?” you ask, running your fingers along the collar as you kneel in front of him.

He licks his lips in anticipation, “Better than I imagined.”

You reach for his hand and bring it to the collar. He tugs on the heart again, tightening it around your neck. He wraps his other hand around the base of his cock and pulls you towards it. You drop your jaw and take him in your mouth.

He sucks in a breath, watching you lower your mouth on him. He releases the collar and leans back into the couch. You replace your hand with his at the base, stroking his dick as you bob your head up and down.

You alternate between stroking, sucking, taking it out and smacking it against your lips. He moans and groans, body jerking in response to your actions. You love seeing him like this.

You take him out of you mouth fully and continue stroking him, moving your mouth instead to take each of his balls in your mouth, in turn. You glance up to his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he lets out a deep breath.

“So,” you say, returning your attention to his cock, licking slowly around the tip. “You wanna come in my mouth or in my pussy?”

He looks down at you, only able to smile and shake his head at your use of his same words against him. He leans forward and grabs the heart of the collar once more, using it to pull you to him.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he asks, kissing along your lips.

You giggle and nod playfully in response.

He leans back, pulling on the collar to bring you with him until you’re forced to stand again. His other hand slips between your legs and he rubs your pussy with his fingers.

“I wanna fill you up here.”

You moan against his lips, and he releases the collar. He lightly pushes against your chest, so you stand fully then motions to your shorts. You turn around, bend over and pull them down. You move to straighten yourself, but he lurches forward to stop you.

He puts a hand on your back to keep you bent over. In the next instant you feel his other hand collide with your ass and you let out a surprised yelp. He rubs the wounded area on the right and brings his mouth to the left cheek, placing a wet kiss to it. You feel his teeth dig into your skin, causing you to gasp. He smacks the right cheek again.

He shifts his mouth to the surely reddening cheek, placing another wet kiss there. It soothes the stinging a bit. He slaps the left check, his palm gripping your ass when it lands. He then immediately slides his fingers between your legs, slipping along your wet slit until they find your opening. He pushes his fingers inside, you don’t even know how many, but it makes you feel full.

“Mmmm,” you moan, pushing back against him.

“You’re dripping for me,” he says, lacing kisses along each cheek.

“Always,” you reply. And it’s the truth.

He takes his fingers out of you and places both hands on your waist, guiding you down to him. He positions himself at your opening and you roll your head back as he slowly lowers you on his cock. You remain still when he’s fully inserted, just basking in the feel of him inside you.

You make small movements with your hips first, moving forwards and backwards.

“Fuck,” he exhales, gripping your hips tighter.

You like the way he sounds when you’re pleasing him.

You plant your feet firmly on the ground, your hands on his knees. You start to move up and down, bouncing on him and drawing more delicious groans from him.

He uses his hands on your waist to lift you higher and bring you down even harder. You cup your breasts, pinching your nipples to add to the pleasure you’re feeling. You don’t know if you’ll ever get tired of his cock filling you up. Though, you won’t exactly have the opportunity to find out.

You try to push the thought aside, but you can feel it distracting you.

Chan notices as your rhythm becomes out of sync with his. He pulls you all the way down against him, then slides his hand up your stomach, between your breasts, all the way to your neck. He covers the collar with his hand and pulls you back against his chest. You keep circling your hips on him, not wanting to lose the momentum.

“You okay?” he asks softly in your ear.

“Yeah,” you reply, but it’s a lie. “I want to see you.”

He repositions both of you so you’re lying fully on the couch and he’s on top of you. He guides one of your knees up and hooks your leg over his shoulder as he enters you again.

“Like this?”

You offer a silent nod, sliding your hands up his bare, chiseled chest, locking your fingers together behind his neck.

He starts moving again and you feel him sliding in and out, and you find yourself unable to tear your gaze from his face. His eyes are locked on you too. This feels heavy, but neither of you comment on it. He turns his head to the side to place a kiss to the leg that’s slung over his shoulder, eyes never leaving yours.

Your hands leave his neck to roam through his hair, over his face, touching every part of him you can to commit to memory. You shift your mental focus to the way he feels, beneath your fingertips, his cock inside of you.

You want the Chan you’ve had for the past week for the rest of the time you have him. Open. Earnest. You try to convey this with your eyes as he continues thrusting in and out. He grabs your breast, squeezing it tightly and you part your lips and arch your back in response.

You don’t know if you’ll survive if he goes back to treating you like you don’t matter. You can’t let him do that to you. Can you?

“I know, I know,” he says in response to your unspoken qualms. He kisses your leg once more before releasing it to lay his body flat against yours. He wraps his arms around your head in a hug of sorts, as he continues his deep and steady strokes.

Chan isn’t fucking you tonight. He’s making love to you.

You slide one hand down to where the two of you are joined, finding your clit. He lifts slightly, allowing you more room to rub circles around it.

“Come on my cock, baby,” he commands.

You whimper at his words. Baby.

You rub your clit faster as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, still driving into you as deep as he can. He angles himself so that with each thrust his dick digs against your walls. It’s enough to drive you crazy. You’re whining, moaning, panting.

“Come for me,” he says again. “Come for me baby girl.”

Your hand on his chest goes for his throat. You squeeze your fingers around it and see his eyes darken, but he doesn’t stop you. He moves his hips faster, harder.

“Chan,” you pant, “please. Right there. Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

He keeps the same pace, same angle, same motions until you’re arching your back and squeezing his neck, digging your nails into his delicate skin as you come around his cock. He grits his teeth, grunting and pounding into you furiously as he comes right after.

His movements slow as he finishes. You release his neck and wrap your arms around it instead. He lowers himself on top of you, all but smothering you with his weight but you don’t care. This is a happy way to die, if it comes to that.

You kiss along his collar bone as you both catch your breath. His cock keeps twitching inside of you and you clench the walls of your pussy around him each time it does. His body jerks each time you do it.

“Stop, stop,” he pleads, chuckling softly.

You chuckle in response.

That was different. In ways you hadn’t imagined possible with Chan. The two of you stay on the couch, wrapped up in each other for a while longer.

The following morning, you’re both woken up by a knock at the door. Chan, just as confused as you, climbs out of bed to answer it. You hear him talking to someone and he returns a few moments later.

“Another Minho surprise,” he tells you. “A couples massage.”

“That actually sounds amazing,” you murmur, pushing off the blankets.

You both go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. You put your hair up in a messy bun then go to the living room while Chan lets in the masseuses. There’s one male and one female. After setting up their massage tables in the open space between the couch and the TV, they leave for the hallway allowing you both some privacy to remove your clothing.

Chan watches you undress with a sly smile on his face, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You stick your tongue out at him and throw your pajama shirt at his face, but he dodges it and catches it in his hand. He folds it neatly and sets it on the couch before removing his own shirt.

When you’re both settled on the tables, they re-enter.

“You’re with me, sir,” you hear Chan say and lift your head.

He’s motioning for the male masseuse to come to him.

“I need firmer hands,” he adds.

But you know that’s not it. No other man outside of the SKZ House is allowed to touch you in the way the masseuse will need to. You know it’s because of that. But it still makes you feel warm inside to think Chan personally doesn’t want anyone else touching you.

After the massage, you and Chan shower together then order a late brunch. He opens his present that you are now extremely embarrassed to give him. When he pulls out the pair of neon blue swim trunks with “Miami Vice” written on it, you hide your face, and he immediately laughs.

“These are loud,” he says. “I’ll wear them to the beach tomorrow.”

Next, he pulls out a refrigerator magnet with “Miami” written across it with palm trees surrounding it.

“To be fair,” you say, wanting to explain, “I had no clue what to get you. You’re not exactly an open book.”

“That is fair,” he agrees. He looks at you with a soft smile, as if he wishes things had been different. He kisses your forehead. “Thank you anyways.”

You spend your final two days mostly relaxing and staying close to the hotel. You spend time at the beach again, Chan in his neon blue swim trunks and looking fucking delectable in them.

Getting on the plane to go home, you’re hit with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Chan’s behavior hasn’t changed yet, and you’re praying that it doesn’t. That even though you both know how this has to end; he can find it within himself to not push you out again. You lean on him and hold his hand for most of the flight back.

Changbin picks you up from the airport and Chan rides up front while you sit in the back. He asks how the trip was and you both reply that it was good. He then addresses Chan in Korean and you’re left clueless in the back seat. But whatever is said, you can feel the weight of it from Chan’s reaction. He leans back in his seat, slouches, and runs his hand through his hair.

You try not to think much of it, but it must be important. They don’t typically speak Korean in front of any of the assignees unless it’s about something that, to be frank, is none of their business.

The car ride is over far too soon, and they still haven’t filled you in on what’s happening.

Once in the driveway, you notice a black car parked in front of the house with a Rolls Royce emblem on the front. You immediately furrow your brow, curiosity and anxiety spiking through the roof at this point.

Changbin exits the car first. You remain planted in the backseat, waiting for Chan to say or explain anything.

He lets out a low breath and leans back against the headrest, eyes closed.

“My dad’s here,” he announces.

Your eyes open wide, and even more confusion sets in. Is it an unexpected visit? Is he not happy to see his father?

“You don’t want him to be?” you ask slowly, carefully.

“Well, it’s never exactly a cause for celebration when any of our parents show up,” he says dryly. “Just…stay out of his way.”

Chan opens his door and you follow in suit.

Changbin has pulled the luggage from the trunk, he’s holding the handle to yours and Chan grabs his own. You move to walk past them both, but Chan grabs your arm to stop you.

You turn to face him, trying to read his expression but a mask is in place.

“Chan,” you say, placing a hand to his chest.

A glint, a flicker of something crosses over his eyes and you see your Chan for a split second.

He kisses your forehead.

“After us. And then straight upstairs, okay?” he says softly.

You nod your head and wait for them to walk to the door first.

As soon as you enter the house, you can feel the commanding presence of his father. Your eyes are drawn straight to him on the living room couch, looking all business in a tailored black suit, black hair slicked back.

“Appa.” Chan says.

“Hello,” you say politely with a small bow at the waist.

You know he told you to go straight upstairs, but it would feel rude to pass by without speaking to him.

His father spares half a glance at you before staring daggers at his son.

Changbin heads for the stairs with your suitcase and you follow him. You look back at Chan and offer as encouraging a smile as you can muster. Chan doesn’t turn to look at you. He walks towards his father like a man heading to the gallows and the sight of him like that punctures your already fragile heart.

a/n: oof. thoughts? feelings? a lot to unpack here. thank you all again for your patience! and sorry the tags still aren't working :(

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #bang chan #bangchan fanfic #skz smut #the skz house #bang chan imagines #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n

154 notes · View notes

selfloverrrrrr · 21 hours

Note

mean yandere true form!sukuna who fucks innocent bunny hybrid reader :3

Pleasurable Gift ~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference, bunny hybrid reader....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Was it my fault that I decided to go to the woods and take a little walk that night? I had a hidden house in the middle of the jungle. Yes it must be hidden cause I'm a bunny hybrid girl. Who lives alone here. People are not that good that they won't kill me after knowing I'm not a normal human being....

That night I decided to take a little walk after I finished my dinner. I was walking through the woods and don't know suddenly from where some bunch of people came there. "Look we found one" "catch her!!!" They screamed. I tried to run but failed. I begged them to leave me but they didn't listen. They started dragging me somewhere. I didn't know where until they reached the destination.

It was a huge castle. They dragged me into the throne room. Then I saw. On the throne there was someone sitting. Fuck who was that?! He doesn't seemed like normal human or something. He had four eyes, four hands and his height wasn't like any human....it was like some monster.

The people who borrowed me here bowed infront of him. "Master Sukuna....you asked us to give you something pleasurable in return of not taking our life...so here it is" a man said and then they threw me in front of his throne. I fell on the floor. "Take her, master.... Make her your toy in return of not killing us" the man said.

My eyes widened. Were they bargaining with me?! "I'll tell that tomorrow that if you won't be killed or not.... I've to check how much pleasurable she is..." Sukuna said. "Now leave" Sukuna said. And they quickly run out of the castle. "Now... come here, brat" Sukuna said.

I looked at him with scared eyes. "N-No" I said. He tilted his head to a side. "No no no... this can't be..." I said and turned around to run away. But suddenly Sukuna was in front of me. I gasped and fell on the throne. "I didn't ask you.... I ordered you,brat" he said staring at me.

He grabbed my hair and pulled me towards him. "You should respect me like a filthy slut you are!" He said said. Tears came in my eyes. He stopped for a second. Then he inhaled my fragrance. "You aren't normal human!.... You are some kind of hybrid... what hybrid are you?" He asked seriously. "B-Bunny" I whispered. He smirked. "Even better" he whispered back.

He dragged me towards his bedroom. I groaned in pain. He threw me on his bed and locked the door. Took off his kimono and threw it on the floor then started crawling towards me on the bed."please stop" I said and tried to push myself backwards but he grabbed my leg and pulled me towards him. I gasped. He was still smirking."stop?... Where's the fun then? You're a slut and you should spread your legs wide and please me" he whispered and crashed his lips on mine.

I tried to push him away but his grip was too strong. I can't even move myself. He was kissing me too roughly. I couldn't breathe. He grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. My boobs were out. He looked at those with lust in his eyes. "My my... slut even have a body like a proper slut " He said with a smirk. He didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensetion. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even effect on him. "S-stop ...... Oh god please stopppp" I scremed but he didn't stop.

Then he took off my pantie. My tail was out too. "Soft tail" he said stroking on my tail. "spread those legs wideeeee " he whispered and then looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered " filthy whore is fucking wet". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pant.

My eyes widened. He had two dicks?! Both of them were too long and thick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " P-please no... s-stop" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed one of his whole dick inside me in one slide. I scremed. " I they really give me a pleasurable filthy thing" He said evilly. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he was licking it so much. His thurst became harder and harder.

But suddenly He pulled out. My pussy clenched around nothing. "Look at you,whore... how much you're clenching.... I know bunny hybrid girls are too much pleasurable..." he said with a cackle. He stroked himself. Then again took his dick on my pussy. He rubbed it there. I again clenched around nothing. I don't want it... Then he slammed his dick inside.

But he wasn't thrusting this time. What was he doing? I looked at him. My eyes widened. I saw him rubbing his another dick on my clit. He was smirking at me. Then he took his second dick to my entrance too. "NOOOO .... PLEASE!!! I can't!!! I can't take both of these!!!" I screamed. "But you will" he whispered.

" P-please no... s-stop" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed his second dick inside me in one slide. I scremed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his both dicks and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he was licking it so much. His thurst became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly "....so f-fucking tight " he whimpered . Suddenly a month formed on his stomach and a tongue came out of that mouth. It started rubbing my clit and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thursting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength. I moaned. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed. " Stop struggling slut...!!!" He screamed. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. My vision blurred out.

