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velvetvisionsaurora · 24 hours ago

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Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.

18+ only- Minors do not enter

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Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Wolves' Den

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine as you returned to the drawing room with Hongjoong. The conversation between the men paused, all eyes turning to assess your expressions, searching for signs of reconciliation or further hostility.

You kept your face carefully blank, taking your seat once more. If they were hoping for a miraculous change of heart during your garden chat, they were about to be sorely disappointed.

"Have you two reached an understanding?" your father asked, his tone suggesting he expected the answer to be yes.

"We understand each other perfectly," you replied coolly, not looking at Hongjoong. "We always have."

Mr. Kim cleared his throat. "Excellent. Then perhaps we can finalize the remaining details."

Your father nodded. "As we discussed, the wedding will take place at the Kim estate. Traditional ceremony, followed by a reception for our closest associates."

"And the honeymoon?" Mr. Kim inquired.

"Two weeks in Sicily," your father replied. "At the family villa."

You bit back a bitter laugh. Of course they'd already planned your honeymoon. Why not your entire future while they were at it?

"And in the meantime," your father continued, his eyes shifting to you, "Y/n will be staying at the Kim estate to become better acquainted with her future husband and his... organization."

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I beg your pardon?"

Your father's expression hardened slightly. "It's been decided, Y/n. You'll be moving to the Kim estate tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You leaned forward, dropping all pretense of composure. "You're shipping me off to live with strangers for three months?"

"They're hardly strangers," your father countered. "You've known Hongjoong and his associates since childhood."

"Known and been abandoned by," you corrected sharply. "And you expect me to just... what? Pack up and move in with them? Like some sort of trial run before the main event?"

"It's a common practice for arranged marriages in our circles," Seonghwa interjected smoothly. "It allows the bride to acclimate to her new family and household before the wedding."

You turned your glare on him. "Thank you for the cultural lesson, Mr. Park. I'm well aware of our 'traditions.' I'm simply questioning why this particular one is necessary in my case."

"Because," your father said firmly, "the Ricci estate is no longer secure."

That stopped you cold. "What do you mean?"

A look passed between your father and Mr. Kim—a silent communication that sent a chill down your spine.

"The Russo family has been making moves," your father said finally. "We've intercepted information suggesting they may target you to get to me."

"So instead of increasing security here, you're sending me away?" you asked incredulously.

"The ATEEZ compound is the most secure location in the city," Hongjoong said, speaking up for the first time since you'd returned from the garden. "No one gets in or out without our knowledge."

You turned to him slowly. "ATEEZ?"

"Our organization," he replied, a hint of pride coloring his tone. "Separate from our family businesses, though allied. The eight of us formed it five years ago."

"How entrepreneurial of you," you said sarcastically. "And this compound—who exactly will be there?"

Hongjoong met your gaze steadily. "Myself. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Wooyoung. And Jongho."

You couldn't help the sound that escaped you—something between a laugh and a growl. "All eight of you. Together. How convenient."

"Each has their role," Hongjoong continued, undeterred by your reaction. "We've built something... significant."

"I'm sure you have," you said, your voice dripping venom. "One big happy family. And now you want to add me to your collection."

"Y/n," your father warned.

But you were beyond caring about decorum. "So I'm to be a prisoner in a house full of men who couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye seven years ago? Is that it?"

The words hung in the air, and for a split second, you caught something flash across Hongjoong's face—guilt, perhaps, or regret. Seonghwa's expression remained carefully neutral, but you noticed his hand tighten imperceptibly on the arm of his chair.

"You'll be a guest," Seonghwa corrected. "Protected and respected."

"Forgive me if I don't find that particularly reassuring coming from you," you said, Seonghwa's parting words from seven years ago echoing in your mind: "Find some nice civilian boy to marry, Y/n. Someone more... your speed."

"Enough," your father said sharply. "This isn't a negotiation, Y/n. It's been decided. You'll go with Hongjoong tomorrow and stay at the ATEEZ compound until the wedding. End of discussion."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. You sat back in your chair, fury building inside you like a gathering storm. Trapped. You were going to be trapped with all eight of them, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the memories and the pain they represented.

"If that's settled," Mr. Kim said, rising to his feet, "we should be going. We have much to prepare for Y/n's arrival."

Your father stood as well, extending his hand. "We'll speak tomorrow before she leaves."

As the men exchanged handshakes and platitudes, you remained seated, your mind racing. Three months in the lions' den—no, the wolves' den. Because that's what they were, weren't they? A pack of wolves who had once welcomed you as one of their own, only to turn on you when it suited them.

"Y/n," your father's voice broke through your thoughts. "Say goodbye to our guests."

You rose mechanically, your smile tight and false. "Mr. Kim, it was a pleasure. Mr. Park, always illuminating. Hongjoong... until tomorrow, I suppose."

Hongjoong inclined his head slightly. "I'll send a car at noon."

"How thoughtful," you replied. "I'll be sure to pack light. Wouldn't want to impose."

His eyes narrowed slightly at your tone, but he said nothing more. As they turned to leave, you caught Seonghwa watching you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought you saw something like regret in his gaze, but it was gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

Once the door closed behind them, you rounded on your father. "How could you do this to me?"

"I'm protecting you," he said firmly. "The ATEEZ compound is a fortress. You'll be safer there than anywhere else."

"With the same men who abandoned me without a word? Who left me wondering for years what I'd done wrong? That's your idea of protection?"

"We felt sorry for you because your mom was sick, but she's gone now. Maybe it's time you learned to be alone." Wooyoung's last words to you floated through your mind, making your chest tighten with renewed pain.

Your father sighed heavily, suddenly looking older than his years. "There are things you don't understand, Y/n."

"Then explain them to me!" you demanded. "Tell me why my best friends disappeared from my life overnight. Tell me why you're suddenly so eager to marry me off to one of them."

A flicker of something—guilt? discomfort?—passed across your father's face before he carefully composed his features again.

He moved to the bar, pouring himself another drink. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell."

"Convenient excuse," you spat. "Everyone has secrets they can't share, decisions they can't explain. Am I the only one expected to accept everything blindly?"

Your father turned to face you, his expression grave. "In our world, ignorance can be a form of protection. Sometimes, not knowing is the safest position to be in."

"I stopped being safe the day I was born a Ricci," you countered. "At least give me the dignity of knowing what I'm walking into."

For a moment, something like indecision flickered across your father's face. Then he downed his drink in one swift motion. "Pack your things, Y/n. The decision is made."

You stared at him in disbelief, then turned on your heel and stormed out of the room. Your heels echoed against the marble floor as you climbed the stairs to your bedroom, each step fueled by rage and frustration.

Once inside, you slammed the door behind you with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls. For a moment, you stood there, breathing heavily, fighting the urge to scream or break something—or everything.

Instead, you moved to your closet and yanked out a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed with unnecessary force. The thought of living under the same roof as all eight of them—eating breakfast across from Yunho's too-bright smile after he'd once told you to "Stop crying, it's embarrassing," passing San in the hallway who had called you a "lost puppy," hearing Wooyoung's distinctive laugh echoing through the rooms after he'd said you were "exhausting and needy"—it sent a confusing mix of emotions coursing through you. Anger, yes. Resentment, absolutely. But beneath that, something else—a dangerous flutter of anticipation that you refused to acknowledge.

You began throwing clothes into the suitcase haphazardly, muttering curses under your breath. "Stupid, arrogant, presumptuous men, thinking they can just—"

A knock at your door interrupted your tirade. "What?" you snapped.

Paolo's voice came through the door. "Miss Y/n, your father asked me to tell you that security protocols have been updated in light of tomorrow's move. No one leaves the house tonight without an escort."

"Fine," you called back. "Is that all?"

A pause. "He also said to remind you that the ATEEZ organization has a... reputation. They're not the boys you once knew."

You stilled, a silk blouse dangling from your fingers. "What kind of reputation?"

"They're effective," Paolo said simply. "Ruthless when necessary. But fair, by our standards."

Our standards. The standards of a world built on violence and power, where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. A world where childhood friends could tell you that you were "not special" and that they'd been "just being polite all these years," then disappear without a trace.

"Thank you, Paolo," you said quietly. "Good night."

"Good night, Miss Y/n."

As his footsteps faded away, you sank onto the edge of your bed, the blouse forgotten in your lap. ATEEZ. You'd heard whispers of the name over the years—a new player in the city's underworld, methodical and disciplined in a way most organizations weren't. You'd never connected it to them, never imagined that the boys who had once sneaked you ice cream past your bedtime were now the men others in your world spoke of with wary respect.

You looked around your bedroom—the space that had been your sanctuary for years, the one place where you could pretend to be normal, where the weight of the Ricci name sometimes felt a little lighter. Tomorrow, you would leave it behind for a house full of ghosts from your past.

With renewed determination, you returned to your packing, this time with more care. If you were walking into the wolves' den, you'd be damned if you'd go unprepared.

As you folded a black evening dress—the kind that could double as armor in the right circumstances—you made yourself a promise. You wouldn't be the victim in this story. Not again. If they thought you were still that same trusting girl they'd left behind, they were about to learn how wrong they were.

The words that had haunted you for seven years—"You talk too much," "It's pathetic," "We've outgrown this phase of our lives," "Find your own life"—you would force them to eat every single one.

Hongjoong Kim might have agreed to marry you, and your father might have agreed to send you away, but that didn't mean you had to make it easy for any of them.

The game had changed, and this time, you would be the one setting the rules.

***

The morning arrived too quickly, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. You'd slept fitfully, dreams filled with shadows and fragments of memories—eight faces, eight voices, eight different kinds of betrayal.

By eleven, your bags were packed and waiting by the door. You'd chosen your outfit with deliberate care—black high-waisted trousers, a crimson silk blouse, and heels that added three dangerous inches to your height. Battle armor of a different kind.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you called, expecting your father with one final lecture about behavior and duty.

Instead, Paolo entered, carrying a small wooden box. His weathered face was solemn as he approached, setting the box on your dressing table.

"Your father is on a call," he said. "He asked me to see you off."

You nodded, unsurprised but still disappointed. "Of course he did."

Paolo's gaze softened. "Before you go, I have something for you." He gestured to the box. "It was your mother's."

Curious, you approached the box, running your fingers over the polished wood before lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, lay a pearl-handled pistol and an ornate dagger with an engraved hilt. Your breath caught in your throat.

"My mother's..." you whispered.

Paolo nodded. "The Beretta was a gift from your father on their wedding day. The knife was her grandfather's—Sicilian, from the old country." He reached in, lifting the pistol with careful hands. "She called this her insurance policy. Said a woman in our world should never be without options."

You took the weapon, feeling its weight—surprisingly light, perfectly balanced. Despite its delicate appearance, you knew it was as deadly as any of the more modern firearms in your father's collection.

"It's loaded," Paolo said quietly. "And the knife is sharp enough to slice through silk."

You looked up at him, understanding the message beneath his words. "Thank you, Paolo."

He inclined his head. "Your mother was fierce. You remind me of her more each day." His eyes met yours. "The ATEEZ boys—they're dangerous men now. But they were good boys once. I remember."

"People change," you said, carefully replacing the pistol in the box and closing the lid. Mingi's words echoed in your mind: "We're not the same people we were as kids, and honestly? Neither are you."

"Yes," Paolo agreed. "But not always completely." He lifted the box, handing it to you. "Hide these well. And remember—"

"A woman in our world should never be without options," you finished for him, tucking the box into your handbag.

A sad smile crossed his face. "May God go with you, little one."

You reached up, pressing a kiss to his weathered cheek. "Thank you for everything, Paolo."

He nodded once more, then turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "Your father loves you, Y/n. In his way."

"I know," you said softly. "In his way."

After he was gone, you stood alone in your bedroom for the last time, mentally saying goodbye to the sanctuary it had been. Then, squaring your shoulders, you picked up your handbag—now considerably heavier with your mother's "insurance policy"—and headed downstairs to meet the car that would take you to your new life.

* * *

The ATEEZ estate loomed before you like something from a gothic novel—a sprawling modern mansion of stone and glass, set behind imposing gates and surrounded by meticulously landscaped grounds. Security cameras tracked your arrival, and armed guards stood at strategic points along the perimeter.

As the car pulled up the circular driveway, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. Your mother's pistol and knife, now hidden in strategic places on your person, gave you a small measure of comfort.

The driver—a stoic man who hadn't spoken a word during the thirty-minute drive—opened your door. "Miss Ricci," he said with a slight bow. "Welcome to the ATEEZ compound."

You stepped out, surveying the fortress that would be your home for the next three months. "Charming," you murmured. "Does it come with a dungeon, or is that extra?"

The driver's expression didn't change as he retrieved your luggage from the trunk. "Mr. Kim and the others are waiting for you inside."

Before you could respond, the massive front doors swung open, and there they were—all eight of them, lined up in the entrance hall like a receiving line from your nightmares.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. Seven years collapsed into nothing as you took in their faces—so familiar yet so changed. Boys no longer, but men with edges hardened by whatever lives they'd led since leaving yours.

Hongjoong stood at the center, impeccably dressed in all black, his posture rigid. His last words to you hung in the air between you: "Did you really think this was real, Y/n? We have real futures to build now, and frankly... you don't fit into them."

Beside him, Seonghwa watched you with that same unreadable expression from the night before, the man who once told you to "find some nice civilian boy to marry."

Yunho, taller than you remembered, shifted his weight nervously, the same man who had once said, "Stop crying, Y/n. It's embarrassing."

Yeosang's face remained impassive, but his eyes never left yours—the quiet one who had cruelly told you that you "talk too much" and that they "used to draw straws to see who had to listen to you ramble."

San's lips curved in a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, the charmer who had dismissed you as "pathetic" and compared you to a "lost puppy."

Mingi stood slightly apart, his gaze so intense it was almost physical—the gentle soul who had become harsh enough to call you "clingy" and "desperate."

Wooyoung fidgeted, barely containing whatever energy coursed through him, the one whose words had cut deepest when he called you "exhausting and needy" and said they only tolerated you because they "felt sorry for you."

And Jongho, the youngest but somehow looking the most formidable, stood with arms crossed—the protector who had told you that you were "embarrassing yourself and your family" and to "have some dignity."

Eight men. Eight ghosts. Eight pieces of your past, standing before you in the flesh.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words and buried memories.

Then, like a dam breaking, Wooyoung bounded forward with a cry of "Y/n!" before anyone could stop him. He swept you into a crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around just as he had countless times when you were younger.

"You're finally here! I've been counting down the minutes! You look amazing—that red is totally your color—and your hair! I love what you've done with it!" His words tumbled out in a rush, his embrace warm and familiar, smelling of expensive cologne and something uniquely Wooyoung.

For one treacherous moment, you melted into the hug, your body remembering the comfort his arms had once provided. This was Wooyoung, your Wooyoung, who had once held you through the night after your mother's funeral, who had made you laugh even on your darkest days.

Then, just as quickly, another memory surfaced—Wooyoung's face, cold and distant, telling you that you were "exhausting" and that they "used to joke about how suffocating you were." The memory sent a chill through you, hardening your resolve.

You stiffened, planting your hands on his chest and shoving him away with enough force to make him stumble. "Touch me again without permission," you said icily, reaching into your jacket where the knife was hidden, "and I'll shoot you where you stand."

Rather than looking hurt or offended, Wooyoung's face split into a delighted grin. "There she is! Our fierce Y/n!" He turned to the others. "Didn't I tell you guys? Still the same spitfire!"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong's voice cut through the air, sharp with warning. "Give her space."

Wooyoung pouted but stepped back, still grinning at you like you'd just shared an inside joke instead of threatening his life.

Your eyes swept over the rest of them, cataloging their reactions. Seonghwa's lips had thinned in disapproval—at Wooyoung's behavior or yours, you couldn't tell. Yunho looked caught between amusement and concern. Yeosang's expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had softened. San was openly smirking now. Jongho had unfolded his arms, his stance slightly more relaxed.

And Mingi... Mingi was looking at you with such naked longing that it felt like a physical blow. His eyes traced your face as if memorizing every detail, his expression so full of yearning and regret that for a moment, you felt your resolve waver. How could the same man who had called you "clingy" and "desperate" now look at you with such undisguised need?

You tore your gaze away, focusing instead on Hongjoong. "So, my dearly devoted fiancé," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "please show me to my cell. And I'd also make sure either the guns or bullets are hidden because if I find both, it will be a long night."

A muscle twitched in Hongjoong's jaw, but his expression remained controlled. "Your room is upstairs. Follow me."