"The gave me a proper toy to play....looks like they're gonna be free" he whispered to himself.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

@oreolemur thanks for helping with it 🎀

115 notes · View notes

perfectlyoongi · 3 days

Text

ALL THE NUMBERS BETWEEN US

‧₊˚ ┊synopsis ... you had a little habit that had been with you since you were little: you loved to count, everything. but when yoongi went to visit his future university and left you alone in the city, this little habit became more addictive.

‧₊˚ ┊fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ ft. ... yoongi x gn!reader. ‧₊˚ ┊genre ... long-shot. ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ content ... fluff, pre-college!au, kinda ocd reader (?), shy best friends with feelings. ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ word count ... 4.2k. ‧₊˚ ┊cole's note ... dont ask how and why i thought of this, i dont have an answer for u lol i hope u like it tho ♡

You had a little fascination with numbers.

Since you were little, you felt involved in the tender and delicate lines of numbers, finding a little pleasure in counting everything that surrounded you, everything you did, everything you said.

Your life was a routine that revolved around infinite numbers. It was all you knew and it was all you needed. Every day you ate exactly four slices of apple and two cookies and drank a glass of milk; before leaving the house, you always gave your mother two kisses and, when you came home from school, you hugged your father for exactly three seconds. It was all a routine that had been created for a long time and that you couldn’t break.

Numbers have always been important to you, captivating you in the complexity of the vast numerical world since you were little, always leaving you enchanted by their magic.

However, as you grew up, you realized that a lifetime dedicated to numbers and routines was quite complicated – and painful.

Your first heartbreak was when you turned eleven: the typical hug and three seconds with your father had turned into a bitter touching of arms that couldn’t even reach the first second. It was a small disappointment, your first, but it was the only one you needed to start seeing the world in a different way. Maybe numbers aren’t that important after all.

So, even before you entered high school, you had already stopped counting how many steps you took to school, how many minutes you remained silent in class, how many ‘kids’ your teacher said. You believed that now, free from your habit, you could have a normal life, a life that would expand with your enrollment at the university.

However, in your first year of high school, you met Min Yoongi.

In a room full of students, the probability of you pairing up with the new student was a little low, but, perhaps due to your numerical history, the odds were in your favor and, in an English class, you and Min Yoongi met for the first time.

Yoongi’s cordiality invited you to get to know him better. Amid study sessions, a friendship between you began to slowly germinate; your English work was finished almost immediately, but that didn’t stop Yoongi from continuing to send you messages through texts – he always felt more comfortable behind a screen.

The complicity that was created between you and Yoongi was something unusual for you, something you didn’t know how to deal with. In a certain way, you felt that the seed planted by Yoongi in the middle of notebooks and books was taking root in your heart, branches of comfort and security drawing an extensive tree of friendship within you.

In the space of two months, you and Yoongi became inseparable.

But, no matter how much comfort Yoongi provided you, no matter how much warmth Yoongi fed your heart, Yoongi also brought with him a kind of anxiety, a nervousness that forced you to return to that annoying habit of counting – you couldn’t understand why.

And everything went back to numbers.

And everything went back to being a routine.

Every day it took you exactly eleven minutes and four seconds to get to school. Every day you always waited three minutes for Yoongi to appear and offer you two simple words that, in a way, brightened your day. Every day you spent five classes writing exactly thirty lines of notes using just a pen. Every day you had exactly an hour and a half for lunch, which was always shared with Yoongi. Every day, at the end of classes, you always waited five minutes for Yoongi to meet you at the school gate and walk the eleven minutes and four seconds with you to your house.

But, no matter how routine your life was, no matter how many days passed, your little habit brought by Yoongi began to irritate you: you felt like you had gone back in time and been that naive child – but it was stronger than you, you couldn’t help it.

Was there a way to break this habit?

The reality is that during the three years you shared with Yoongi in high school, your life had become a routine surrounded by numerical sequences that you repeated day after day after day after day aft–

No matter how much you thought, you couldn’t understand why Yoongi had such an impact on your life to the point that your heart raced exactly two seconds every time you were with him. This behavior of yours was strange to your heart and year after year it only got worse, reaching the point of confusing all the numbers in your mind.

You blamed Yoongi.

Your heart was unstable whenever Yoongi’s energy approached you. It was practically difficult for you to follow a logical thought because of Yoongi: so quickly your heart beat exactly sixty times a minute, and then it accelerated to a crazy ninety heartbeats.

All because Yoongi was, in reality, that person you always dreamed of.

And now, in the last year of high school, when universities were mentioned and futures were planned, everything seemed redundant, everything seemed meaningless.

“It doesn’t feel real.”

Yoongi’s words were embellished by an intense sunset, the vibrant colors in the sky guiding your path to your house.

“What doesn’t?”

“It’s our last year,” Yoongi had a sad smile on his lips, as if that thought alone carried with it all the negativity in the world. “High school.”

“Yea.”

You used the same smile as Yoongi and, after blinking your eyes twice, you tilted your head a little to watch the sky: among the vibrant colors of reds and oranges, you could make out small white clouds that were trying to create a shape, a story.

“It seems like it was yesterday that we met.”

Your words were covered with pure longing. As if carrying all the memories shared between you and Yoongi, your words caressing Yoongi’s lips, giving truth to that shy smile of his.

Two seconds passed and Yoongi’s smile expanded on its own.

Lost in his thoughts, Yoongi didn’t realize that he was now smiling widely, letting the warm air of the day kiss his lips, his brown eyes shining brightly.

“I’m grateful you’re in my life.”

Yoongi’s confession took exactly three seconds to settle in your heart and five seconds to be processed. Yoongi’s words repeated exactly three times inside your head and lit a single fire inside you.

He was grateful. Because you’re in his life. You.

“Your presence in my life,” every syllable uttered by Yoongi was bathed in longing, peppered with the memories of three long years filled with pure happiness and understanding, “made high school an experience worth living.”

Every word Yoongi released made small palpitations in your heart, your heartbeat becoming irregular when commanded by your best friend’s honesty.

“Having you with me brought me so many emotions, so many dreams, so many…”

“Dreams?”

You couldn’t control yourself. At that simple six-letter word your lips curved into a perfect smile full of curiosity and enthusiasm.

Yoongi told you everything.

There was an desirable complicity in your relationship.

It seemed natural, something that slept inside you and Yoongi and woke up only when the first words were exchanged. Yoongi swore it was timeless. Just two months of your friendship were enough for Yoongi to be sure that the complicity that existed between the two of you was too strong to be new. In other lives, Yoongi used to say, in other lives we shared memories and dreams. In other lives, you used to say, in other lives we had a lasting relationship. In other lives, however, in other lives you weren’t together. But Yoongi believed. You believed.

“What dreams?”

“None.” Yoongi took exactly two steps away from you and, after holding back a smile for exactly one second, he spoke again, his voice full of amusement. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yoonie!” your best friend’s name sounded in laughter, your hands looking for Yoongi’s arm to hold him. “Tell me, what dreams?”

“None, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please!”

Your voice had dropped in timbre and, as you gently pronounced those six letters, Yoongi sighed.

Two blinks. A smile.

“I want to join the university basketball team.”

Yoongi’s secret was exposed. Painted with the fire of the sky, Yoongi’s secret flew gently into your ears, basking in your mind, racing your heart.

Ninety-two heartbeats.

Basketball. Yoongi dreamed of basketball. Yoongi dreamed. Basketball. Os course.

“And… I would like you… I would like you to come and watch me play.”

Ninety-seven heartbeats.

You. You were in Yoongi’s dream. Your presence. Your soul. You. In Yoongi’s dream.

You smiled.

“If you make the team, I promise I’ll watch your first game.”

“You don’t need to go. It’s just a dream.”

You could tell from Yoongi’s shy tone of voice that he was embarrassed by his confession, feeling exposed for having told a simple secret.

But it was Yoongi’s dream. It was Yoongi’s genuine and only dream. You. You. You.

“I promise.” your promise was joyful, sprinkled with the sundust that illuminated your conversation. “I want to cheer for you. I want to see you doing what you love most. I want to see my best friend happy.”

“But I’m already happy with you.”

One second. Ninety-four heartbeats.

Two seconds. One hundred heartbeats.

Three seconds. Happy with you. Yoongi was happy. With you. Yoongi was happy with you.

“I’m happy with you too.”

Two perfect smiles. Two genuine smiles. Two silent seconds.

You and Yoongi looked at each other, letting the intense shine in your eyes speak for you. You and Yoongi looked at each other, letting the soft breeze of the day caress your faces. You and Yoongi looked at each other, and the entire world had disappeared.

“My days feel incomplete without you.”

A confession from you.

Seventy-eight heartbeats.

“I can only be myself when I’m with you.”

A confession from Yoongi.

Ninety-one heartbeats.

“Yoongi?”

Your voice came out in a thread, shaky. It didn’t matter how many times you repeated your best friend’s name, the reality is that your heart beat exactly seventy-eight times a minute whenever you thought of that name, whenever you pronounced that name, whenever you waited for that name to respond to you.

Yoongi’s eyes focused on you, a small, shy smile appeared on your best friend’s lips, that curve expanding as if automatically – it was the effect you had on Yoongi.

He didn’t utter a word. Only Yoongi’s gaze spoke for him, shining with the happiness of that moment, showing you the contentment he felt in that moment.

For a instant, your heartbeat dropped to exactly forty-two heartbeats per minute.

“Do you think we will continue to be friends?”

Your question was carried by the breeze at the end of the day, your words spreading across the street as if wanting to drive away all the fear you carried with you.

“I hope so.”

Yoongi’s confession stuck on the sidewalk, his words settling on the street as if cementing all the hope they carried.

“But… you’re going to Seoul, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Yoongi seemed unable to utter any statement, it was as if in that single monosyllable he hid something that he was afraid to show.

You continued to walk in silence, the sunset painting you a picture of anxious reds and shy oranges. An entire city graced your walk, where every car and every person played an urban melody that was already well known to you.

“I need to tell you something.”

Yoongi stopped walking and you stopped exactly two steps in front of him.

You were curious. When Yoongi said exactly those six words to you, the possibilities were endless: he could talk about the team of that sport he really likes, he could talk about a restaurant that just opened, he could talk about so many possibilities that the numbers started to jumble inside you.

Yoongi looked at you nervously.

Two blinks. A deep breath. A blink.

“I like you…” Yoongi sighed again and looked at the ground, searching the sidewalk for some of the courage that might have been lost there. Scratching the back of his neck, taking a deep breath once more, Yoongi looked at you again, still nervous, still without courage. “You know I…”

“Yoongi,” you let out a small laugh that hid itself in Yoongi’s ears, resonating over and over and over again. “Don’t be nervous. You know you can tell me everything.”

“Everything, yes.”

A blink. A deep breath. Two blinks.

“You know you’re my best friend,” Yoongi’s voice was low, hoarse, still nervous about the words he was choosing in detail. “You know that I… that I really like you, don’t you?”

Four words.

I really like you.

One word.

Really.

“Yea…”

Pathetic. What a pathetic word. What yea so pathetic. What was happening to you? Why did you let those four words affect you so much? No. One. One word.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you. I didn’t have the courage.”

Courage. Why did Yoongi need that one word?

Forty-five heartbeats.

“There is a program at the university. Where first-year students can receive extra credit and get used to the university. And I am in that program.”

“That’s it?” you laughed at your best friend’s speech. Why was Yoongi so nervous about saying those five words? “You didn’t need to be so nervous.”

“It’s this summer.”

Three words.

Three words that were carried by the wind to distant lands to surprise as many people as they could. Three words that were heard by you with amazement and nervousness. Three words that simply won’t leave your mind.

“It lasts three months.”

Three. Three. Three.

What could you do? What could you say? Was Yoongi waiting for an answer? For a reaction? Nothing crossed your mind other than the number three. Your whole world had collapsed, everything had disappeared, total darkness painted you inside leaving the number three floating, floating, floating, floa–

But you just smiled for exactly two seconds as the last rays of the day gently painted Yoongi’s figure and you waited exactly another two seconds to speak.

“I hope you have fun.”

Your smile was genuine, quite wide and captivating, the kind of smile that would make anyone else smile too. But Yoongi didn’t smile. Yoongi just stared at you, blinking exactly five times before turning his sigh into a small, shaky smile “Thank you.”

In a way, you thought those two words hid more than they showed. In a way, you thought those two words were a disguise for Yoongi’s true feelings.

But you couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t force Yoongi to talk. So you just continued walking with Yoongi by your side, silently casting prayers to the sun to keep Yoongi safe.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You knew Yoongi’s program would be long. What you didn’t know was that the program forced your best friend to disappear completely for three months.

No.

It wasn’t three months.

Ninety-two days, four hours, three minutes, ten seconds since your last hug.

Thirty seconds since his last smile.

Forty seconds since your last goodbye.

You were lying in bed counting precisely the seconds that were ringing loudly on the clock hanging on the wall.

You were trying to distract yourself by following the clock, naming the various seconds that passed. You were simply using that habit of yours to comfort yourself; you were looking for some relieve to protect you from the longing you felt for Yoongi.

Your body was completely relaxed on the mattress, trying to calm your mind a little.

But it was unnecessary. And you knew that. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t overcome the physical lack that Yoongi made you. Yes, you continued to talk almost daily, only when he could and had free time; but talking via texts couldn’t make up for the lack of Yoongi’s laughter, to make up for the lack of Yoongi’s jokes, to make up for the lack of Yoongi.

You sighed and got up from the bed exactly four seconds after letting your sigh of frustration wander into the emptiness of your room, of your heart.

You approached your desk and looked longingly at the last letter you had exchanged with Yoongi.

You let out a small wistful smile.

Yoongi knew how much you liked to count, especially the words, the minutes of waiting, the various spelling mistakes he made on purpose just to make you smile, to give you something more to count.

And that letter was, in fact, something very important to you – not because it was the last one you had received, but because those simple eight words had touched you in a way that you didn’t even know you missed. However, although Yoongi’s ‘we have to talk when I come home’ had moved you, the reality is that it wasn’t in the good way you were used to, but to the point of making your anxiety reach extreme peaks every time you saw that sheet of paper.

You read those words exactly five times before deciding to keep it in the blue box that Yoongi had offered you before leaving. After counting the thirteen letters that rested silently there, you closed the box and placed it on the shelf.

You sat on the bed again.

You counted the seconds on the clock again.

You thought about those eight words again.

What did Yoongi have to say? You thought of exactly eleven scenarios before you heard your cell phone ring and, before you saw who was calling you, your heart dropped to exactly fifty-three beats per minute.

But when you read the name, oh!, when you read Yoongi’s name shining on your small screen your heart accelerated to hundred and eleven heartbeats per minute and you needed to take four deep breaths before gained courage and answered the call.

“Hey.”

Yoongi sounded exactly as he always did: calm with a hint of joy trapped in the syllables. You immediately relaxed, as if that greeting was the magic word to control all your nerves.

“Just got home. Do you want… Do you want to meet me?”

Oh. Yeah. The eight words. Those words were still something you should worry about.

At the mention of that possible meeting, your body became rigid, your heart slowed down significantly and you simply forgot to breathe.

Yoongi needed to talk to you and you couldn’t decipher what he wanted.

During these long three months, nothing serious had happened to you – but what if something had happened to him? What if he found someone else to share his life with? What if he found someone else who made him feel the same way you once made him feel? What if he had found another best friend?

“Are you still there?”

“Yea, yea,” two yeses, one omission; you were hiding something, you were hiding what you really felt, you were hiding what really worried you. “So… let’s meet at the cafe in twenty?

“See ya.”

You hung up the call and stared at your phone screen for exactly one minute and two seconds.

Silence fell in your room, no thought running through your mind other than those eight words from Yoongi and his request. You couldn’t think of anything else, no matter how hard you tried – and it was slowly destroying you.

You sat in your room for five minutes and thirty-two seconds.

You didn’t want to meet Yoongi. You didn’t want to find out what he wanted to talk to you about so much. Your heart raced just at the thought of Yoongi saying that he found someone different, someone better.

You didn’t want to lose Yoongi, you couldn’t afford that luxury.

But he was here... Yoongi was here and these ninety-two days, four hours and fifty-three minutes were too much – and it was what moved you.

You got out of bed and got ready for that meeting you were dreading so much.

Walking to the agreed location was like a walk to purgatory. Your feet were slow, your mind was thinking fast. The day was hot, the end of August arriving proud in its majesty and warming every corner of the city, every building in the city, every person in the city – except you.

Wrapped up in your worrying thoughts, the sun of that day found itself unable to tear you away from that block of ice that you had created in your mind with those eight words from Yoongi.

You walked with your head down, hands moving frantically with your fingers looking for a distraction other than the numbers.

But it was needless.

After exactly three steps, you started counting the number of cars that passed you. The number of steps you took. The number of people who were on their cell phone. The time: ninety-two days, five hours, twenty-eight minutes and forty-nine seconds.

Ten more steps and you arrived at the cafe. You knew you had to wait for Yoongi, but you preferred to arrive early rather than spend endless minutes anxiously in your room. Still, you made those ten steps last, dragging them out and distracting yourself with everything you could.

One step, three more people on the cell phone.

Two steps, the memory of your first hello to Yoongi.

Three steps, a couple holding hands – the first that day.

Four steps, your first hug.

Five steps, three pigeons flying.

Six steps, that day he gave you his coat because you were cold.

Seven steps, another person on the cell phone.

Eight steps, when he said he really liked you.

Nine steps, a boy riding a bicycle.

Ten steps, Yoongi.

Ninety-two days, five hours, thirty minutes and two seconds was how long it took you to see Yoongi since your last goodbye.

Two seconds was the time you couldn’t breathe after seeing Yoongi’s relaxed figure.

Forty-five were your heartbeats per minute.

Two minutes was the time you and Yoongi needed to assimilate that reality.

You were together once again.

You ran exactly four steps until you found yourself in Yoongi’s strong arms who, thinking that the world could ruin that moment, didn’t let go of you. Yoongi just held you tightly against his body and you could smell his sweet perfume, the perfume that you missed so much.

That hug lasted exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds. Your breath stopped for two seconds. Your heart beat seventy-eight times a minute. For two minutes and forty-three seconds your mind was blank. Your only thought was to focus on the feeling of comfort you felt being in Yoongi’s arms once again after not seeing him for so long.

No.

It wasn’t ‘so long’.

You knew perfectly well how long it had been.

Ninety-two days, five hours, thirty minutes and two seconds contained a profound eternity of fear and longing.

It didn’t matter. Finally you were in Yoongi’s arms. Finally you were being welcomed by Yoongi’s tenderness. Finally you were being touched by Yoongi’s affection. Finally you were with Yoongi – that was all that mattered.

But, after two minutes and forty-three seconds, Yoongi broke the hug and looked at you, his brown eyes always shining, the smile that only you gave him beautifying his face.

You trembled because, looking at Yoongi now, you remembered why you had met at that moment, without giving Yoongi any time to rest.

Yoongi wanted to talk to you.

“So? What do you want to tell me?”

“I missed you so much,” was all Yoongi said to you, cutting off your question, your reasoning, leaving you looking at him in shock, completely confused by what he told you. “I missed you so, so much.”

You stood there staring at him. You repeated those five words to yourself in total disbelief, confused with what was happening, with what could happen after those words from Yoongi. “You… You missed me?”

“I know you like to count,” Yoongi smiled wistfully, blinking with each word, looking at you with tenderness and a lot of… love? “But I also know that you like being with me. I thought it was more… special… to tell you… in pers…. Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

Yoongi let out a weak laugh and you waited exactly four seconds before answering him, your voice coming out in a slurred, shaky, shy thread.

“No. It’s not stupid.”

Because it was true.

Those five words had a different impact when said in person and you never realized it. In ninety-two days, five hours, thirty minutes and two seconds. In thirty hours of calls exchanged with Yoongi. In thirteen letters written with Yoongi. In two thousand, one hundred and thirty-four messages with Yoongi. In three months you never realized that Yoongi never, not once, said those five simple words to you.

I missed you so much.

Yoongi smiled fondly, a light and shy shade of pink appearing on his cheeks when he, very unsure of the situation, slowly touched your hand for exactly two seconds.

And you smiled back, slowly opening your fingers and waiting a second for him to intertwine his fingers with yours.

ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ feedback is appreciated ♡

105 notes · View notes

poppy-metal · 10 hours

Note

UGH and then he shows up at your work and you’re like “fuck off or i’ll tell my manager you’re harassing me” and it’s SOOOO fake. like you’re such a liar.

“quit fucking blocking me and i won’t have to show up here to fucking speak to you.”

“i don’t want to speak to you, you stupid slut.”

“is that any way to talk to a paying customer? maybe i have something to tell your manager too.”

“jump off a cliff.”

“when does your shift finish?”

“why would i tell you that?”

“so i can pick you up after and you can tell me how you really feel back at my apartment.”

“…”

raises his eyes brows.

“6:30.”

giggling and kicking my feet i genuinely need this kind of relationship with him so bad u don't understand.

just deliberately calling him names and being petty because you know the more you piss him off the more your ass is gonna get reamed later - its his fault, anyway. all his intensity and passion made you crave this kind of dynamic - you used to be a good girl with normal taste in men and the desire to settle down with just some guy. now you couldn't get off during sex unless it felt violent - you got fucking bored so easily when there wasn't a fight to be had - you thought if a man didn't track you down by your fucking email and drag you back to his dick by the scruff of your neck, it meant he didn't want you and wasn't worth your time. and how fucked up was that?

so yeah - he could handle a few insults. because fuck him, genuinely. you'd never be the same again after him.

you give him the time your off anyway. and you're fidgeting the whole rest of your shift. nearly bouncing on your heels and by 6:25 you're so amped up - pussy nearly drenching your jean shorts enough to leave a visible stain - that when a customer comes in you actually consider ripping their head off. you throw them onto your coworker instead, tossing them a glare that could freeze over hell when they start to protest.

nothing was going to stand in your way. you'd broken up with patrick two weeks ago. two weeks without his cock stretching you out - diabolical. even though you'd been the one to issue the break and to block him on everything - still, way too fucking long.

you think you might be able to get a few more jabs in - really seal the deal, because if you were honest, being a brat was addicting as hell - but when you approach patricks car and you see him leaned against it, cigarette in hand, just watching you come toward him calmly - you lose your breath.

you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame - willingly diving head first into the jaws of a wolf - and when you're close enough he drops the cig, crushes it underneath his shoe and reaches out - grabs you roughly by the collar of your shirt and yanks you to him. his mouth is on yours and its tongues and teeth and lips and moaning like you're each starving for it. he grips the sides of your face and plunders your mouth with his tongue and you clutch as his waist, scrabbling your hands under his hoodie to feel the warm skin of his stomach.

it twitches under your palms and you hungrily drag your hands up, wanting to feel him and patrick turns, pinning you to his car and fumbling behind you, yanking the back door open.

he pulls back, says, "get in." but hes already shoving you backwards himself and you're falling onto his shitty leather seats and he's following, coming down over you and slamming the door closed with his foot. he kneels over you, hands yanking at his belt - "you dont want me anymore, huh?" rips it through the loops hard enough that it snaps against his wrist when its all the way free. "I'm not serious enough for you?"

he's rehashing all the shit you'd said to him over text and you bite your lip, arching your back - but he places a palm on your stomach, pushes you back down - "this isn't serious." you lie to him and his eyes flash, he fucking hates when you lie to his face. which is why you grin and tell him, "im just horny - you could be anyone -"

patrick nods like, 'aw, yeah?' and you feel an excited shiver go through you - are expecting it but still gasp when he grips you by the waist and roughly rolls you over onto your belly. he's pressed against your back immediately, big and crushing you against the too hot seats. fingers yanking down your shorts and panties at the same time, "you're such a fucking liar." he grunts, lifts up just enough to wrangle his own jeans and boxers down over his ass. "what am I gonna do about that, huh? you know that shit pisses me off."

you moan at the feel of that big dick of his, hard and hot as it slips between your cheeks. the blunt head slippery as it glides over your asshole - "god, i missed this ass, fuck -" you try to lift your hips, make it so he slips down to your pussy where you want him. are ready to take him. but he shoves you back down his pelvis, knocks the breath out of you when he winds his bicep around your neck. "ahh, no. you think you deserve this dick in your pussy after the shit you pulled? i thought i was too small for you- "

you try to cry out when you feel him slip over your hole again, trying to claw at his arm but you cant. your hands are trapped under your body. you're immobile. you've never been so fucking wet in your life.

"stop-" you pant weakly, even as you grind back against him. "not there patrick- please -"

"huh?" he grunts against your ear and you feel the press of his cockhead as it probes your tight asshole. "you tellin me no? said i couldn't have your cunt so im confused, baby -" it pushes futher against the tight ring and you wail. wiggling your hips to try and buck him off but he doesn't move a fucking inch.

"im not ready - i didn't prep - patrick dont. - please, im sorry -"

just the barest inch of his cock is fitted inside the tiny hole. he moves his hips so it presses in and out just barely, and the burn has your pussy weeping. the leather is sticky under you. "that's too bad -" patrick pants against you, his arm flexes against your throat and your eyes roll back at the pain in your ass as he pushes more into you. "- cause you fucking know what happens when you're a brat. knew this was comin'-"

and its true, you did. knew from the start that patricks favorite way to punish you, to work out his anger was on your tight ass.

and thats specifically why you didn't prep yourself.

"you can cry about it, its not gonna change it -" his head finally pops past the resistant ring of your stubborn rim. you squeal and buck under him and he groans, burying his face in your hair - "oh fuck - you're so goddamn tight - grip me with that ass, baby, yes -"

despite your cries and protests he forces himself in inch by inch into the tight passage of your body. until you feel the weight of his heavy balls on your wet pussy. it hurts so fucking bad. you're so full you could die. why is so fucking big?? god you're so turned on. you needed this.

contrary to every action before it, patrick softly kisses the back of your neck. loosens his arm around you just enough that you can sag fully down into the seats below and gulp in air.

"that's it, good girl -" his body completely folds over yours. no part of you seprated as he has you basically prone. he shifts his hips and rocks his cock into your sore ass. "just lay there and let daddy use you now."

you gargle out something of a reply. already drooling from the mouth. and this isn't even the end.

#ask #frens <3 #sigh i need him #tw: cnc #tw: dubcon #i ❤️ painal #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader

95 notes · View notes

unstable-samurai · 10 hours

Text

Love is Intention (pt.1)

Male Reader x Sana

word count: 7.5K

tags: possessive girl, angst, obsession, passionate fan, psychopathy, love sex, blowjob, penetration, tease, stalker, sexual fantasy, mature male reader, dom girl...

Everything started on a rainy Friday. It was the damn book launch, your return after 8 cursed years without publishing anything. Your hands were as cold as a corpse. It was a trauma. Ever since the first time you had to put your face out there to promote your work, no one showed up. It was humiliating. People walked into the bookstore at the mall and saw you sitting alone at a table with two stacks of untouched copies of your book. You stayed there for four hours, and when someone finally seemed to come over, it was just a regular customer asking where the hell the Stephen King bookshelf was. And you can bet he had a shelf dedicated just to him, he was a genre unto himself.

But, well, does that really matter now?

This terrible experience didn't stop you from becoming a best-seller, anyway. Starting from the third book signing session, people were lining up just to get your autograph and shake your hand (the selfie craze wasn't popular yet). You didn't get an exclusive shelf with your name like King, but your books were next to those of great writers like Ernest Hemingway and J.D. Salinger and even contemporary geniuses like Chuck Palahniuk. Good enough for you.

There were 5 consecutive knockouts! Each book released broke the record of the previous one. In a span of 10 years, you reached your literary stardom, and, look at that, even Stephen King read and praised one of your books (the second one, where the schizophrenic protagonist believes she killed her own husband in a fight and now must decide whether to turn herself in to the authorities or get rid of the body. Plot twist: it was the husband who killed the wife. Good surrealist shit.)

Then you never published anything again.

Problems arose and your creativity seemed to vanish, along with your desire to write. The divorce, the alcoholism, the insomnia... depression, perhaps? All of this exploded in your face at once, leading you into a self-destructive spiral that seemed endless. You almost didn’t recover from it. Well, you were still recovering, truth be told. One day at a time and all that. And, well, a new book was yet another step towards a normal and stable life again. God and the devil knew how difficult it was for you to find the strength to write again. Your new book was just a collection of short stories, but we all need to start over from somewhere, right?

And what if no one shows up?

That damn thought wouldn’t leave your mind. 8 years… it’s enough time to forget an author. How many new ones must have appeared and become best-sellers by now?

“Don’t be so nervous. It’s still early. People will show up,” said Jessie, the assistant hired by your literary agent. He was unable to attend the occasion as his wife was in labor.

“Yeah… You’re right.”

“I know thinking is kind of your job, but don’t overdo it. Come on, have some coffee.” She handed you a cup; it was very hot, helping to warm your cold, lifeless hands. Jessie continued:

“Twitter got pretty excited when the publisher announced your book’s release. It must be the rain messing things up around here.”

She was a good girl. She knew how to read people, and she also knew you needed a bit of encouragement.

"The latest news about me was about my divorce and my problems with alcohol. I'm happy to still have a bit of credibility."