You moved toward the staircase, deliberately brushing past the others without acknowledgment. As you passed Mingi, you felt him inhale sharply, as if capturing your scent.

"I'll have your bags brought up," Seonghwa said, his voice perfectly composed.

"How hospitable," you replied without looking back.

As you ascended the stairs beside Hongjoong, you could hear the murmur of voices below.

"Holy shit," San's voice drifted up. "She's even more beautiful than before."

"And deadlier," came Yeosang's quiet observation.

"That mouth on her though," Yunho added with a low whistle. "She's got more spirit than I remember."

"More sad," Mingi's solemn voice cut through the others. "Didn't you see her eyes? She's carrying ghosts."

There was a pause, then Wooyoung's distinctive laugh. "If she keeps being that mean to me, I might fall in love all over again."

"All of you, shut up," Jongho's deep voice commanded. "She can probably hear you."

You allowed yourself a small, bitter smile as you continued climbing. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them feel a fraction of the confusion and pain they'd inflicted on you.

Hongjoong remained silent beside you, leading you down a long hallway lined with modern art and subtle security cameras. Finally, he stopped before a door at the end of the corridor, producing a key.

"This will be your room," he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "You have your own bathroom and a small sitting area. The balcony overlooks the garden."

You stepped inside, taking in the spacious room with its elegant furnishings and muted color palette. It was beautiful, tasteful, and completely impersonal—like an upscale hotel suite.

"The key," you said, holding out your hand.

Hongjoong hesitated. "We don't typically lock doors here. The compound itself is secure."

"The key, Hongjoong," you insisted, remembering how he'd once told you that you were just "convenient when we were bored."

After a moment, he placed it in your palm. "Dinner is at seven in the main dining room. Seonghwa will show you the way."

"How thoughtful," you said flatly, closing your fingers around the key. "Anything else I should know about my incarceration?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "This isn't a prison, Y/n."

"No? Then I'm free to leave whenever I choose?"

"You know that's not possible," he said quietly. "Not with the Russo threat."

You laughed without humor. "Of course. Always some convenient reason why I have to do exactly as I'm told." You turned away from him, moving to the window. "You can go now."

You could feel him watching you, could almost hear the words he wasn't saying. Finally, he spoke.

"For what it's worth," he said softly, "this isn't how I imagined seeing you again."

You didn't turn around. "I'm sure it isn't. Your plans probably involved me being much more compliant and much less armed."

"Y/n—"

"Seven o'clock," you cut him off. "I'll be there. Now please leave."

The door closed quietly behind him. Only then did you allow your shoulders to sag, the weight of seeing all of them—of being seen by all of them—suddenly overwhelming.

You moved to the bed, sinking down onto its edge and pulling your mother's pistol from its hiding place. The pearl handle caught the light as you turned it in your hands, cool and solid and real when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

"Insurance policy," you whispered to yourself, echoing Paolo's words. Whatever game they were playing, whatever secrets they were keeping, you wouldn't be defenseless.

You thought of all the cruel words they had hurled at you seven years ago, words that had cut deeper than any knife could reach. Words like "pathetic," "embarrassing," "clingy," "exhausting," words that had made you question your worth, your place, your very self.

But now, sitting in the heart of their domain with your mother's pistol in your hand, you made yourself a new promise: they would never hurt you like that again.

Not this time.

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onaswife · 2 days ago

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The winner takes it all

Couple: Barça Femení x reader

Au! Omegaverse, Alpha x Omega

Note: This will be a complete orgy, reader will be occupied as a competition for the alphas, lots of smut but a fluff ending. If there is any mistake, please let me know.

The first member of the team you met was Aitana. You were in your fourth year of your English teaching degree, and as part of your professional practice, you had started giving personalized and private lessons in addition to the hours you were required to work at a student residence.

She had found you through a mutual friend. According to what she had told you the first time you met to discuss these lessons, she wanted to learn more English so she could do better in interviews, speak better with her foreign teammates, and overcome her fear of English. Aitana was a very calm, gentle Alpha. She always listened attentively to what you were teaching her and was very eager to learn everything you taught her.

As soon as Aitana was able to schedule the first study session with you, she refurbished one of her spare rooms. She painted it creamy red and bought the necessary supplies. A notebook for her, a small whiteboard so you could write down important things she needed to write, pencils, and markers. It was a study room, filled with books in Spanish and books in English that you had recommended.

You found it very endearing to see how focused she was on learning English. You still remember that time she was excited to be able to formulate a sentence correctly in the past tense.

"So, since we've already taken the placement test, we'll start talking about verb tenses. I suppose you know the main verb, right, Aitana?" You placed a printed piece of paper in front of her on the table, while she looked at you with Bambi-like eyes, quite confused by what you had just said.

"I…" She lowered her gaze as she seemed to stare at the sheet of paper as if it were the most important thing in the world, as if it were going to give her all the universal answers and open another door to the universe. You, on the other hand, laughed tenderly; she reminded you of a little Bambi.

"Okay, we'll start by reviewing that, and then the first thing we'll look at is the Present Tense." She had given you a small board, but you could write on it. "The main verb is the verb "to be." We covered that at the end of last class. I think you wrote it down. So, there are three tenses. Do you know what they are?" She shook her head slowly, and you smiled in understanding. You'd met many children who felt self-conscious because it was a different language, but who actually knew a lot.

"They're the present, the past, and the future," she nodded quickly, beginning to write in a notebook. Apparently, she wasn't very different from the children you taught in the mornings.

"Those moments are divided into four," you saw her raise an eyebrow and decided to continue. "There's the simple, the continuous, the perfect, and the perfect continuous." You gave her a few minutes to write and then continued making a timeline listing the four moments. You slowly explained the four and gave her an example of each, so that she understood the information.

"Now that we've covered the four, I'm going to pass this on to you." You held up a worksheet where she would first have to see which present tense it belonged to, find the mistake, and, lastly, write an example for each one. You gave her 15 minutes; you knew it would be difficult for her, so you gave her the time she needed.

You organized some of your things, putting the ones you didn't need in your bag, the rest in your pencil case, and leaving the essentials outside. You began to look around Aitana's house, trying not to look at her so she wouldn't get nervous. It gave off a great vibe, a warm light, minimalist arrangement, and light gray and white walls. There were many photos of her family and herself throughout her career hanging on the gray walls, each one framing an important moment.

After the 15 minutes were up, she timidly extended the sheet of paper toward you, anxiously awaiting feedback.

You silently reviewed them for yourself, then smiled broadly.

"Okay, shall we begin the feedback?"

"Yes, please," she sounded tired. "I didn't ask how your work went today. You're very tired, Aitana," you began as you wrote things down on the whiteboard. You looked up and saw her nod slowly. "Sorry if I was too nosy. I guess it's a teacher's way of worrying about students like that," you commented jokingly, trying to get her to let go of the day's stress. You heard her laugh at your words and felt a strange warmth in your chest.

"Okay, let's begin."

Aitana had done almost everything right, with small mistakes despite it being her first time seeing the topic. Until the final part. She became nervous and started bouncing her leg, waiting for you to tell her everything was wrong.

"I must say, I think you're the fastest learner in my classes." You smiled. "You had all good ones, Aitana. Congratulations. You're one step closer to speaking English better." You congratulated her on her new achievement, giving her a big smile that was reciprocated with emotion.

"Did I really have all good ones? Are you sure? Completely sure?" she asked, already getting up from her seat and almost jumping for joy.

"Yes, Aitana, I'm sure you had all good ones."

You saw her celebrate as if she had won the World Cup, jumping up to hug you.

That day will remain in your memory; you had never seen her so full of energy so close up.

Then came the day you met her teammates.

Aitana had forgotten to tell you that that Thursday, like every Thursday, they wouldn't be able to have tutoring because her teammates would be attending the traditional team meeting held every three weeks at one of the girls' houses.

You arrived and knew immediately that something wasn't right. When you stood outside her apartment door, you smelled a lot of different odors, all of them alphas. At first, you thought it might be the neighbors, but when a completely different person than Aitana opened the door, your suspicions were confirmed.

It wasn't that you weren't a soccer connoisseur; your best friend was a soccer fanatic, along with his father and yours, so it was a big surprise when none other than Alexia Putellas opened the door to your student's apartment.

"Do you want something? I think you've got the wrong apartment." Her voice was soft, though you knew she wasn't happy with your presence.

"I'm looking for Aitana… we had a class today." Your voice sounded weaker than usual. Her presence was imposing, and her scent even more so, making your omega feel very weak, ready to be marked or taken by that alpha. She raised an eyebrow, and when she was about to ask again, she was stopped by the hostess.

"Y/N? God forgive me. I forgot to tell you that we couldn't have class today." Aitana looked very embarrassed, while Alexia's gaze flicked between you and her companion.

"Do you want to come in? I'm sorry you had to come all the way here and we can't have class because I forgot to tell you." You could sense the change in Aitana's scent, while an apologetic look crossed her face.

"It's okay, Aitana. I don't mind going home,"you tried to dismiss her guilt as a soft, but tired smile appeared on your face.

"No, no, come on in." She brought her hand to your wrist, where she gently took it and pulled you into the apartment. You felt Alexia's gaze on you and heard her close the door behind you.

You felt like you'd just walked into the lion's den.

You were surrounded by very beautiful female athletes, all alphas. You felt a little uncomfortable being the only omega there, so you stayed close to the only person you knew, Aitana.

She introduced you to all her teammates, while they greeted you cordially. You noticed how every time she introduced you to someone, they looked you up and down. Some were more adept at hiding it, others not, and bit their lip while giving you flirtatious glances. You felt your blush grow every time that happened.

There was a moment in the night, which had been filled with meaningless conversations with the older alphas who were also showing interest in learning English, while the younger ones were more interested in flirting with you. You had decided to go out to Aitana's balcony to get some fresh air, and also to look over some things the university had sent you.

You went out with your bag to sit on the beanbag Aitana had on the balcony. You took out your computer and placed it on your lap, turning it on and logging into the university website. You put on headphones so you could hear the material better.

You were so focused on your computer that you didn't notice when someone came out onto the balcony as well. It wasn't until she sat down next to you that you realized, jumping in your seat and placing a hand on your heart, while sighing, feeling your heartbeat a thousand times an hour. "God, that was scary," you heard her laugh as she looked up at the sky.

"Sorry for scaring you. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to get some fresh air. I didn't think you'd be here… We thought you were gone. The others were starting to feel sad."

You felt embarrassed when you heard her words. Even though everyone else had made it clear they had other intentions, they always respected each other's boundaries.

Ona settled in next to you, brushing her arm against yours, but not making eye contact. A few minutes later, another person joined them, Jana. You'd noticed that she, like the other younger ones, was quite talkative and energetic. So it seemed strange to you when she sat on your other side in silence, simply looking at what you were doing on your computer and asking you questions about words she didn't know, and you happily explained everything to her. Ona, who was on your other side, was resting her head on your bicep, her eyes closed, and she seemed content with the scent of you enveloping her.

A few minutes later, you had two alphas sleeping on your sides, their heads resting on your shoulders. Aitana called out to you, but you were determined not to move so as not to wake them.

Weeks later (after exchanging numbers with most of them under the guise of planning a tutoring session), you'd been invited to a party to celebrate a big victory.

You couldn't refuse; you really needed it. You were a few weeks away from finishing your semester, and that meant a lot of stress.

You put on comfortable but nice clothes; you never know, maybe you'd find a hot alpha or something to spend the night with.

You arrived and could see how the girls seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere. Ona was dancing close to Jana, Cata was dancing close to Pina's back, and Patri was filming them. You saw Alexia standing face to face with Ingrid, while Mapi sat drinking with a smile on her face.

You approached them, greeted by their greetings and a beer. "I don't know if you'd like it, but if not, I'll tell Aitana to order something for you, little one," Kika spoke, giving you a flirtatious smile, typical of her. You sat next to Ellie, accepting the beer they'd given you. You quickly fell into a conversation with the English girl, her hand resting on your shoulders, caressing them, and your hand occasionally resting on her knee. There was a moment where she stopped hugging you to lean over to drink her drink. When she sat back down, she placed her hand on your thigh, squeezing and caressing there. It felt so good to feel her caresses on your sensitive skin.

A while later, you went to the dance floor, where you danced with all the Alphas, unaware that you had left them aroused and with a plan in mind.

That day, like the previous ones, you had gone to class with Aitana, although this time you encountered a new surprise. All of Aitana's teammates were in her apartment, apparently waiting for you as well.

You entered, greeting everyone present politely and heading to the table where they usually held classes. You took out your books, your computer, and the markers for the board, waiting for Aitana to join you. You were in the weeks leading up to exams, so you were more sensitive and stressed than usual. It was noticeable in your scent; it was less sweet, almost imperceptible, which had worried the other girls.

Ingrid had entered the small area where you felt comfortable teaching. She sat down next to you and put her arm around your shoulders.

You inertia nestled against her, inhaling her scent and relaxing slightly. She placed a kiss on your hair, beginning to caress your arm with her fingertips, sending shivers down your spine.

Then Mapi joined her. She was more active, unlike Ingrid; she started talking.

"Oh my God, baby, are you okay?" She helped you get up from the chair and, without asking, made you sit on Ingrid's lap, so you could bury your face in the Norwegian's neck. Mapi sat next to Ingrid. "I'm worried about not smelling your scent. Are you okay? I don't know if that's normal for Omegas, but if not, we should take you to the hospital for a checkup. You can't lose your scent… I really like the way you smell, love." You opened your eyes slightly and saw the exact moment a pout formed on her lips, making you feel extremely tender.

"I'm fine… it usually happens to me when I'm really stressed… It's the last few weeks of exams and I need to pass them. I don't want to waste a year and have to repeat it."

Ingrid's hands were all over your back, trying to help you relax. While Mapi seemed to have the mission of filling the space with her scent. You felt lips on your temple, making you open your eyes again, connecting with Ingrid's green ones.

"How can we help you, Kjære?" Ingrid's hands rested on your lower back, over the end of your shirt.

You felt dizzy from the attention they were both giving you; it was very difficult for you to think straight when there were two alphas marking you with their scent, trying to relieve your stress.

Mapi's lips landed on your shoulder, followed by a small bite that made you shudder completely, making you gasp slightly.

You hid your face closer to Ingrid's neck, listening to both of them laugh softly at your reaction. "It's okay, Cari." Mapi's hands rested on your waist, pressing against your side. They stayed like that for about 10 more minutes, and you were already going crazy. You were enveloped in both of their scents and could feel their cocks unconsciously rubbing against your body or pressing against yours.

You emerged from your hiding place on Ingrid's neck, sharing a look with her, which she then undressed toward her lips. She seemed to get the hint, as she slowly leaned toward you to touch her lips to yours. It began as a shy, innocent brush of lips, her hands resting on your knee, leaving small caresses with her fingertips.

But it quickly transformed into a quicker, more lustful kiss. Her hands softly and slowly moved to your waist, where she gently tugged to adjust you so that your back was to Mapi, who was standing in front of Ingrid.

As soon as she finished positioning you on her lap, you could feel the prominent erection already growing through Ingrid's pants, making you gasp and moan when you touched there. Mapi was already sitting in front of you, her hand positioning her member and also trying to calm the uncomfortable erection that was growing as she watched you rub and kiss her girlfriend with such need. Her head fell back as she now squeezed her member. When she turned her gaze towards you, she saw both of you staring at her intently.

"Mapi, we need to help our girl here. Then we can help you, right, baby?" Ingrid asked the last thing to you while she rubbed her nose against your neck, while you couldn't tear your gaze away from Maria's erection; it was almost hypnotizing.

You felt Ingrid's hands assault your backside, leaving a firm grip. You moaned, turning your gaze forward, watching as she shifted to remove your shirt and, in passing, your bra. She paid attention to your breasts, first taking one of them to her warm mouth and running her tongue over your already hard nipples. Her hands roamed over your abdomen and thighs, feeling your skin react to her touches.

"Ingrid…" you moaned as you moved your hips against her cock. "God… yes, please." Your hands gripped his hair, tugging as you felt her teeth press against your sensitive nipples. You could still feel Mapi's scent filling the space, though it was stronger now.

Ingrid brought her hands to your butt, kneading it as she began to bite near your collarbones, leaving small marks. You began to move up and down, pressing Ingrid's cock in the right place, feeling that familiar sensation of pleasure rush through your body.

Ingrid threw her head back, feeling you move against her, her hands still on your butt. She looked over your shoulder for a second, watching Mapi stare at your butt and touch her cock, now free of her pants and looking pleased. She instantly decided you should see it too.