"An author only loses credibility if they publish a bad book and then another one right after. You could have committed a homicide and people would still be excited for a book of yours. That whole thing about separating the author from the work, you know what I mean? Literature is a world apart."

What she said was quite accurate in your view, fortunately or unfortunately. You noticed that she was very smart for a woman of just 20 years old.

"Did you know that I published my first book when I was your age?"

"Yeah, I know! You took over the literary scene in that decade. 'Young Writer Applauded at Festival and Becomes the Newest Best-Seller of the Year.' I read that old article when I found out I was going to work with you. You were really a phenomenon. And not to take away from your art, but that handsome face of yours helped to win over some fans."

You just lowered your head and laughed timidly.

"I guess now I can't count on my young face anymore."

"'Dilfs' are the trend now, sir!"

"And what the hell is that?" you asked curiously.

Suddenly, four people entered the bookstore together. They smiled upon seeing you, and you instantly knew they had come for the autograph session. Then two more people entered. They waved at you, and you felt the nervousness take over your body again, but this time for a good reason: people kept coming in. And there were still 20 minutes left before the book launch was to begin.

You had forgotten how special a book launch could be. Unfortunately, the mark left by the first event made you forget the good part of it. But from now on, you would strive to remember only how it was a warm and memorable occasion; being a relatively private event, you were practically surrounded only by people who truly appreciated your art and you as a person.

You had just finished the author's reading part. The first 20 pages of the first story seemed to please the audience, and the applause at the end of the reading was a relief for you. When was the last time you were given a standing ovation? A long time ago, obviously. It was time for questions, Jessie had warned you in advance that there were 3 journalists among the 58 readers present, so you should be prepared to get a good headline.

"Alright, hmm, I think now is the time for questions..." you announced to the audience, somewhat nervous.

Many people raised their hands. You chose the bearded bald man with glasses.

He stood up and asked:

“We know that there was a long gap between your last book and this new one. Has your writing changed during this time? Can we expect a more mature version of you in terms of your approach to delicate events that are the highlight of your writing?”

“Great question, thank you! Well, I have always approached these themes as an ordinary man. I am not a psychologist to make a clinical and scientific approach to certain things that my characters decide to do in the story. I have always valued accessible communication with the general public. Pain and feelings are universal, and the way we deal with them tends to be different, varying from person to person. Unconsciously, my writing has matured, a result of time, I believe, but I still follow the same approach that brought me here.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the bald man. He then pressed a button on his iPhone, which he had held up the entire time you were speaking.

You glanced slightly to the side, and Jessie winked at you. Your intuition was right about him being one of the journalists.

"Next question."

You chose a young Black girl wearing a beige overcoat.

"Hello! I just want to say that I'm happy to be here! My name is Carol, and I'm a big fan of yours! Hmm, ah, my question! Let me see... According to the synopsis and now the first pages of the story you read, it seems that each story, although different from one another, is connected by a central theme, which is the lack of connection with today's society. I wanted to know, how did you come up with these characters? Are they portrayals of current people, or are they mere fictional figures trapped in the past?"

"That's an excellent question too. Thank you, Carol. So, in the last few years when I wasn't writing, I wandered around a lot of places. I was a bit lost, to be honest, but one good thing about that difficult phase was having the opportunity to talk to all kinds of different people. Poor and rich. Everyone had something to say about the world, as well as their own problems with it. All I can say is that I didn't draw inspiration from any real person to create the characters, but rather from the experiences I accumulated during the good conversations I had with various people of different races, ages, and genders. Despite this, it's easy to recall someone familiar who has a story similar to Milly, the protagonist of the first story in the book, for example. My characters are almost always ordinary people."

"Thank you for answering!"

“You're welcome. Next question.” You paused briefly to drink some water, then continued, choosing a young woman sitting at the far right end of the last row of chairs, where the light from the lamp didn’t reach as well.

“Hello! Good evening, everyone! My name is Sana, I’m a big fan of your art and I’m happy about your return,” she said, quite excited.

You were startled when she stood up and you could see her better. Your heart suddenly raced. It was a strange sight. The girl, Sana, was wearing a long white dress with some flower prints.

Your ex-wife had a very similar dress. Quite a coincidence. So, you hid your look of astonishment and said:

“Thank you, Sana. You can ask your question.”

“I would like to know if your return is definitive. Are there more drafts stored or ideas for future projects? I read on the internet about a leak that revealed you were writing a script for a mini-series on a streaming service. Does this mean you are now dedicated to writing without long breaks?”

“I can't comment on this supposed leak. And I can't guarantee that my return won’t have more long breaks, but I am making an effort to maintain a healthy pace for myself and that also allows me to produce good works without delays.”

“Your long pause was due to external problems like the divorce and your alcohol dependency. Now that you’re rehabilitated, what are the chances of you returning to your old publication window of every two years?”

“Excuse me!” Jessie intervened. “I’d like to remind everyone that this event is dedicated to the book, not the author’s personal life. So, let’s keep the questions focused on the fiction, please.”

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to be intrusive,” Sana explained, smiling. “I’m just another fan who is immensely happy about the return of the favorite author, and who hopes to continue reading many of his books.”

"It's okay. As I said before, I can't guarantee anything. I hate unfounded promises like anyone else. I appreciate your kindness, Sana. I will strive to continue publishing frequently."

She smiled at you, satisfied with your response.

For the next question, you chose a gray-haired woman who seemed quite intellectual.

"There are rumors that your first book will be adapted into a movie. Can you tell us a little about that? And regardless of whether it's true or not, how would you feel about seeing your work being transferred to another medium, like with a new vision and maybe without your creative control?"

"We are in negotiations at the moment. I can't say more than that. Well, I wouldn't mind seeing someone else putting their vision into my stories; it would be something different, you know? Another work, not necessarily mine. I find it interesting and I am always open to film adaptations."

You continued for about 30 minutes. This stuff was quite tiring and after a while, it seemed to lose its purpose, but you kept smiling until the end.

Now all that was left was to sign the books. Each reader got your autograph and a copy of your new book. Everyone praised you and practically 90% of the audience took a selfie with you.

There were only 5 people left to finish the autographs when it was that girl's turn.

"Hello!" she said, extending her hand to greet you. You shook her hand. It was small and soft, like a porcelain doll's hand.

"I was quite anxious for this."

"I hope I didn't make you wait too long. Lines can be quite unbearable."

"It's all right, I've learned to be patient.”

You noticed that she was staring at you. For a fan, she was not shy at all. She was beautiful too. Very beautiful. You would probably be falling in love with Sana if you were the same age as her and were the type of writer who gets dazzled by any special attention from a pretty girl.

“Sana, right? Well, I’ll sign your book now.”

You picked up a copy and signed it.

“‘To Sana, a special fan. May these pages entertain you and perhaps mean something to you in the end.’” You finished with your signature. “Here. Thank you for coming.”

“Oh my God! You don’t know how happy I am! Can I ask you to sign another book of yours? It's my favorite!”

She took the book out of her bag and handed it to you, then you signed it with quick precision.

“You’re so sweet! Oh, could you tell me how long you will be in the city? And sorry if I'm being too nosy..."

“I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, what a shame. You don’t know how special this evening has been for me.” Sana sighed. “I just wish I had more time to talk to you.”

“Hey, girl!” exclaimed the woman in line behind Sana. “You’ve been talking to him for about 5 minutes! There are more people wanting to get an autograph, you know?!”

Sana didn’t reply but shot a cold, empty look at the woman that made her nervous.

“It was really a dream to meet you in person.” She placed her hand on yours. Slowly, she said, “Maybe we’ll meet again sometime, won’t we?”

You gave a soft laugh and replied:

“Yeah, I’d love that.” You smiled formally at her. “Have a good night, Sana.”

“You too.” She said in a voice a little too sweet for your taste.

"The night was amazing!" said Jessie cheerfully. The two of you were eating at a diner after the book launch had ended. "You answered all the questions really well. Especially the ones from the journalists."

"Thank you. I did my best."

"When it becomes a bestseller, and it will, obviously, we'll organize a new book signing session, this time a lecture. Your arm will get tired from signing so many books!"

"I'm very grateful for all your help, Jessie."

"It's just my job. Besides, actually, I should be grateful to you for employing me. I had some bills to pay that were keeping me up at night."

"But it was my literary agent who hired you."

"Yes, he needed an assistant for one of his writers, and here I am. There were no openings available for me, and I was starting to worry if I would find a job or not. Then a miracle happened! Suddenly the preparations for your new book launch began, and 'boom!', Jessie is working again, baby!"

"In that case, I guess we helped each other."

"You bet!"

"It's good to be back. I had forgotten how much I loved writing."

"It's good to have you back! Now that all the launch chaos is over, what are you going to do?"

"Write."

"Already?"

"I'm just going to start drafting a novel I have in mind. I'm thinking of spending a few weeks in a secluded cabin I bought to write in peace without interruptions."

"That sounds great! It's a good way to relax, actually. But I personally wouldn't go where Amazon delivery doesn't reach; that's my limit of isolation. Another cup of coffee?”

"“No. I need to sleep.”

“You can order a decaf coffee.”

“Even so. I've already exceeded my daily caffeine limit.”

Jessie asked the waitress for another cup of coffee for herself.

“I'm sorry we're not celebrating in a bar as tradition dictates.”

“Don't say that! It's no problem. I appreciate your more reserved style of celebrating; the last writer I assisted liked to let loose with his pseudo-intellectual friends. I was completely uncomfortable at those parties, damn it.”

You two talked for another hour about various subjects, and then you realized that you would like to have her around always because working with Jessie sped things up and she was fun company too.

Around midnight, you both decided to call it a night and go back to the hotel. She went in first, and you decided to stay outside a bit longer to smoke a cigarette. You sat on the curb near the hotel façade and lit a cigarette. You weren't exactly a smoker. Only about five cigarettes a month, at most. The urge to smoke at that moment came naturally, healthily, just to end the night and have more time to reflect on the day before going to sleep. Things were finally falling into place, and you wanted to enjoy this feeling of peace a little longer. The street was very calm. The cold, damn, was intense. Although the rain had stopped, the wind remained relentless, and your blazer was your hero.”

"Can I join you?" asked a sweet voice.

You instinctively looked back.

"Sana?! Is that you?" you asked, quite startled.

"I'm glad you haven't forgotten my name."

She sat down beside you.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was heading back to the hotel."

"Oh, are you staying at this hotel too?"

She smiled at you.

"What a coincidence, right?"

"Yeah... It's quite chilly, isn't it?"

"True. Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course. Feel free to ask anything."

"Who is that girl who's always with you?"

"What?"

"The brunette girl who wears glasses. She was always around you at the bookstore."

"Oh, you mean Jessie? She's my assistant. She helped with organizing the event. Very smart girl."

Sana scoffed and laughed.

"Smart, huh? Okay... Do you like girls like that?"

"It's a good quality in anyone."

"Except when they're arrogant towards people," Sana remarked, a little bitterly.

"That's true. Luckily, Jessie isn't that kind of person."

"Oh, really?" Sana questioned. "But let's stop talking about her now."

"Did you stay here just for the book launch?"

"Of course. I traveled just to see you, silly." She placed her hand on your knee. "You looked so lonely sitting here."

"I was just about to go into the hotel."

"Can we go in together? What do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Don't pretend you don't."

Yeah, you could get an idea. Her tone of voice was unmistakable. Sana obviously wanted to go to bed with you, and since the bookstore, you felt something different coming from her. It was hard to explain exactly what it was... whether it was good or bad... You couldn't say.

"Please, Sana. I'm much older than you..."

"I'm not as young as I look. And I know you want this too."

Her hand slid up your thigh. Sana had a warm, comforting touch, and an intrusive thought made you imagine what it would be like for that hand to touch your cock.

"Look, I'm not that kind of guy," you stood up. "I don't take young girls infatuated with idols to bed. It's not right."

"There's nothing wrong with it!" she said, almost shouting.

"For me, it's wrong, Sana."

"Am I not attractive enough?"

The devil knew how attractive she was. That face, those eyes, that smile, the scent... It was all too familiar. And her slender body... It had been a while since you had sex. Since the divorce, you hadn't been with anyone else. There were attempts from some women, but you pushed them away due to the self-loathing you felt.

Were you still doing this? Had therapy failed?

No, this was a different situation.

"Sana, you're beautiful. You caught my eye the moment I saw you at the bookstore. Not just mine, I bet. You're a stunning woman, but this just... isn't right for me. I'm sorry, I need to go in now."

"Your attention is the only one I want. We can get to know each other better if that's the issue. I rea-"

You left her talking alone on the sidewalk and entered the hotel. You felt bad for doing that, but damn it, you knew she wouldn't give up if you kept stringing her along.

In the bedroom, finally, you were getting ready to go to sleep. You needed to get up early for a meeting with your literary agent via Zoom; in the afternoon, you would catch a flight back home and finally rest properly. You lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to sleep, trying to think of anything other than that woman. Girl. She was just a girl. After a while, it became difficult to hold onto any thoughts; you knew you would fall asleep soon…

Knock, knock!... Knock, knock!

You opened your eyes, somewhat groggy. Did someone knock on the door? You could have sworn you heard it. But sometimes you heard sounds from beyond, mere creations of your mind. Despite that, you got up and decided to investigate anyway. You looked but didn't see anyone through the peephole. You thought about going back to bed, but something stronger than you made you open the door and glance down the hallway.

She was leaning against the wall to the left of the door.

"Sorry to bother you again," Sana said timidly.

"What are you doing here? And how did you find my room?" you asked, not in an annoyed tone. You were still half-asleep to fully grasp the situation.

"That doesn't matter. I wanted to apologize to you for everything I said."

She seemed genuinely sad, remorseful maybe. And faced with her sadness, the first thing you thought about was how beautiful she looked in that silk pajama, casually sexy, with long sleeves and short shorts that revealed Sana's beautiful thighs. It was the pajama you most enjoyed seeing on women. Tremendous coincidence.

"It's okay. Look, I'm not angry with you. Let's forget all this, alright? Go back to your room and get some sleep."

"And you think I'll be able to sleep?" she asked, looking deep into your eyes. "If you were in my place, could you sleep knowing that the love of your life is in another bed on a floor above yours?"

You took a moment before answering.

"Probably not. But there's nothing I can do about it, Sana."

"I've dreamed of this moment for years. When you turned your back on me out there, I felt like dying. It hurt."

You took a deep breath. It was like being trapped in a submarine that kept sinking. You saw her eyes shimmering with tears that could spill at any moment.

In these dilemmas, everything seems to lose its purpose for a moment. And a moment is enough to derail everything else. You knew that, but even so:

"Come in," you said to her.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. It's cold out in the hallway. Let's talk a bit in here."