She lifted you from her lap, and as soon as you stood up, she placed a kiss on your abdomen while slowly unbuttoning your pants, followed by soft, fluttering kisses, trying to show care and affection.

When she had your shorts off, caressing and kissing in between, she made you sit down, this time with your back to her, so you could look at Mapi, who was standing with her cock wrapped in her hand, looking at you shyly and with a blush on her face. You felt yourself getting even wetter at the sight, if possible, feeling even more in need of a cock, while Ingrid took her time kissing your body.

"Ingrid," you moaned, staring at Mapi, who had once again begun to stroke herself, this time slower but with deeper movements. She stroked from the tip to the base of her penis, while you watched the precum begin to flow out.

Ingrid pulled her pants down enough to free her member. First, she stroked it for a few seconds, then helped you align it. As soon as it entered, you could feel a small release of pleasure. It ran through your entire body, from the tips of your toes to your head.

You took a few minutes to get used to its size and thickness, then you began to ride it with her help. Her hands were firmly gripped on your hips, while her own moved upward, penetrating you deeper. In the moment when you could keep your eyes open, you were able to see the exact moment Mapi had her orgasm.

First, you saw her face, constricted with pleasure and red from the heat that had been building in the room. Then, you looked down, observing how her nipples were erect and her abs were defined by the continued tension, making you gasp as thoughts began to flood your mind, mostly about what it would be like to cum on her abdomen. Finally, your eyes reached her cock, which was at its peak in her hand.

It was wet and rumbling as she moved her hand along its length. It was a sound similar to the one Ingrid's cock made inside you. You saw how she began to move her hand faster, and her moans intensified. It didn't take more than five minutes for her to reach her orgasm. It was addictive to watch her neck tense and her veins pop out, while the same thing happened on her tattooed arms, which were then splashed with the whitish liquid that flowed from her cock. It took about 15 seconds for the semen to flow from Mapi's big cock, while she moaned with pleasure and tried to breathe normally again.

Ingrid was also close, and you were the one who was almost cumming. The familiar tugging began to appear, and your thighs were already trembling. You brought your hands to your tits to knead and play with your nipples, pulling them, giving yourself more pleasure. You lasted no more than 10 minutes with these movements before you came on top of Ingrid, satisfied. She moved against you as she came, and you tried to come down from the cloud of pleasure and ecstasy you'd been lifted to.

While you were in that state, Mapi approached Ingrid and handed her a marker. She took it and leaned you forward, making you hug her abdomen while you wiped the tears there.

She wrote on your lower back, before reaching your buttocks: "Ingrid: 1."

Mapi smiled at her, watching her write with a satisfied smile on her face. All the alphas had planned such an encounter, and they had also talked about writing down how many orgasms they could give you.

"Does that also count as an orgasm caused by me?" Mapi asked as she ran her hand through your hair, leaving soft, tender caresses.

"Do you think so?"

"She watched me masturbate for her, it turned her on and helped her cum," she murmured, feeling triumphant. Ingrid handed her the marker so she could write it down, then pulled you towards her chest as she hugged you and placed small kisses on your shoulders and neck. Mapi leaned down and wrote her name with a 1 below your right collarbone.

She smiled contentedly, watching you draped over Ingrid, her cock still resting inside you.

"There's still a lot of night ahead, baby, so come on. We all want to make you feel less stressed and better. Are you ready for the night?" Ingrid whispered against your ear, as she began rubbing your clit, making your legs tremble slightly and you moan her name.

"Can you answer me?" A long gasp left your chest as you opened your eyes again, looking at a smiling Mapi in front of you.

"Yes, God, yes. Please." You brought your hand to Ingrid's, gently squeezing her wrist. You both looked at each other and shared a knowing smile, already knowing what was coming next.

#woso x reader #woso omegaverse #barca femeni #claudia pina x reader #mapi leon x reader #fridolina rolfo x reader #ingrid engen x reader #cata coll x reader #ellie roebuck x reader #alexia putellas x reader #aitana bonmati x reader #kika nazareth x reader

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queenimmadolla · 2 days ago

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could you do any dad!steve? maybe with new baby

I am never escaping the dad trope lol, and I don't want to! This got angsty fast, though, as it's an idea I've been toying around with for the better part of years now and you've given me the chance to get it out there. I present to you:

𝐃𝐚𝐝ⵑ𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐦ⵑ𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, tw: postpartum depression. reader is not happy and experiencing mom guilt.

Summary: Steve Harrington, first time father of one, muses about you, the mother of his child.

“I know, I know…” Steve cooed, foot frantically tapping against the kitchen tile while he waited for hot water to heat the liquid contained in the bottle, floating in the pot.

He was the poster boy for exhaustion, one shoulder of his shirt covered in spit up, the other with a spit up rag slung over it. Also, covered in spit up. His sweats were no better, stained with projectile spit up, her pee because surprise, surprise, female babies can also have little pee streams, and whatever he was trying to eat before she’d start crying and he fumbled his meal to get to her.

The baby, tucked into a bassinet Steve was dragging around the house at that point, was just a few weeks old, and furious. Little limbs wiggling and shaking, face scrunched up as she cried. Agatha was pissed and obviously didn’t give a crap what he was saying and Steve let out a heavy sigh, practically feeling the frustration she was experiencing, as a result of picking up on his own emotions. Joyce Byers had told him babies had a way of doing that. Little bundles of empathy, yet to be marred by the world.

Three weeks out of the hospital, and already she was experiencing a multitude of emotions he could barely stand. Largely, the concern and loneliness.

Agatha’s screams continued to echo, the bottle continued to warm on the stove, and Steve turned his head towards the stairs. Melancholy weighed heavy on his chest as he thought of you. You probably hadn’t moved since he’d last checked on you a few minutes ago, curled up on the window nook and staring blankly out of it.

You didn’t talk to him a whole lot. Didn’t do much, either. Steve would like to say he noticed the first change when he’d brought the two of you back home, but he’d noticed it before then. Noticed in that delivery room.

You’d been unsure of being a mother when you found out you were pregnant, but a family had been something the two of you always talked about. To you, specifically, it seemed to be something that would always be in the future, never something that would be happening right now. The joy soon found you, and you were ecstatic to be welcoming your baby. Hand painted so many of the designs in her nursery, built up an impressive library and wardrobe for her, discussed your yearning for the days where you’d get to sit out in the yard with her in your arms, read to her, nurse her. You wanted it.

But Steve had seen the look in your eyes when the nurse had put your baby girl’s trembling body in your arms. Or rather, he’d seen what was missing from them.

It was like your body was in the room, but you weren’t. You didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to hold her.

You weren’t very chatty after the birth, quiet, reserved and pleasant. Too busy catching up on what you hadn’t been able to eat while pregnant, to pay attention to the baby girl everyone was cooing over and you seemed vaguely uncomfortable anytime one of your friends diverted their attention away to check on you.

It should have been the first sign for Steve to let the doctor know but he wrote it off as you being tired. Because you were. Tired.

When he brought you home, he’d thought you’d be much better. Surrounded by your things, and memories, and nothing but reminders of his love for you. You’d be better.

And then you weren’t. You went about your normal routine, chores, errands, all without so much as a smile on your face. No frown, either, just…nothing.

It was when Steve couldn’t deny how desperate you were to not pick up the baby, to not have to hold her, that he had to accept what was happening.

A diagnosis was given, one that was hard for you to deal with because you’d been difficult when it came to discussing your feelings, let alone doing so with a doctor.

“Honey, it’s not a big deal! Your hormones have changed and you-you read the same baby books as me─” Of course, he’d said the wrong thing.

“ ‘Not a big deal’?” Your eyes were shiny and blazing, “Not a big deal? You’re asking me to go to a doctor. Like something’s wrong with me and it’s not a big deal to you? Do you think I’m crazy? What—just because I’m not happy as fuck to change her diapers?”

Steve’s stomach hurt, twisting at both his pain and yours.

“It’s not the diapers, honey. It’s not…” He paused, throat swallowing around a heavy emotion, “You’re not crazy. You’re not.”

“I’m not.” You confirmed, ready to stomp back upstairs to the master bedroom and pretend this never happened when he spoke softly.

“You just won’t pick her up after.”

You hesitated on the first step, turning to face him while you stared at the ground, almost mortified that he’d said what you’d intentionally been doing out loud; changing her diapers because she smelled or wouldn’t. stop. crying. and then immediately announcing to Steve that she was ready so he could grab her. And if he noticed that, well…he’d also noticed how frequently you disappeared to pump. Always handing him a bottle when one was needed before fluttering off to some other part of the house or outside. Not around. The last time you’d even nursed Agatha was in the hospital. It’d be fine if you didn’t want to, you just had to tell him. You both knew breastfeeding wasn’t for everyone. That led him to believe it was something more. And whenever you had to put her to sleep because Steve for some reason couldn’t, you’d always get this far out look on your face, like you were disassociating. Would rather be anywhere else.

You weren’t you and what scared Steve most was how you were intentionally trying to deceive him into thinking you were fine. Because it meant you were trying to convince yourself, too. Holding it all in.

You had swallowed hard, cleared your throat and attempted a shrug, “So? I clean her poop and you take the next shift. Thought that was what we were doing.”

Steve knew he’d get nowhere with you if you continued to shy away from what he was saying. He knew it would hurt you, but he had to be direct if he wanted to get you help.

“Do you like holding her?” You were put on the spot, he knew he’d finally gotten through. You fidgeted, a hand reaching up to massage the back of your neck, something Steve always did to comfort and soothe you.

“Uhm—I,”

“Do you want to hold her?”

The tears came before you could stop them and you knew he knew. Your face crumpled. In a flash, Steve had you in his arms while you cried into his chest.

”I don’t know what’s wrong with me, she’s perfect but she doesn’t feel like she’s mine. And she hasn’t done anything wrong and I just don’t─”

Steve hushed you, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead as he held you tight, “It’ll be okay, honey. It will. I promise.”

The first few doctors were dismissive of you and your feelings and Steve had let them, their staff, and everyone in the waiting area know how little he cared for their conduct. Then came a saint. This doctor had said it was Postpartum Depression.

A scarily common thing for those who give birth, and widely undiagnosed because either women didn’t seek treatment for various reasons and aspects in their life, or they weren’t taken seriously when reaching out for help.

Steve had hoped knowing it wasn’t your fault, knowing it wasn’t anyone’s fault, would help you but you’d been even more quiet since. Had even chosen the window nook as your new roost.

He was lucky he had a more than an average amount of time saved up at work to stay home. Steve had imagined it would be used as family bonding time, time he’d get to spend with both his girls, and now he’s trying to make sure both of his girls may someday get the chance to bond.

Steve was snapped out of his head when some hot water splashed on his hand and he hissed, cursing under his breath as he quickly turned the burner off. The water was boiling, there was no way he’d be able to give that milk to Aggie. Shit, how could he get so fucking in his head and distracted—

The baby.

Steve immediately registered that the house was quiet, his head darted in the direction of the bassinet and his heart dropped when he saw it was empty.

HIS BABY!

“Aggie?” He called out like a dumbass as if his three week old baby would respond.

The stove, the pot, and the bottle were abandoned as he frantically searched the house for her, literally running down the hall. The front door was locked, so was the back door so no one had broken in.

And then a thought occurred to him. One that filled him with far too much hope. His frantic steps became quiet, afraid to make so much as a creak when he made his way upstairs and down the hall.

With bated breath, he pushed the bedroom door open.

You were still in on the nook, just as he suspected. The top windows were open, allowing a sweet breeze into your bedroom, curtains billowing gently on either side of you. Rays of sun framed you, a light blanket over your lap. A blanket that housed your daughter. Steve could see her little fist, clenching and unclenching even with her little mittens on—she liked to scratch her face and then get mad about it—as she nursed. You kept her close, thumb stroking over the soft, exposed delicate skin of Agatha’s arm while you read, occasionally mouthing a few words.

Steve stood almost paralyzed, in complete astonishment as he watched the two of you.

At some point, Aggie began making an intense grunting noise and you looked away from your book, down at her in concern as she unlatched herself from you.

“Oh, what’s going on─” Aggie let out a large and long toot and her grunting immediately stopped before she began to root around for your nipple again. You let out a loud laugh, body shaking with it as you assisted her with latching. “Such a silly girl. Stinky, too.”

Steve almost joined you, almost walked in that room, to take part in it. He didn’t. Legs twitched to move forward, but he just smiled, amused with Aggie and happy to see you smile. Steve would just linger in the doorway for now, satisfied with letting his girls bond.

𝑙𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 ℗ 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑒 ♡

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington drabble #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington x reader angst #Steve Harrington x black!reader #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #dad!steve harrington #dad!Steve Harrington x reader #dad!Steve Harrington x mom!reader #tw: postpartum depression

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mrsjjongstby · 22 hours ago

Text

P: Vampire!Sunghoon x Time-travel Scientist!Reader

Warnings: Mentions on biting, blood, feeding scenes, mentions of death, dissapearance, time travelling, yearning, kissing, physical touch, possesiveness, soft angst, happy ending!

Synopsis: In 2090, you're sent back in time to study a village that vanished without explanation. There, you met him. You weren't supposed to fall in love with him. But you did, with a vampire. And when time ran out, you left — believing that story had ended. Until one night, back in the future, he finds you. He hasn’t aged. And he never stopped waiting.

Wordcount: 11.8k

June 22, 2090.

The hum of the machines never stopped in sector 7.

Even at 3:27 in the evening, the corridors filled with guards, the bright white light pulsing against the huge glass doors. Surveillance cameras present every nook and crook of the room with security drones flying silently overhead, scanning every face, every badge, every retinal print.

There were no windows in this part of the KRONEX institute- no clocks, no noise from the outside world. Time, here, was studied, twisted, and sometimes... broken.

You adjusted the collar of your lab coat, feeling the slight static charge settling against your skin. Another night. Another sequence calibration.

You were the lead scientist for KRONEX's Temporal Division, and one of only five globally certified operators with direct clearance to manipulate raw time.

Not because you are lucky- but because you are good- really good at what you do.

"You are early." Said a familiar voice.

You turned around to see Taehyun, hands in his lab coat pockets, glasses slightly askew. He always arrived fashionably five minutes late, so this was new.

"So are you," you say smirking.

"Someone write it in the history."

He chuckled, stepping beside you as the biometric scanner opened the reinforced glass doors to Lab room Delta- 12.

Inside, your team was already gathered,

Mira, the chronophysics analyst, stood at her console with her usual lip balm which she applies ever minute, tapping at the interface like it owned her something.

Yuvi, head of atmospheric translation, stayed near the back, mumbling data projections to herself.

Jungwon, the youngest, but sharp as hell, greeted you with the usual, two fingered salute from behind the drone mapping panel.

"Took you long enough." Mira muttered without looking up.

"You're welcome for the coffee I brought you last time." You say as you head to the central table.

Everyone quickly followed you, sitting around the table.

You five are the specialized high qualification scientists who got chosen to be the people handling lab delta- 12. Coming from different backgrounds, having same interests and working in cases together for years made your guys' bond unbreakable.

You five are highly qualified specialists chosen to operate Lab Delta-12. Coming from different backgrounds but sharing the same passion, you've worked on countless cases together over the years — and that’s made your bond unbreakable.

The door opened, interrupting your casual talks.

In walked, Dr. Han Myung-sik— head of KRONAX, the man who'd once published a paper predicting time dilation six years before it was observed in real data. His face, though aged, was unreadable— eyes sharp beneath the thick silver eyebrows.

No one spoke. You all stood up immediately.

"Sit," he said. "This will be quick."

The doors sealed shut behind him. A cold hum flickered through the room as he turned on the internal projector.

Five floating files appeared above the surface. Each labeled, RED CASE.

"Your group— delta 12 is chosen for this matter." Dr.Han said quietly.

You could feel the weight of his words which he's about to say.

"We've uncovered five unresolved incidents. Each linked to potentially an unnatural shift in recorded time."

"These aren't ripples," he continued.

"These are fractures. Events that don't line up with any known temporal logic. People disappeared, memories vanished, objects never aged and yet—"

He tapped the interface. The room dimmed, and each of your profiles synced to a case file.

"You are the only ones qualified to investigate."

He started pacing slowly.

"Yuvi. You're being sent to March 2311, Seoul; right before the blackout that erased six months of global data records. You'll observe the internal tech culture and corporate rivalry."

Yuvi blinked, nodding quietly, already calculating her cover identity.

"Mira."

He turned to her.

"Your case is year 1652, Gyeongju province. A palace scribble who reportedly recorded a 'sky-born woman of light' before his records were seized. The ink used in his account was... not of this earth.”

Mira grinned. "Finally, something fun."