Sana entered; you asked her to sit on the edge of the bed with you.

"I'm not exactly sure what to say. But maybe you're fixated on a parasocial relationship doomed to fail."

"How can you say that without even trying first? I know you're hurt. Believe me, I understand that perfectly. But I want to prove to you that you can trust someone again. I want to repay what you've done for me."

"This is so damn strange, Sana. So strange that I can't even properly grasp what's happening."

She moved a bit closer to you.

"You've been my peace of mind since I read your first book. Your characters, your stories, your interviews, your lectures —everything was a refuge for me! I followed everything you did. I never missed an episode of that segment you and your friend hosted on the radio talking about movies. And the signal was awful in my town," she told you, ridiculously excited. You almost felt sorry for her in that moment.

"Sana, you don't understa-" You suddenly felt a chill run through your entire body. A tightening in your chest. The scent of Sana... It was familiar for a reason. She was wearing the same lilac perfume that your ex-wife used to wear. You thought you'd never smell that fragrance again.

"Is something wrong?" Sana asked, concerned.

"No, nothing," you replied.

Your voice wouldn't pass through your throat. A sudden urge to cry overwhelmed you.

"Are you sure?" She held your hand. "Your expression changed so suddenly."

"I'm just tired."

"I know you've been through a lot in recent years. So many problems... You've been terribly lonely." She touched your face. So soft... You just wanted her to continue. "You need a woman to take care of you. Someone who truly knows you and admires you, and who will never, ever leave you.”

“No. Look, Sana, you’re confusing things again. I didn’t call you here to-”

“Shh! You think too much! Just for tonight, set reason aside and feel the vibe a little.” Sana slowly slid her hand over your chest, stopping where your heart was. Then she whispered, “You realize? Your body wants it. And if I put my hand on your cock now, I’d be twice as sure of it.”

Sana sat on your lap. She kissed your cheek slowly and whispered in your ear: touch me. Please, touch me. The words seemed to float with some kind of magic, and before you could notice, you were enchanted by her. You held Sana’s waist and brought your face closer to her neck, breathing in that fragrance that was once so familiar to you. Kiss me, Sana said. Your lips touched her neck, kissing every inch of her delicate skin very slowly as your mind was transported to a place you missed. You heard her breathing grow heavier, then Sana started lightly kissing your earlobe while stroking your hair. The kisses turned to licks, then to nibbles, and finally, to sucking. You pressed her body against yours, overwhelmed with shivers. Sana moved her hips over your groin; you knew she was feeling the outline of your cock, enjoying driving you crazy, and, of course, adding more fuel to the fire spreading inside her.

“Lie down on the bed, baby,” she purred.

You didn’t have time to react as Sana pushed you down while staying on top of you. Viewed from above, Sana exuded a frightening confidence, and the way she guided you made it clear that this was obviously not new to her.

“I’m going to suck you now. Just lie back and relax. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You felt Sana's teasing touch as she pulled down your pants along with your underwear, her eyes shining with insatiable lust. Her warm lips enveloped your cock with hypnotizing skill, each movement of her tongue tracing paths of pure pleasure. "I’ve always wanted to taste you," she whispered, her voice laden with malice, before taking you deep into her mouth. The sensation was electrifying, and you felt every nerve in your body pulse with excitement; your extremely sensitive cock reacted intensely to each suck, lick, and kiss from Sana. You hadn't had sex in years, and even masturbation was no longer part of your life, so the intensity of the situation consumed you quickly to the point of making you explode like fireworks. "I’m gonna cum," you warned, but she just kept eye contact, Sana’s eyes challenging as she sucked harder. "Cum in my mouth, you pervert," she commanded, and you did, a hoarse moan escaping your lips. Sana swallowed all your cum, smiling mischievously as she slowly licked her lips. "Mmm, delicious," she murmured, then squeezed your cock to get every last drop left at the tip, capturing it with her tongue as it dripped, licking it like ice cream while you rolled your eyes in pleasure.

Sana didn’t give you time to catch your breath. Before reason could return to your mind, she was already sliding her lips over your body, planting wet and voracious kisses on your thighs. She asked you to take off your shirt, and so you did. Her lips reached your nipples, licking and sucking them with an almost painful intensity. "You’re going to get hard for me again, you naughty writer!" she murmured against your skin, her eyes shining with a wicked determination, her adorable face carrying a demonic facet at the same time. "I know you still have breath for me; I can see it in your eyes," she teased, her hand working skillfully on your erection, the firm and rhythmic movements quickly bringing your cock back to life. You felt the excitement growing again, unable to resist her skill.

Sana took off her shorts and turned around, getting on all fours in front of you, raising her ass invitingly, her hips swaying provocatively. "Come fuck me, I want to feel you filling me," she taunted, her voice both an invitation and a challenge. "Come on, don’t be shy now," she laughed, looking over her shoulder with a naughty smile. "You’re mine, only mine," she said, her voice laden with possession. You positioned yourself behind her, your hands firmly gripping her hips as you penetrated her forcefully. The sensation of being inside her, so warm and tight, was intoxicating. Sana moaned loudly, pushing back against you with every thrust. "Yes, harder," she begged, her voice filled with desire and need. "Fuck this tight pussy," she ordered, and you obeyed, each thrust making her moans echo through the room, the humid and hot atmosphere building to a crescendo.

Soon, you both got out of bed. Sana was being pressed against the wall by you, her hands held above her head by yours. "You're a fucking slut," you whispered in her ear, your voice a possessive growl as you penetrated her deeply and squeezed her small breasts. "And you love this, don't you?" she responded, her voice a mix of command and plea. "Come on, fuck me more," she teased, her eyes closed in pleasure. "I want you all to myself," she moaned. You lifted one of her legs, allowing an even deeper and more intense penetration. "Yeah! Like that, baby!" she moaned, the sound of skin against skin, her moans, and heavy breathing filled the room.

Finally, you returned to the bed, where Sana positioned herself on top of you. She began to sit on your cock with her back to you, her slow and sensual movements driving you crazy. "Your cock goes so deep in my pussy! Admit it, I fuck better than your ex-wife, don't I?" she teased, looking over her shoulder with a naughty smile. "You know I'm right, you're loving me so much!" You could only nod, pleasure dominating every fiber of your being. "You're mine, and only mine. You can do anything to me, I don't care," she murmured possessively. Then, she turned around and started riding you facing forward, her hands entwining with yours. "I'm going to make you cum again, you naughty boy," she promised, increasing the pace. Every movement she made was erotic, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. And she smiled at you between moans with passion and devotion, Sana was simply incredible. "Tell me I'm the best you've ever had, tell me I'm better than your ex-wife," she demanded, her eyes locked on yours. "Tell me you love me," she insisted, her voice loaded with an obsession that only made the sex more exciting.

The tension was growing, the arousal becoming unbearable, and you could feel the climax approaching rapidly. "I can't take it anymore," you panted, but Sana just smiled wickedly. "You can cum inside me if you want. I'm all yours!" she whispered, her eyes gleaming with desire. With a sudden realization, you stood up and pulled her, laying Sana on her back on the bed (the last thing you wanted right now was to get a fan pregnant). Your sweaty and trembling body positioned above her. "Come on, fuck me more! Don't stop now, love," she taunted, her eyes locked on yours, her voice laden with desire and possession. "You're making your woman so happy, did you know that?" she whispered, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You penetrated her again, the movements intense and fast. Your moans intensified, the bed creaking softly as you fucked Sana with renewed ferocity. The pleasure was palpable, an electric current between you. You felt every muscle in your body tense, the climax inevitable. "Come on, fill me with your cum," she moaned, her voice laden with lust and desperation.

"Cum for me, please!" she moaned, her eyes locked on yours with passionate intensity. With one final, powerful movement, you withdrew from her, feeling your body pulse with pleasure. You quickly started to masturbate, your fingers moving frantically along your cock as the pleasure built up. "Yes, cum on my belly, make a mess on it," she encouraged, her gaze fixed on yours with insatiable hunger. Finally, you exploded, spraying your hot cum on her belly, each spurt accompanied by a hoarse moan of relief and ecstasy. “Cum more, baby! Give me all that milk! Yes! Yes! Mmmm, so warm, baby.” The hot liquid covered Sana's sweaty skin, and you rubbed the head of your cock on her thigh... soft as hell.

Sana smiled, satisfied, her eyes shining with a sickly love that at that moment even seemed logical to you. She was irresistible; that was the problem. Before you could see it, you were on top of her, planting kisses on Sana's lips while her fingers traced circles on your chest, somehow still connected by the moment of pure lust. "You are mine, and I will make you feel that every time," she whispered, her eyes still shining with desire. "See? We were made for each other. This is love, dear," she murmured, making it clear that this wouldn't be the last time she claimed you so intensely. "I’m going to get you addicted to me, my little writer," she promised, making the moment even more erotic and suffocating.

Still gasping for breath, you gazed at each other, bodies pressed together, sweat mingling between you. Without a word, you leaned in and kissed Sana with overwhelming passion, your tongues meeting with deep desire. Sana responded with equal fervor, her hands tracing lines of fire across your body wherever they touched. "You taste so good," she murmured between kisses, her fingers gripping your muscles, pulling you closer still. "It's just like I dreamed it would be."

Your lips trailed down her neck, nibbling and sucking on delicate skin as she softly moaned in your ear. "I love you… Don't leave me, please," she pleaded, struggling to suppress a compulsive urge to cry in your arms. Your bodies moved in perfect sync. Your hands slid down her back, firmly holding her waist as she rubbed her body against yours, sparking renewed excitement.

You rolled on the bed, bodies intertwined, exploring every inch of each other's skin. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice laden with possessive desire, her hands roaming your chest, her lips never far from yours for long. Every kiss, every touch, carried an almost unbearable intensity, a need to reaffirm the delicate connection that had formed between you.

Finally, the two of you settled down, still kissing, the caresses becoming gentler but no less passionate. "I want you more than anything," she murmured against your lips, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your chest. "You don't need to speak right now. I accept all this silence, for now. I know you're processing what just happened, but understand that I will make you want only me… You'll see," she asserted, her gaze meeting yours, making it clear that the promise of pleasure and possession wouldn't end there.

You woke up in a silence too good to be true. Terribly calm and comfortable. Of course, because you were not alone. That girl, Sana, sleeping peacefully like an angel on your chest. She had a serene and innocent expression, very different from the girl you saw last night. You got up slowly, being careful not to wake her.

What the fuck!!

You checked your phone and saw that it was already past noon. You had slept through the entire morning and missed breakfast with Jessie, where she was supposed to give you the details of your participation in a YouTube literature channel. Several missed calls from Jessie and your literary agent. Damn, you also missed the meeting with your literary agent.

Failing again. You were letting people down, and that's how everything started to go downhill in your life. ‘I’m a Best-Selling author, these things don’t affect me.’ Your arrogance was part of your downfall.

You looked at Sana, she was still sleeping.

And it's all her fault...

No, you were just blaming someone else again. You thought you had set the alarm on your phone but it was on silent mode. Weird as hell. You never leave your phone on silent.

Ah, screw it all! You went to take a shower; it would certainly help clear your mind. Then when you came out of the bathroom, Sana was sitting on the bed.

“Good morning, baby,” she said. “Come here!” Sana extended her arms, expecting you to go to her.

“You need to go now,” you said curtly.

It was time to end this once and for all.

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Now! What we had was a mistake, Sana.” You took a deep breath. No point in getting stressed now. “I can call a car for you if you want.”

She looked at you, confused.

“What do you mean by ‘a mistake’? Wasn’t what we had special to you?”

“It meant nothing, Sana. I lost my mind at that moment.”

She got up from the bed, deeply irritated.

“I thought I knew everything about you, but I guess I was wrong! Yeah, even I can be wrong sometimes... Do you do this to all the girls who are your fans? Take them to bed and then discard them like trash?”

“I never slept with a fan! This was the first and last time.”

“Don’t do this to me!” she shouted, pointing her finger in your face. “You can’t use me like a toy, I’m warning you, this will have consequences!”

“It was you who came knocking on my door, Sana! Look… just forget it, okay? If I misled you, I apologize. I was a jerk. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You don’t understand. Damn it, you don’t understand… You are the reason I live! I waited so long for this, waited so long to find you… I thought I did everything right… How can you do this to me?” Sana asked, her voice breaking.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Sana.” you tried to comfort her with a hand on her shoulder. “Take a shower, eat something. You’ll feel better. And go home, please.”

“You can’t do this to me,” tears were in her eyes. “I did everything for you, you know? Everything, you bastard!”

You were caught off guard by a slap. The sound echoed loudly in the room.

“What the hell is your problem?” you asked, more incredulous than angry.

She walked past you and went to the door.

“I swear to God, this isn’t the last time you’ll see me. You’re mine, understand? I’ll forgive you this time because I still feel that affection you showed me last night. I know it was real! I’ll try not to think about what happened now.”

“Hmm, okay.” you said, relieved. “That’s great.”

In a few hours, you’d be flying back to your city and, obviously, would never see her again.

“You don’t mess with a woman’s feelings like this, you know? You hurt me here, but I forgive you because I love you, okay?” she was silent for a few moments, perhaps waiting for you to return those words or apologize. But you stayed silent. “I love you more than my life, and I will fight for our love. And next time... you won’t be able to escape me.”

She closed the door.

“Fuck, finally!”

The words she said during sex… they weren’t just dirty talk to turn you on… she really meant them.

You went to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. To your dismay, Sana’s hand was marked on your face.

"Wow! You must have been incredibly tired!" Jessie said to you as you met at the airport.

"I'm really sorry for missing breakfast and lunch. I promise it won't happen again."

"It's all right. You were a hit yesterday; the boss and I will give you a pass. By the way, you talked to him, right?"

"Yes. Everything's sorted out."

"Great. So, I'll give you the details of the interview during the flight. Hmm, did you eat anything?"

"Burger and fries."

"You need to eat better. You can't just eat that kind of stuff. When your schedule gets really busy, you won't want to get sick." She warned, and you couldn't help but find it funny that a 20-year-old girl was acting like your nanny. "Lunch was great, sir. You really missed the best part of the day."

"You must have waited for me a long time, huh? I feel terrible about it."

"Oh, of course not. After you texted me saying you weren't coming to lunch, I went ahead and ate alone!"

"What?"

"Hmm?"

"The message. I didn't text you."

"You literally sent me a message saying you were exhausted and would keep sleeping. You must have been half-asleep when you typed it and forgot."

You took your phone out of your pocket, completely desperate. You opened the chat with Jessie and there it was: 'I'm more tired than I thought, not coming to lunch. Oh, and the meeting is postponed too. Sorry!!'

Fuck...