"Jungwon. Taehyun. You'll split into Northern territories. Parallel years, overlapping reports. Two villages with identical names, but only one should exist."

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, "Are we crossing time lines? "

"Just brushing," Dr.Han replied. "Do not stay longer than you have to."

Then, he turned to you.

"And you."

The room stilled.

"Your case is the most weird one."

A red dot expanded above the table.

Satellite data. Korean countryside. Grainy and quiet.

"A village in 2019 – known to exist, documented, populated and functioning." "Then, it disappeared. Not physically or violently. Just... gone. All the databases rewrote themselves. The people who lived there vanished as if they were never even existed— never even born." "Your job is to go there, undercover. Blend in. Find the root event. Identify the root autonomy and leave before it happens."

Your fingers clenched lightly under the table. You stared at the red dot on the map.

2019.

A quiet time. A dangerous one — because it was still close enough to modern history to be familiar. Easy to slip up. Easy to stay too long.

"Do we suspect temporal interference?"

You asked as you shifted your gaze from the red dot to his eyes. Dr.Han meets your eyes. "We suspect something far worse. Something that doesn't belong in any time."

The files flickered red again. "You'll begin calibration tonight. You jump within 750 hours. That is one month. Use your time wisely."

As he turned to leave, he paused just once— right by the door.

"And one more thing," he said without looking back. "Don't fall in love with the timeline. It doesn't love you back."

With that, he was gone. The table darkens. The lights return. Yuvi exhales. Mira cracks her knuckles and Jungwon leans forward.

"2019 huh?" Taehyun mutters beside you. "Better pack your sarcasm and Emo clothes."

You don't respond. You just stare at the red dot again.

The village. Gone from memory. Gone from maps. But waiting for you all the same.

One month.

And only one day to finish prepping, calibrating your minds, bodies, and identities before entering a timeline that wouldn’t even recognize your names. You sat in the Sim Room, surrounded by floating holoscreens of early-2010s Korea. Architecture. Clothing. Language slang. Historical emotional markers. It was all too recent. Too real.

Mira was curled on a bench nearby, watching 1600s scrollwork with a look that said I’d rather wing it. Taehyun was arguing with an AI over inconsistency in his destination’s documentation. Again. Jungwon? Already finished his prep module and was now trying to teach Mira how to drink from a metal bottle while upside down.

“You’re going to the past, not space,” she said, annoyed but smiling. “Still useful if I end up in a well,” Jungwon shrugged. You blinked away the holograms and stood, stretching out your arms.

“This doesn’t feel like prep,” Yuvi murmured, joining you. “It feels like goodbye.”

You didn’t answer.

She studied you, thoughtful. “You okay with your timeline?” “2019 is barely the past,” you said. “Feels like I could bump into my parents if I’m not careful.” “Yeah, but yours is the haunted village,” Mira called. “Mine is just a floating woman in the sky.”

“You’re the floating woman,” Jungwon muttered under his breath. She chucked a protein chip at him while he hid behind you, holding your shoulders as if his body isn't larger than yours.

“Alright,” Taehyun said, glancing around. “Final dinner tonight in the Commons? Before the serious lockdown begins?” “Only if you don’t bring another slide presentation to the table,” Mira groaned.

“I make no promises.” You smiled — small, but genuine

And as the others drifted out of the room, chattering, playfully teasing, you lingered a moment longer — looking up at the blinking red timestamp over the Sim Door.

30:00:00:00 DAYS : HOURS : MINUTES: SECONDS JUMP

You were the first one in the bay. The air smelled sterile, like metal and ionized mist. The chamber was massive — white, cold, humming. Five jump pods lined the back wall, each glowing faint blue with individual temporal calibration.

The boots of your suit clicked softly as you walked, every step echoing louder than your breath. The fabric hugged your body like skin, the material pressure-sealed and embedded with auto-adaptive climate tech. Your mind was a storm beneath the still surface — years of training colliding with something much quieter.

“Couldn’t sleep?” came Taehyun’s voice from behind. You turned. He looked exhausted, but composed — the kind of man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. “Didn’t try,” you replied simply.

He nodded, stepping beside you, with his arm around your shoulder. You both looked at the pods in silence.

One for each of you. One jump. One direction. No promises of coming back the same.

Soon after, Yuvi arrived — hair tied, suit zipped, clutching a small, folded piece of paper in her hand. A name, probably. A reminder of something real. Mira strolled in with a grin too bright to be sincere. “Guess it’s finally happening,” she said, snapping her gum, though her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit cuffs.

Jungwon came last, walking like he was on his way to a vacation. Humming. But you saw the tension in his knuckles as he flexed them once, twice. Dr. Han entered from the upper level, flanked by three silent technicians and a console assistant holding the jump sequence tablet.

“Final clearances have been locked in,” he announced, voice loud across the bay. “You have fifteen minutes.”

One by one, your mission drives were inserted into the small ports at your pod stations. The information would sync once you landed in your time period — personalized cover stories, forged credentials, emergency kill phrases.

“I’ll see you all again,” Jungwon said, softer now, eyes scanning the rest of you. “In whatever version of time we land in.

“Bring back something cool,” Mira added. “Like a comet or an alien.” “Or your soul intact,” Yuvi muttered, mostly to herself. You looked around.

These people — their lives had been laced into yours for years. Work. Sleep. Discover. Repeat. The way your names felt normal together. The easy sarcasm. The shared silence in moments like this. You didn’t know what it would be like without them. Maybe you weren’t meant to know. Your pod blinked green. Final sequence activated.

You stood in front of it, heart slamming once, sharply, against your ribs.

“You’ll be inserted at 03:12 AM, August 9th, 2019,” Dr. Han said beside you. “Just outside the village’s boundary. Our records end there. No satellite returns after that date. No digital trails. Just fog.”

You nodded.

“And remember,” he added, “observe, record, don’t interfere.” He paused. “And don’t stay longer than you have to.” You stepped into the pod. The door hissed closed behind you. Inside: darkness. Soft blue lights blinked around your headrest. A countdown began in the corner.

00:00:10 00:00:09 00:00:08... Your breathing slowed. Fingers tight on the seat grips. 00:00:03 00:00:02... You thought of nothing. 00:00:01 ENGAGING TEMPORAL LAUNCH.

Everything went white.

You woke up choking on fog.

Your knees hit grass first, body staggering out of the collapsed time pod buried beneath undergrowth. The pod disintegrated on schedule — technology melted into mist the second your boots touched this era. You stood slowly, the chill biting through your fabricated 2010s-era jacket. A navy hoodie. Worn boots. Phone model synced to local time tech. Fake ID in your pocket. History-approved. And ahead of you — trees. Low mist curling over quiet fields. One winding road in the dark.

“03:14,” you whispered, checking the time. You started walking. It didn’t take long to reach the village. Just a few winding turns along cracked pavement and flickering streetlamps — too dim for a place this small. It looked normal at first glance. Houses with tiled roofs. Wind chimes. A distant dog barking. But the silence? Too heavy. Too complete. Not a single radio. Not one human voice.

You followed the map projection in your eye lens. Your identity here: transfer student, staying with a distant relative for the summer before university. Your cover was clean. “Blend in. Observe. Don’t interfere.” Dr. Han’s words echoed.

You reached the village center. A bakery. A post office. A small clinic. It was beautiful — in a nostalgic, sleepy sort of way. You spotted an inn. Two stories. Wooden steps. A soft yellow porch light still glowing. You knocked once. A moment later, an older woman opened the door, eyes squinting at your unfamiliar face.

“Ah… you must be the niece, right? From Seoul?” You smiled, polite. "Yes, ma’am.” “Room’s upstairs. Already made it up for you.” With that, you leave to your room.

August 10, 2019.

The village was quieter in the morning. Not dead. Just... slow.

You walked past the corner bakery — the one that smelled like burnt sugar and citrus. Past a row of mailboxes that hadn’t been touched in a week. You weren’t sure if people here hated bills or just trusted too easily. Notebook in your jacket. Identity chip syncing your steps to the research log in your neural band.

Day 2. Civilian behavior: consistent. Average activity start time: 6:53 AM No sign of temporal noise. No anomalies.

You smiled and bowed slightly to an old man sweeping the steps outside a shop. He gave you a nod in return. Eyes kind, but faintly puzzled — like he couldn’t remember when you arrived, but accepted you anyway. That was the first pattern you noticed. People here forgot details fast. But nothing big enough to ring alarms. Just enough to feel like déjà vu.