You felt a chill in your stomach. Sana had sent that damn message. How the hell did she know your phone's password? The most plausible answer was that she used your fingerprint to unlock the phone while you were sleeping. That girl was really sick.

"Are you okay?" Jessie asked.

"Yes, sure! It's nothing."

It wasn't worth mentioning to Jessie that Sana had sent the message; you would have to explain everything to her, and the whole story was embarrassing and weird. When it came to revealing that you slept with a young woman just because she wore the same perfume as your ex-wife (there were other things besides the perfume, but mentioning the rest would only worsen your image), you would have no credibility left and would certainly be considered a disturbed person by Jessie.

The best thing to do was to forget everything that happened yesterday, except for the book launch, and then move on with your life. You were going to 'take a vacation' soon, so this series of bizarre events would soon fade from your mind… Thank God!

Later on the plane, you were looking for some photos of the book launch to send to your sponsor, the guy who was helping you avoid alcohol relapses. He was a good man and would surely be happy to know that your return to literature had been successful. You were scrolling through the photos taken last night when one of them caught your attention. In fact, it scared the hell out of you. You kept scrolling through the gallery, and the photos seemed endless, many in a row that looked very similar to each other. You almost dropped your phone on the floor.

You quickly turned off your phone screen and looked at the seat next to you. Fortunately, Jessie was sound asleep.

You turned your phone screen back on and opened one of the photos, analyzing it for a few seconds. It seemed unreal. It was as if the surprises never ended. While you were sleeping, Sana had stealthily taken your phone to snap all this photos. It was conclusive proof that she had indeed violated your privacy, perhaps thinking the would be a special memento of that night.

But

In reality

It was a reminder of a terrible mistake you made.

To be continued...

100 notes · View notes

blog-name-idk · 3 days

Text

The Plot Twist | 05

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 5: "It's fine! South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Of three things you are absolutely certain. First, soulmates exist. Second, the universe – and you don't know how potent its power may be – runs on some sort of karmic imbalance. And third, you are unconditionally, and irrevocably, fucked.

It is raining.

In a rare, extremely odd fit of forethought, you actually have an umbrella in your bag. Normally, you would scoff at weather predictions and dare the clouds to do their worst. But today, you found yourself grabbing your umbrella before leaving for your commute, and the skies that have darkened into an ominous, storm-like gray after your work shift do not phase you at all.

Today, your undoing lies in a different kind of disaster preparedness.

Hard water pelts down almost as if it is herding you, and you hurry from the assault of the rippling sky to the awning of a closed coffee shop to grab your umbrella. Expletives spew from your lips as you dig through your messy bag. You're so focused that you barely register someone also taking refuge from the sudden storm – a man wearing a mask and a bucket hat, but is shivering through a wet, black long sleeved t-shirt that's sticking to what looks like a very toned body.

Not that that's the type of thing you typically notice or anything.

"Found you!" you screech excitedly as you pull out your umbrella and brandish it at the sky. The man beside you flinches, like you're about to attack him, and you give him a disdainful look.

"S-sorry," he mutters, the brim of his hat still hiding his eyes. "I thought you meant something else."

Something else? Is he on the run from the mob, or fleeing the national military? The incredibility of either prospect nearly makes you snicker, but whatever, you need to get home before the storm gets –

BOOM!

– worse.

The thunderclap makes both of you jump, and you wince at the realization that the rain is coming down even harder. Unforgiving sheets of water pour down, and you can barely see even a few feet past the awning. Maybe you can get an Uber instead…

You pull out your phone to see no bars. No data, no phone signal, nothing. The guy next to you is shivering even more violently now, and you internally sigh. You can't just ignore him, not when helplessness is wafting off him in tenebrous waves.

"Do you have a ride coming?" you ask reluctantly, wishing you had been raised to be more selfish. Your mother does whatever the hell she wants, why hasn't she taught you the same? Though, to be fair, she probably would have been able to get the rain to stop by glaring. Perhaps someday, in your final form, you'll be just as powerful.

The man wilts and shakes his head, and you’re alarmed when you hear a sniffle. Shit, you are not equipped to handle a crying man. You're not even equipped to handle your own emotions.

"I – I left rehearsal because I had a fight with my hyung," the guy begins to share, morosely wiping his face with a wet hand that only leaves more moisture behind. His voice quivers, and despite your misgivings, the piteous sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. "And now I'm lost. I only have my phone, and it’s useless right now."

You start to feel a little sympathy for someone who's clearly been having a bad day. You're about to offer to share your umbrella to the nearest train station when he finally looks straight at you, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The patch of skin behind your ear suddenly tingles and–

Oh.

The rain falls, lightning cracks, and your stomach drops in time with the crash of thunder that follows. Yet you can barely hear it over the sudden pounding of your heartbeat.

"Do you… Could you… If it's not too much trouble, could I walk with you to the train station?" Jeon Jungkook pleads, large doe-eyes gazing brilliantly at you from half of an unmistakable face.

This… is why you felt like bringing an umbrella today? Because of the universe and its cosmic–fucking–intervention?

The man across you fidgets, growing self-conscious as he waits for your answer. For a few long seconds, all you can do is stare numbly at him.

Are you going to have to assume every man you run into these days is one of your soulmates? How is this even possible?

You reach your decision in less than a minute.

Dejectedly, you hold out your umbrella wordlessly to Jungkook, and his face lights up. His smile does something unspeakable to your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. His expression scrunches – cutely, to your dismay – in confusion when you just hand him the umbrella. You shove a few crumpled bills from your back pocket into his free hand, careful not to touch his skin, and he looks completely baffled.

"For the train fare," you manage to choke out, already backing away into the unforgiving rain. It's coming down so hard the pelting drops almost hurt, but this is infinitely preferable to whatever the fuck the alternative is.

"What…? No! You don't have to – I just wanted to share – "

"It's fine!" you call over your shoulder, already twenty meters away and sopping wet in the opposite way to what the universe was probably trying to contrive. "Just get home safe! I'm sure your hyung is worried!"

With that you're off, leaving a very confused and equally charmed idol behind. Jungkook stares after the strange, kind girl, wondering why it feels like you're running away.

Pondering, he scratches the tattoo behind his ear.

He’s just about to run after you, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it in surprise to see a wall of text messages.

How odd. The signal bars are full now.

At the influx of messages from his hyungs, his argument with Jimin at the rehearsal studio floods back into his mind, and Jungkook sniffles again and dials the familiar number.

"What do you want?" answers a grumbling Jimin, filling Jungkook's chest with guilt.

"Hyung, I'm so sorry!" Jungkook cries, blubbering in earnest now, the familiar voice opening the floodgates until his tears almost match the tempest around him.

"Don't call me!" his hyung scolds, clearly still angry. And yet, he picked up the call when he could have just ignored him. Jungkook hears Jimin sigh, the sound static and long. "Fine. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook whimpers as another crack of lightning cleaves the air. Thunder follows soon after, and he hopes that you're okay, wherever you've gone.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Jimin demands, suddenly all love, all worry. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

Ah… warmth. This is what his team has taught him: brotherhood, love, and family. To be angry, to piss each other off, but in the end be willing to drop everything to help one another.

Something the stranger had done despite having no need to.

"I don't know where I am," Jungkook replies, already feeling a little better. "But I'll take a taxi home. S-someone gave me some money."

"Come safely. I'll wait outside for you."

Before Jungkook can protest, Jimin hangs up. The maknae can't help but smile despite how stressful the day has been. Between his team members and the kindness of the girl from earlier, his chest feels warm and fuzzy, driving away the cold and the gloom of the gray skies and icy rain.

He just wishes he had gotten your name.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck.

You wake with a head full of cotton and a nose more clogged than a toilet at an American WacDonald's. Feeling like death, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom, force yourself into a scalding hot shower that – for a blessed moment – clears your sinuses. You get ready for work, and by the time you're ready, you at least look put together, though inside you're already wishing you could crawl back under your covers.

Any other time, you might have taken a day off to not inflict your coworkers with your germs, but today is that stupid executive meeting and you can't afford to miss it.

You pop some cold medicine into your mouth, mask up, and get to work early, because despite your utter lack of care when it comes to your personal life, you are a demon in the office.

"[Y/n]!" calls Mijoo, one of your favorite administrative assistants. It's for that reason and that reason alone that you pull your head away from your screen to give her a smile she probably can't see through the cloth of your mask.

"Hey," you greet, clearing your throat and relieved you haven't hit the "uncontrollable cough" stage of your cold yet. "What's going on?"

"Soonyoung is freaking out about something again," she replies quietly, casting her eyes over to the corner office where your Senior Vice-President resides.

You're not sure if he ever actually leaves the building.

You sigh. This is a big project, one that is being presented to the company execs, and you really need everything to go perfectly. It's a good thing you got here early.

"When I finish here, I'll go talk to him," you say reluctantly, making Mijoo shoot you a smile of relief.

After you've confirmed that everything should as expected, you push off your desk, letting your chair roll backwards. Then you slip your feet back into your heels, stand, and give a lazy stretch of your limbs before heading to put out the fire, rolling your shoulders as you do so.

Through the glass surrounding the door, you can see your VP frowning at his computer screen, gray brows knit in some sort of frustration. You knock twice, and he looks up, still frowning. It vanishes as soon as he realizes it's you, and with a grin he beckons you inside.

"[Y/n]! Thank goodness," he said in a relieved voice, already angling his monitor so that you can see. "I can't get VLOOKUP to work!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you shouldn't, instead ambling over to help the dinosaur who is (hopefully) planning on retiring soon. Why is someone so high up even messing with spreadsheets, anyway? You barely have time to do any hands-on work at this point, and all you manage is your own team.

"It's tricky," you agree fondly, humoring him not because you have to, but because he kind of reminds you of your grandpa. "Here, let me help."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your next meeting also has an unusually high number of execs, and you frown as you recall the vague wording of the invite. You settle in a chair next to your work friend slash rival Jaesung, who looks just as confused as you feel.

"Any idea what this 'very important meeting' is about?" you whisper in his direction, and he shakes his head.

"No clue, but there are rumors that there's something big coming up," he whispers back. The two of you are unable to speculate any further, however, as your CEO appears. What the hell?

By the time the meeting ends, you are torn between laughing and crying hysterically. The execs have announced the planned launch of a top secret flagship product, one that the company is expecting massive returns on due to a collaboration with – because this is your life now – motherfucking BTS.

And then VP Soonyoung stands, looks at you and Jaesung proudly, and says that as two of his best people, you will be spearheading the marketing and sales efforts. He adds, with an elderly jovial laugh, “Both of you will even get the chance to meet them, so go get your autograph plaques ready!”

As if you needed to be disincentivized!

"You’re so lucky!" wails Mijoo as you sit in your cube, where you have been staring woodenly at your computer screen for over five minutes now. She thinks you're in joyful shock, and maybe, it definitely is shock. The electric chair kind.

It's bad enough that you had to spend an entire wonderful excruciating evening with Hoba – Hoseok – and he is now aware of your existence, even if he hasn't realized you're soulmates. But now this?

You mull over filing for your immediate resignation, which only adds to your headache. Eventually, you conclude that your time and compensation package from Samsong are just too good, too unbeatable, and… you’ve grown as a professional here. People respect you, value you for you, and you absolutely love working with your personally curated team.

The problem is the universe keeps testing your limits. Executive meetings? Easy. Flagship product development? Doable with the right people. But passionate, self-consuming cosmic schemes involving the world’s biggest boy band in the guise of soulmateship?

You’d rather get hit by a car.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The universe hates me.

That is your last thought as you hear the squeal of tires on pavement and the frantic honks of a car horn before you're suddenly staring up at the sky, pain flaring throughout your entire body.

A man gets out of the black Hyundai Palisade with tinted windows, and you suddenly wish that you had been truly run over with no hope of recovery. Of course it's Kim fucking Namjoon of BTS, and he's looking at you in a mixture of panic and concern that makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he asks, to which part of your brain thinks, What a fucking idiot of course I'm not. The other half stupidly admires the broad set of his shoulders, the strange mixture of grace and clumsiness as he stumbles over to your battered body.

Wait.

You return to your senses, and begin to push yourself back up to your feet.

"Yep, totally fine!" you insist through gritted teeth, ignoring the way one of your legs is twisted awkwardly, and the flare of agony that permeates your body when you're able to bring yourself upright. "It was my fault anyway!"

It wasn't, but you're not going to stick around to let this play out.

You begin to limp away as fast as your contorted ankle allows, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Namjoon's handsome face.

"I – can I at least pay for your medical bills?" he asks as he takes a tentative step after you. You hobble faster despite the burning pain in your legs.

"It's fine!" you call behind you, getting a regrettable glimpse of his beautiful, worried eyes. "South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Unfortunately, you can only wobble so fast until the physically fit, able-bodied man catches up to you. By this point, your vision is fuzzing with strange dotted lights and your body doesn't feel quite real anymore. Namjoon's hand touches your shoulder, and you turn around to tell him off. Instead, you feel your legs buckle and strong arms catch you before everything goes black.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"You keep appearing in unexpected places, and often." Jimin swallows, his heart beginning to race. "Your skin is always covered up. You don't eat or drink anything when I'm around."

He takes a deep breath, knowing you're just a step behind him.

"How old are you?"

You hesitate – just barely – before you reply.

"Twenty-five."

"... How long have you been twenty-five?"

"A few months."

A few months. A few months since he's moved into your apartment complex. A few months since the strange not-quite-ennui and melancholy has begun plaguing him. A few months since you have turned of age to manifest your soulmate connection.

"I know what you are."

He feels your body tense behind him, and a thrill runs down his spine. When you speak, he can feel your breath on his neck.

"Say it."

“Soulma–”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon looks anxiously at the nurse checking your vitals as you lay prone on the hospital bed, wishing he could do more to help.

"I think – I think she might have hit her head," he offers, for the tenth time, thinking about the way you had tried to run away on what the nurse is reasonably certain is a badly sprained ankle. The nurse gives him a tight smile, because one does not simply roll their eyes at the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, no matter how many times he's said the same thing.

"We'll check for it," the nurse promises, soothing the tall man. For the time being.

Namjoon chews on his lip as he gazes at you, wondering what your story is, what kind of past would drive you to such strange lengths.

For some reason, he itches to hold your hand, but that would be completely inappropriate from a total stranger. Especially when it could cause dating rumors if anyone gets a glimpse or a picture. His manager is already going to kill him for chasing down an injured girl in broad daylight.

His eyes keep getting drawn back to your face, peaceful in sleep and – dare he say it – quite pretty. Very pretty. Beautiful, even. And you had felt so soft and nice in his arms, warm and –

"Sir, please stay seated while I finish here," comes the nurse's tired voice, and Namjoon realizes he's gotten up and has an arm outstretched to stroke your cheek.

"Uh, sorry," he stutters, face burning as he sits back down. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel drawn to this very strange, very lovely girl?

A soft groan tears Namjoon out of his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze shoots to your form as your eyelids flutter open.

"Wha – " you ask blearily, waking up from the weirdest parody dream of the world’s best vampire movie ever. Shifting in your bed, pain contorts your face and you let out a hiss. "Ow!"

Namjoon rushes over, and your mouth drops open when you realize who he is. Before you can react, he's holding your hand in his, and he staggers as something in the universe fundamentally shifts. By your gasp, you're experiencing a similar sensation, and you yank your hand out of his grip before he can get his bearings.

"Your leg seems severely strained," the nurse explains, blissfully unaware of the way the world is tumbling around the both of you. "We'll need to do x-rays to make sure it’s not broken."

"I'll… get a wheelchair…" Namjoon says, in a daze, desperate to be of help even as his mind races to understand what is going on. He stumbles outside of the room, desperately hoping that a moment alone will help him get his thoughts in order and help him find the right questions to ask.

Apparently these are questions he won't receive answers to any time soon, because by the time he's back, the room is empty. The nurse follows after him, and looks around in confusion.

"Where'd she go?" the nurse asks, and Namjoon wishes he knew the answer. Who are you? Why are you so hellbent on getting away from him?

And why does holding your hand feel like home?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

That was too close. Too fucking close.

You pull yourself onto the bus by the railing, ignoring the driver's confused, concerned expression as he takes in your hospital gown and the way you're wincing in pain. You swipe your card, only vaguely aware that everyone behind you can see your rump through the poorly tied flaps of the gown.

It's fine. Your dignity is unimportant compared to the bulletproof boy scout you just dodged.

You drag yourself to a handicapped seat – if there's ever a time you can confidently sit in one, it's now – and fall into it, finding an angle for your leg that gives some sort of relief.

Despite the pain, it's the warm feeling in your hand you can't stop thinking about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon is at a loss.

Despite searching the entire hospital, the mysterious girl was nowhere to be found, vanishing from the premises as if she were never there. Still, out of personal guilt and liability, Namjoon lingered, offering to settle the missing girl’s hospital expenses, but the charge nurse expertly dismissed his generosity once it became apparent that he did not know you at all. He couldn’t even give them your name, or any proof of relation, and the rest of the staff quickly became tight-lipped around him.

Even Kim Namjoon, the illustrious 148 IQ leader of BTS, can’t argue against health privacy laws.

Since leaving his phone number with the charge nurse – his final, desperate effort – Namjoon has been staring at his phone, waiting for any news about you… news that simply never comes.

That same evening, he walks into the band’s shared dormitory with aplomb.

Single-minded, he heads straight for the living room and picks up the remote control off of the coffee table.

The flatscreen TV goes dark, and Kim Taehyung complains, “Hyung, no! What gives!”

Jungkook cries in offense, shooting up from the sofa, “My vampire baseball scene!”

Namjoon deigns them both with a long-suffering look. “We need to talk, so call the team.”

His assertive voice, usually reserved for critical matters and scolding, makes Taehyung and Jungkook abandon their emotional support movie in favor of gathering the rest of the group.

One by one, the boys pile into the living room from separate parts of the apartment at Namjoon’s behest. Most of them are sporting rumpled clothes and bedheads, save for Jimin, who looked ready to leave for his own place.

Namjoon announces, “There’s something I want to discuss. A… possibility.” He clears his throat. “A girl.”

"That's what you interrupted our movie for?" Taehyung asks, indignant. "A crush?"

Hoseok lets out an immediate sigh of relief. “Is that it?” And then he pauses, scratching at his nape, “Well, me too, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten. “No way, hyungs! Me too!”

When Jin, Jungkook, and Taehyung concede that they've also had a run-in with a very memorable girl recently, a new suspicion blooms in the back of Namjoon's mind.

Could they be talking about the same girl?

Though unlikely, he decides to ask, “Did any of you manage to get her name?”

Jin nods, seriously. “G0d$l@yeR_69.”

Namjoon shoots him another long-suffering look.

Hoseok stays silent, if only because his memories of you are one of the few non-idol centered things he still holds onto. Besides, his girl can’t possibly be their girl, too. The odds of that happening would be astronomical.

It's not so wrong to want to keep one aspect of his life to himself… right?

“Sorry, I… I didn’t get her name,” Jimin lies, for the same reason Hoseok keeps quiet. Besides, even if Jin is interested in you, Jimin's your neighbor! He should get first dibs! He's not going to give up your name so his handsome, charismatic hyung can find you and woo you before Jimin even has a chance to try.

"What's this important meeting about?" asks Min Yoongi, walking into the room with a mug of coffee in hand.

"A girl," Jungkook replies, somewhat dreamily, remembering the guardian angel that saved him that rainy day. Yoongi rolls his eyes and immediately turns around to leave despite Namjoon's protests. He has more important things to do than sit around gossiping, especially since he has a meeting with Samsong tomorrow about their new collaboration.

There's a hubbub behind him, a thump, and a curse from the ungainly leader as Namjoon's prized George Nakashima coffee table claims yet another victim. Yoongi's toe throbs, and he sighs.

"There's a first-aid kit in my room." He calls over his shoulder as he goes. "Knock yourselves out."

Far away, in a clinic near your apartment where your ankle is being put into a brace, you sneeze.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

72 notes · View notes

afro-hispwriter · 2 days

Note

do you have any headcanons for aemond or ewan (idk if u write for real people) but what do you think either of them would be like in a relationship?

Dating Ewan Mitchell:

Ewan gives off very caring bf vibes

he definitely listens to you all the time

he has a genuine interest in what you say and he learns about you through that

he LOVES seeing you in his clothes

doesnt care if he slowly starts running out of shirts bc seeing you in them makes it better

HORROR MOVIE MARATHONS

ewan loves horror movies and if you don’t… he will respect that

but that doesn’t mean he wont try to convince you

maybe it works

maybe it doesn’t

or maybe you will just as long as you get to be cuddled up to him🤭

OMG CUDDLES

i feel like he gives AMAZING hugs so imagine just laying in your apartment together and he just pulls you into him or your in bed post sex and his arms are wrapped tight, maybe legs entwining with yours

COUPLE FIGHTS:((((((((

tbh i don’t think they would happen often, ewan seems like the guy to realize somethings wrong and bring it up to try and talk

and he seems pretty responsible so fights over chores probably wouldn’t happen

but not saying they wouldn’t happen, one that might happen is over work

if both of you are actors you might not have time too be with each other so there will be more understanding

but if you’re not a celebrity of any kind, it most likely will be a little difficult for you

ewan might but put job before you to often and that hurts:(

you have love and supported him through his hard times, you visit him on set, you go to his premieres

but it goes both ways

a fight would break out, maybe a screaming match followed by some silent treatment until one of you breaks probably ewan

it ends with make up sex

BIG BACK?

im not to sure about ewans cooking abilities since I've only even seen a mention of a steak

BUT if he can cook he probably would cook for you a lot when he can

or if he cant and you can then you’ll take on the cooking aspect

but if you’re not as together as youd like due to work or you’re having a lazy day

i see some take out or simply going out to dinner frequently

The LIL GREEN MONSTER

ngl ewan doesn’t seem like the jealous type NOW

but when his career started kicking off maybe he was a lil jealous of the people you hanged out with

or if you’re a little bit more well known than him and have an established career before him and you had been dating already

boy probably had to deal with the people you work with already and got used to it

but i see a silent jealous person in him if it comes down to it

staying right behind you

holding on to you at all times

maybe he will go as far as kissing you in front of everyone

neck kisses

A LOT of pecks

he might even get a lil handsy around the person

or he will try a full blown make out session and you’ll be like 😯🤨

you both like your privacy like the media might not even know but they will now depending on where its happening

he’s a professional but he loves you so much

but once you catch one to whats his deal

a lil talking too with some words of reassurance and a kiss ofc and he’s back to normal

The talk of MARRIAGE and/or kids probably would come up depending on how long you had been together

i can see ewan giving you a promise ring, especially if you had been dating since you were young

but i say give him two or three years and he’s on one knee

kids though….

not sure if ewan wants kids or if he does obviously just not now

so if you guys got married, kids probably wont happen immediately

unless you had an oopsie before or right after marriage

but the whippets are enough for you two for now🥰

thats all i got for now😙✌🏾

he seems like a pussy eating king ngl

legs trembling

the type to cum just by giving you pleasure

imagine the groans😩

IMAGINE THE CHAIN DANGLING

THIS ISNT A NSFW FUCKK

a/n- first time writing a headcannon😗i know this was supposed to be both ewan and aemond but aemonds will come later🥰

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader

60 notes · View notes

hvlcy0n · 2 days

Text

CANVAS . sakura haruka x fem! reader

+ tsubaki’s birthday is approaching, and sakura may or may not need your help finding a present. coincidentally, you may or may not need someone to test the gifts on first.

+ 4.3k words

+ SFW (account is still 18+). UNEDITED. i gave tsubaki they/them pronouns. friends to ???

+ i mostly wrote this to get back into the groove of writing, so this was my first time writing for any of these characters. i hope it's not terribly ooc but i literally can’t look at it anymore so just take it

sakura has always prided himself on having never backed down from a fight—never, even when the odds were clearly stacked against him. he has never cowered, never turned tail and fled, never made excuses to weasel his way out of a sticky situation.

but this . . . this is different.

now, every muscle in his body is rigid, a rubber band poised to snap and launch him straight out of the cosmetic shop he’s found himself in. the tips of his ears feel entirely too warm to be normal, and his hands are shoved firmly in his pockets to mask the sheen of sweat clinging to his palms. he feels out of his element, relegated to the corner between two false eyelash displays. make no mistake, the problem isn’t that he’s cornered in a female–dominated area and couldn’t tell you the difference between blush and bronzer. after all, it doesn’t apply to him, so what business of his is it?

the issue is that tsubaki’s birthday is approaching, and at suo’s behest, sakura set out to locate a proper birthday present for his upperclassman. his first two attempts were sorry at best, with suo sending him straight back into town after being presented with a keychain and then a five–pack of white socks. begrudgingly, sakura complied, trudging through the streets in search of a store that would be appealing to someone of tsubaki’s style.

that’s where he bumped into you.

as one of tsubaki’s close friends, you’ve been in their orbit for as long as he’s known them, and consequently, in his. from the beginning, you were unabashed in your acceptance of sakura, the glimmer of kindness in your gaze unwavering despite his embarrassed outbursts as he struggled to get used to your presence. he wholeheartedly expected you to give up and deem him unlikable, but you never did. there was always an invitation to hang out on the tip of your tongue, a certain carefulness in your fingertips as you fussed over his injuries and pinched his skin for being reckless, a smile blooming on your lips every time you saw him approach.

you made strides to understand him—social awkwardness and all.

but, unfortunately—or fortunately, he doesn’t really know—somewhere along the line, that sheepishness and defensiveness he naturally regarded everyone with gave way to something else. he couldn’t quite identify what those feelings were, but he did know that you made him feel different. for starters, the blush that would normally tinge his cheeks when in the presence of his friends would flare almost uncontrollably when he’s with you.

warmth would bleed down the porcelain column of his throat and stain his chest, stirring to life tongues of flame that lap over his muscles and cocoon his chest cavity in a nearly blistering heat. from there, it would trickle into the pit of his stomach, coalescing into a knot of tangled feelings that left him teetering on the cusp of being addicted to and frightened by your closeness. at some point, you’ve managed to sew yourself into the lining of his life, carving out a space in his psyche that makes his stomach clench to imagine empty.

you’re a fucking problem is what you are.

so, when you, arms laden with your own shopping bags, volunteered to help him find a gift for tsubaki since you were already bouncing from store to store, he was initially planning to decline. but he figured that you would know what they like better than anyone. on top of that, he really didn’t want to return to suo with a third failed attempt.

but, now that you’ve corralled him into some tiny makeup store nobody knows about, he wonders if he should’ve just bitten the bullet and admitted defeat. nobody told him ahead of time that the aisles would be so slim and that he would be expected to leave any concept of personal space at the door. you knew what you were doing, that was for sure. but every time you swept past him on the hunt for something new, a whiff of your perfume would smack him directly in the face and cause his heart rate to spike. if that wasn’t disorienting enough, he didn’t know how many more times he could handle being asked by the senile store manager if you two were together.

no, of course, you weren’t together. that would be ridiculous.

but, every time he stumbled over his words to explain the situation, you would merely laugh, causing his blush to worsen.

yeah, definitely not together . . .

there’s no way that would happen.

that would be . . .

“sakura!”

the glassiness in his eyes snaps into focus at the sound of your voice, and his soul nearly slips out of his body when he realizes that you’re standing directly in front of him. a worried frown is etched into your features, and you lift a hand striped with an array of different colors to wave at him. “i’ve been calling you! what are you doing all the way over here? i moved like three aisles away and thought you came with me.”

a rosy blush explodes across his face when he realizes that there’s only a sliver of space separating your chests. an almost comical gasp is punched from his chest as he springs past you, rushing to escape the weight of your gaze on his and the bewitching cloud of perfume that’s beginning to settle over him. “sakura,” you sigh when he lands nimbly a few feet away, “just—”

“what?” he snaps defensively, whirling around to fix you with a weak excuse for a glare.”what do you think you’re doing, sneaking up on me? i could’ve knocked you out!”

“well, thank goodness you didn’t,” you answer breezily, adjusting your hold on your bags. “here, come on. i need to test some swatches on you since your skin tone is like identical to hers.”

“some what?”

“swatches.” you nod. “they’re like these,” you lift your hand once more to show off the lines of color smeared over your skin. “it’ll give me a better idea of what i’m working with.”

“yeah, alright.” he agrees easily, glancing off to the side to try to salvage what’s left of his self–control and pretend like he hadn’t just seen his life flash before his eyes. “whatever.” turning away, you can’t help but chuckle softly at his desperate grab for nonchalance. he bristles, heart palpitating, at the sound. “don’t laugh at me!” he shouts, sharply jabbing his index finger at your back as you retreat.

nevertheless, he trails after you, glancing at the abundance of lotions and soaps piled on wooden display shelves along the way. what could girls really need all these options for? do they even sell? his attention drifts to you as you stroll a couple paces ahead. do you use any of them? now that he thinks about it, you seem pretty comfortable in this store. do you frequent it often? were you also looking at stuff you liked? should he have been paying attention? did he make a mistake? holy shit, what is he gonna do for your birthday?

“sakura,” his spiraling thoughts are dispelled swiftly, and his eyes dart to you immediately. you’ve halted at one of the aisles and are regarding him carefully, features softened with concern. “are you alright? you look like you’re in pain.”

having been caught, his defenses rise automatically. “‘course, i’m alright!” he retorts, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets as he stalks past you and into the aisle you were poised to enter. “dunno what you’re talking about.” he mumbles.

you simply shake your head and follow him. “you’re so prickly.” you sigh, but your tone is laced with a faint lilt of amusement.

“no, i’m not!” he objects instantly, eyes popping open in indignation, not even pausing to think about how it makes him seem.

you simply gesture to him with a loose wave of your hand. “exhibit a.” you snort.

he huffs, spinning back around to glower at the array of eyeshadow palettes beaming up at him. “whatever.” he grumbles. “what’d ‘ya want over here?”

you shift the bags you’re holding to one hand before answering. “this one,” you pick up a sleek black palette and pop it open, showing him a lineup of rich, earthy shades. “here, roll up your sleeve.”

“my sleeve?” he gawks at you like you just told him that you were expecting him to leap headfirst into a tank of venomous snakes. “hold on, that wasn’t part of the agreement! i thought it was just gonna be on my hand. what if it gets on my jacket?”

“that’s the whole reason i’m asking you to roll up your sleeve. the plan is still to just use your hand, don’t worry.” you assure him, and he reluctantly obeys.

you place your shopping bags on the tile floor in favor of reaching for his hand. his reflex is to snatch his hand away and launch himself three feet back, but for some reason, your voice echoes in the back of his mind. prickly.

sakura knows that he is pretty rough around the edges and isn’t always the easiest person to get along with, but he can say with full confidence that he strives to better himself and adapt to his new situation every day. that being said, physical affection—or affection of any kind—has always thrown him for a loop. he never understood how people could be so casual with one another, so generous with embraces and pats on the back; but he couldn’t deny the warm, fuzzy sensation that would envelop his body whenever he received it.

your touch is the one that is taking him the longest to grow accustomed to, it’s different from the rough headlocks and fondly ruffled hair that his friends shower him with. at first, he reasoned it was simply because you’re a girl, but that doesn’t quite make sense either. after all, he certainly doesn’t feel like this whenever kotoha or some other girl he winds up saving grabs his arm. this . . . he doesn’t know what it is.

but he does know that whenever you would make contact with him, he felt fucking weird. butterflies would explode in his chest, the light kiss of their ticklish wings causing his stomach to flip and goosebumps to prickle along his skin. at first, he just thought it was anxiety. but the more he considered it, he recalls that in all his years, he’s never found himself yearning for the feeling of anxiety afterward.

this is different. your touch is soft. it’s comforting. it brims with a gentle affection that he worries will disarm him if he indulges for too long, yet he can’t deny the tiny nagging in the back of his mind that waits for the next time you’ll playfully bump your shoulder into his or casually place your hand on his shoulder to reach over him.

maybe that’s why he finds himself remaining still despite the alarm bells ringing in his ears, his body tense and breath lodged in his throat as your fingers curl around his wrist. the certainty in your hold causes a shiver to zing up his spine and a new wave of heat to surge through his body, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest, blissfully ignorant to the internal crisis roiling in his brain as you shuffle half a step closer. he squints at your face in disbelief. why are you so okay with this? with him?

shit. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this, much less understand it.

whatever.

“keep it like this.” you instruct him, and he swears he can physically feel his chest decompress when you release him.

the first color you smear across the back of his hand is a shimmery copper, and his eyebrows raise as he tilts his wrist to examine it. “not bad, i guess.” he comments. “you think that’ll work?”

“of course! earthy colors look heavenly on blue eyes.” you insist, raising your head with a vibrant grin. dear god, this is not good for his wellbeing.

but, just as quickly, your smile vanishes, and sakura’s eyebrows twitch. “what’s wrong?”

“there’s blue in this one. they don’t particularly care for that color.” you inform him, pointing to a vivid electric blue at the very end of the line.

“what’s so bad about that one?” he frowns. “blue’s not bad.”

“not, it’s not, but it isn’t as flattering on blue eyes as other colors.” his lips pucker into a small “o” at your explanation, and you flip the palette closed and return it to its rightful place.

“huh . . .” sakura muses, eyes skipping over the selection. “earthy colors . . . so like brown?” you hum in agreement, and after a moment of hesitation, he points to a slim palette with a fuzzy coffee–brown color. “what about this?”

“uh . . . let’s see. here’s the tester for it.” you swipe the frontmost one and pop it open to display a dazzling lineup of warm tones ranging from a deep oak shade to pale peach, and after a moment, your eyes gleam. “wait, this might be perfect!” you gasp. your head snaps over to him, delight scrawled across your expression. “how’d you do that?”

inexplicably, he finds his chest swelling with pride at your praise. “well—” he stumbles. “it was just a lucky guess. it’s not like i was payin’ attention or anything. i just happened to pick it up.”

“regardless,” your smile is genuine and unrestrained, and in that split second, he decides that he wants to see it again—just for fun, of course, obviously, “the colors you chose are gorgeous. here.” you swipe a line of light peach eyeshadow beside the copper color. “this one would be perfect for a more subtle everyday look. it’s pretty light on your skin, so i know it’ll look super pretty on theirs. and look!” you point to a copper shade identical to the one from the previous palette. “there’s even one of these!”

“huh . . . yeah, you’re right.” he blinks.

you promptly snap the tester shut and switch it out for an unopened palette. “alright, this is the one! i think they’ll like this one the best.” you beam. he takes it from you, flipping it over in his hands.

oh.

“uh . . .” his brain stalls for a moment as he processes what you’re insinuating. “so . . .” he hesitates, doing his best to ignore the strange prick of disappointment in his gut. “does that mean we’re done here?”

“let me think . . .” you hum, taking a moment to ponder your next move before decisively planting your hands on your hips. “nope! there’s still something else we’ve gotta grab.” he perks up when you abruptly spin around and take off the aisle without warning.

“h–hey!” he protests, trying yet failing miserably to sound intimidating. “don’t just go off on your own!” he’s left to scramble after you, cheeks burning.

he catches up to you fairly easily, finding you perusing a display of brand new lip glosses by the time he slows to a halt. “this?” he questions. “you wanna get tsubaki . . .” he squints at the sign, “lip gloss?”

your lips curve into a frown. “ugh, there’s no tester for these. whatever, it’s fine.” sakura stares, aghast, as you deftly pluck a light pink gloss from the batch and start to twist it open.

“wh—you can’t just open it!” he gasps. “are you insane?”

“i’m gonna buy it regardless. tsubaki likes this brand.” you reassure him. “i just want to know if it leaves a tint at all.” spotting a mirror on a nearby display, you shimmy past him and make your way up to it, only to heave an exasperated sigh at your reflection. “damn, i forgot i already have one on. this won’t work.”

“well, what are you gonna do?” sakura demands, casting tense, feverish glances around him to ensure you two aren’t about to be accused of thievery.

he can practically see the cogs rotating in your brain as you mull over your options and pensively press your lips together. he stiffens when you slowly turn to him, a wicked grin blooming on your lips and a new idea illuminating your gaze. “you’re not wearing anything, are you?”

a thick silence stretches between the two of you, disturbed only by the monotonous whir of the air conditioning and the staccato squeak of his sneakers along the tile floor as he shifts backward. he’s not . . . what? he blinks blankly at you, arms dangling uselessly at his sides. wearing anything? why would that matter?

“ . . . huh?”

it’s only when you remove the wand from the bottle with a viscous pop! and take a step toward him that the gravity of your words sets in, and his body jolts as if he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. a shrill gasp that sounds more like a pitiful wheeze wracks his chest, and he staggers backward, narrowly avoiding catching a metal display hook to the back of his skull. “hell no!” he barks, a furious blush blazing across his face. “what are you—you can’t put that on me!”

you continue creeping toward him, eyes alight with mischief. “come here!” you laugh. “you can’t fight destiny.”

of course, he can.

unsuccessful at deterring you, his body naturally assumes a fighting stance, fists lifting as if preparing to strike. but unlike his usual stance, which is cemented by self–assurance and an undeniable prowess, his body feels cumbersome and unsteady, as if he could be bowled over by a single shove to his chest. “so, you wanna fight? is that it?" the slight fracture in his voice doesn’t help the situation. in fact, it only seems to fuel your decision.

there is no reluctance in your movements as you step directly in front of him. with the way your disposition is still relaxed, he wouldn’t be shocked if his words were merely a figment of his imagination. “oh, come on,” you beg, nudging aside his clenched fists without breaking eye contact. “i just need you to wear a little bit. i’d really do it myself if i could! i have makeup wipes in my bag. you can wipe it off immediately after if you want. promise.”

“the hell you think this is, huh?” he snaps. his defenses compromised, sakura presses the back of his hand to his lips in a last–ditch attempt at protecting the lower half of his face.

“you only have to bear with me for five seconds.”

“fuck no!”

closer.

“sakura, please!”

“y–you . . .”

closer.

“just one . . .” you murmur, stepping close enough for your chest to graze his. sakura inhales sharply and flushes a shade you didn’t even know was possible. “little . . .” the hand clutching the tube raises to tug his last defense away as you lean in. he grits his teeth.

really close.

a small, gravelley sound of complaint grinds its way out of sakura’s throat as he finally stills, pinned helplessly between you and a lip balm display. even so, he doesn’t push you away. he doesn’t swat the lip gloss out of your hand. he simply stands there, stiff as a board and overly warm to the touch, and allows you to do as you please. as he waits for you to finish, all he can wonder is why?

why is he letting this happen? he should be rejecting your touch and cursing you out just as he would anyone else. but he isn’t. why? and why are you doing this to him? why are you so comfortable behaving this way with him? why is his heart beating so hard? can you hear it? he sure as hell hopes not.

by the time you step away, it feels both too long yet too soon. sakura clenches his jaw at the frustrating jumble of emotions, but you’re none the wiser as you simply twist the wand back into the tube, eyes aglow. “i was right, it is a pretty color!” you purse your lips sympathetically. “sorry, i know that was probably pretty miserable. you can wipe it off now if you want. it shouldn’t take long for the stain to show up.”

you’re mistaken. the makeup was never the issue. the whole problem is that you were in such close proximity that all he could focus on was the wrinkle of concentration in your brow and how you were close enough for him to count the eyelashes rimming your bottom lid and how warm your skin was and how good you smelled . . . you obscured every one of his senses until he felt like he was drowning in your presence. the problem was that his insecurities began to surface the moment he failed to quell the incessant pounding of his heart and the warm, syrupy feeling seeping through his body at your kindness toward and implicit trust in him.

the problem was that he liked it, but past memories of loss and betrayal have planted seeds of doubt and fear in his chest, leading him to ponder how long he will be granted such goodness before it slips through his fingers. the problem was that he liked it, and he believes that someone like him shouldn’t. the problem was that he liked it, and now he has no clue what the fuck to do.

regardless, he doesn’t respond right away, swiping the hand free of eyeshadow swatches over his lips. “‘s nothing,” he finally mumbles after a moment.

you hum, squinting at his lips. “so, it does leave a stain.”

sakura jolts. “is it super bright?”

you chuckle. “no, it’s pretty faint. oh, right!” you readjust the shopping bags resting on the crook of your elbow to root around in your own personal bag for the makeup wipes you’d promised him. “here!”

he accepts it with a gruff, “thanks . . .” and begins scrubbing the tint off his bottom lip. his tongue reflexively darts out to wet it once he’s finished, and his face contorts in disgust at the sour chemical taste that greets him.

“gross, right?” you laugh at his reaction.

“dunno how these things haven’t poisoned you yet.” he gripes.

“me neither,” you agree. you lightly bump your shoulder into his to distract him. “come on, let’s go.”

“whoa, whoa, wait,” sakura wrinkles his nose and points at the tube in your hand. “i can’t give that one to tsubaki if you already used it on me.”

“oh!” your eyes light up. “i’m getting this one. i figured i’d try out their recommendation since i’m here.” you reach out and pick up a crimson color of the same brand. “this one is the present. they mentioned wanting to try a gloss in the same color as their lipstick. i just wanted to see if it really tinted your lips or not.” before he can think too hard about the situation and throw a fit all over again, you turn on your heel and head for the checkout counter.

sakura feels as if his brain has been switched to autopilot during his transaction. his blood pressure has been at dangerous heights throughout almost the entire interaction. how he’s supposed to walk outside and continue on with his day as if nothing happened is beyond his scope of comprehension. is he supposed to pretend like this was normal? or is he supposed to pretend like this didn’t happen?

he sneaks a sly glance in your direction while you pay for your lip gloss, trying to gauge your expression and body language. how do you feel about him? well, he assumes you must find him at least somewhat tolerable if you volunteered your time to assist him.

his attention trickles down to the abundance of shopping bags balanced on your arm as you use your free hand to pick up the newest addition to your collection. his eyebrows twitch. they must be heavy. at the very least, your circulation must be suffering. he’s carried groceries for enough elderly people to know that much.

“you’re pretty quiet,” you tease as you both turn away from the counter and head for the exit. “something on your mind?”

he’s silent for a moment, debating whether or not he should risk it. what if this was a stupid decision? what if he’s reading this all wrong? what if you wanted to carry your own bags? you’re a strong girl. you’re perfectly capable of carrying them yourself. he exhales forcefully, and before he can let doubt settle in, he rigidly juts his hand out to you.

“give ‘em here.” he mumbles.

your attention bounces back to him, perplexed. “huh?”

he grits his teeth, embarrassment already beginning to creep in. “your bags. i’ll hold them.”

at first, you’re pleasantly taken aback, a smile blossoming on your lips. but it turns wistful after a couple seconds. “i can’t make you carry everything, sakura. that’d be too—”

a fleeting hint of irritation sharpens his expression, and he kisses his teeth. “fine, then.” he—a tad ungracefully, he hates to admit—snatches your shopping bags off your arm and shoves the small gift bag containing the eyeshadow and lip gloss into your hands instead. “you wanna carry something so badly? carry this.”

you stare at him with wide eyes, shocked. pretending like he doesn’t feel your gaze burning holes into his temple, he clears his throat and hikes the shopping bags up onto his right shoulder, all the while keeping his head angled away to conceal the light blush dusting his cheekbones.

“sakura, thank you, but you really didn’t have to.” you assure him, but one glance at the indentations where they’d once been tells him otherwise.

he grunts. “quit worryin’ about it. if they’re heavy, then say something. you helped me out, so just . . .” he pauses, trying to string together his words in a way that doesn’t incriminate him. “think of it as me payin’ you back.”

“but—”

“deal?” he interjects, his voice bearing a note of urgency he hopes you mistake for roughness—for his sake.

but you, ever perceptive, let your gaze linger on him for a moment before your expression melts into a small, knowing smile.

“deal.”

#wind breaker #satoru nii #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker x you #sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka fluff #sakura haruka x you #sakura haruka

66 notes · View notes