You took a seat on the raised edge of a well in the town center, glancing down at the still water. Your eye-lens scanned your surroundings. Kids biking. A woman hanging sheets in perfect rows. Market stalls setting up.

Everything looked normal. Back at the inn, the old woman handed you a basket.

“Bread for the east field home. The family that lives up near the woods. They get their supplies late.”

“East field?” you asked, trying to remember the map.

“Take the long path. The house is old, but someone’s always there.”

“Someone?”

She nodded. “A quiet boy. Rarely speaks. Keeps to himself. Been around longer than most here.”

You didn’t ask more. Just took the basket and walked. And as you stepped onto the eastern trail, into the trees and shifting light… You didn’t know yet that you were walking toward the beginning. Of the end.

The path to the east house was longer than expected.

Thick trees bent overhead like old, quiet watchers. The air here was different — cooler, touched with something metallic. You adjusted the basket in your hands. You finally reached the gate — rusted iron, half open. A path lined with overgrown grass stretched up to a traditional hanok-style house. Wooden. Quiet. Heavy with stillness.

You stepped through, gently. No animals. No birds. Just that strange silence again. You knocked once. Then twice. No answer. You were about to leave when the door creaked open. And there he was.

He looked like he didn’t belong in 2019. Or any year.

Dressed simply — white cotton shirt, black slacks, sleeves slightly rolled up. But there was something... too elegant about the way he held the door. Something slow and precise. Still. His eyes — dark, unfathomable — landed on yours.

For a full second, he didn’t say a word. Neither did you. “Delivery,” you said softly, lifting the basket.

“Right,” he replied after a pause, voice smooth, almost melodic. “They said you’d be coming.”

You held the basket out, but he didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he studied you. Not rudely. Not even intently. Just... curiously. Like a puzzle he couldn’t quite read.��Or a scent he wasn’t supposed to follow. The moment you stepped through the trees, he felt it. The beat beneath your skin. The warmth. Your blood had a scent — not strong, not desperate like others.

Sweet. Calming. Clean. He hadn’t fed in days. But you made the ache stir. “You live here alone?” you asked.

He nodded. “For a while now.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away.

“Most people say it’s empty.”

You tilted your head. “Are you?”

That made something shift in his gaze — not amusement exactly, but the ghost of something near it. “Not today,” he said finally.

He took the basket, fingers brushing yours for just half a second. His skin was cool. Not cold. But noticeably not warm. “Thank you,” he said, stepping back. “Be careful going back. The light fades fast out here.”

You turned to leave, but your instincts tugged once. “What’s your name?” you asked over your shoulder.

A pause.

“Sunghoon,” he said quietly.

You nodded once. “I’m Y/N.” Another pause. “I know,” he said.

And then the door closed. As you walked back down the path, heart steady but hands tingling from where his touched yours, you couldn’t shake one thing: There had been no heartbeat behind that door. Just silence. You don’t notice someone- Sunghoon, watching you from his window as you walk back.

And that, that night few people go missing because Sunghoon, couldn’t handle his hunger for blood. Not when he was reminded of how desperate he was to taste something sweet- something pure like your blood- like you. He can’t bite you, not yet. So, he resorted to his usual way, biting the villagers. One by one.

It was quiete big village when Sunghoon first step foot in there. 2010. The year Sunghoon decided to enter into the huge village, leaving behind memories of his previous life- the one where everyone treated him like the monster he was. He didn’t like it one bit. So? He ended it. Bit and killed everyone who called him a monster.

Leaving behind memories and people wasn’t new to him. He’s been like that since he was turned- since 527 years. It's what he’s best at other than sucking peoples’ blood. Having spent many years on this planet made him discard unwanted memories for good.

And maybe that’s why he never truly loved anyone. It’s not because he isn’t capable of it. It's because he knows that they won't stick around. Not when they find out what he is, not when they leave this world entirely. Also, because, he never truly found someone who made him feel things. Feel things which are foreign to him- Desire.

Desire for blood? Thats more like filling his hunger. Desire is what he felt when he saw you. If you ever told Sunghoon that he’d yearn for a girl he met once, he’d scoff, shaking his head. That can never happen, not when he's been on this earth for more than 500 years. He knows how to control his feelings- it was easy for him because he didn't have any feelings in the first place.

But why is that the moment he saw you, heard you- your hearbeat, your blood pulsing in your throat, smelled the scent of you, he wanted to make you his?

Its funny, really. This whatever weird feeling he has in his stomach is new to him. Perhaps he’s hungry for your blood? No. He’s hungry for you.

You are here to find out how the village disappeared. Maybe you do find out that he’s the reason for the mass disappearance. But will your heart obey to leave behind everything that you've uncovered here? Leave behind someone, who is the sole reason why the disappearance happened in the first place?

Only the future holds the answer. Maybe the present? You truly don't know, not when the time’s twisted and you are spiralling in it.

August 14, 2019.

You weren’t planning to run into him again. You were just taking the trail by the lake. Collecting audio samples. Watching people prep for the lantern festival — all smiles and paper crafts, sunlight catching on water like glass. But then there he was. Standing near the edge of the hill that overlooked the lake. Not moving. Just… watching it. Like the water itself had said something only he could hear.

You almost didn’t say anything. But he turned to you first.

“You walk this path often?”

His voice was still soft. Still slow. Like everything he said had already passed through a hundred filters before reaching you.

“Not really,” you said, stepping closer. “But it’s quiet. Good for thinking.”

“Thinking,” he echoed, like it was a foreign word. “You do that a lot?”

You smiled. “Occupational hazard.”

“Ah,” he said. “Let me guess. You’re a writer.”

“Wrong.”

“A scientist?”

You blinked. A beat too long.

“Why that guess?”

“Your eyes,” he said.

“What about them?”

“They look like they’re always dissecting things. Even me.”

He turned back to the lake after that, leaving your thoughts spiraling slightly behind him. The sun was dipping lower, casting light through the trees. A warm breeze stirred the ends of your hair, and for once, you didn’t feel like recording anything. Just being here.

“Why do you live so far from the village?” you asked.

“They forget me better this way.”

You frowned. “That’s sad.”

“Not really.”

“When people forget you… you stop needing to prove you exist.”

You turned to him then — not just listening but really seeing him. The distance in his eyes. The calm sadness he wore like second skin.

“You don’t want to be remembered?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just don’t mind being forgotten.”

A few kids laughed somewhere nearby, running with paper lanterns. You looked down at your shoes. “You’re hard to forget, you know.” It slipped out before you could stop it. He didn’t respond for a moment. Then, so quietly: “So are you.”

Neither of you moved. The wind stilled. The air felt... charged. Like time paused. Just for this.

Then— “You should go,” he said gently.

“It gets colder here after sunset.” He wasn’t pushing you away. But he was. And that strange ache bloomed behind your ribs without warning. You turned to go, steps slow. And as you walked, you felt his eyes on your back the entire time.

August 18, 2019.

It was supposed to be a short walk. You’d been gathering weather data, checking tree patterns near the edge of the forest. The innkeeper said the rain wouldn’t come until morning. But the sky didn’t listen. It started with a single drop. Then another.

Within seconds, it was falling fast — fat, cold drops smacking against your shoulders, soaking through your hoodie in a matter of moments. You pulled the fabric up over your head and turned to head back — but the path was already slick, the trees pressing in closer, and fog began to roll over the field like a breath held too long.

“Seriously?” you muttered, shivering. That’s when you saw him. Standing just under the crooked edge of an old pavilion by the hill — motionless, dry, and completely unbothered by the storm. Sunghoon.

You blinked, surprised. "You're always just… appearing out of nowhere.”

“You're always walking into places you shouldn't be alone,” he replied calmly, eyes tracking the water running down your cheek.

You hesitated. Then stepped under the structure, chest heaving slightly from the sudden cold. Your shoulders were soaked. Hair clinging to your face. Hands trembling. He watched you quietly. “You're freezing.”

You gave a weak smile. “That tends to happen when it rains on humans.”

He didn’t return it. Instead, he removed his outer jacket and handed it over without a word. You stared at it. “I’m already wet. You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You took it slowly. It was still warm.

You slipped it on. It smelled like night air and something faintly old — like worn books and clean linen. Not the scent of someone who lived alone in a dusty house.

The silence stretched.

Raindrops tapping the roof like a ticking clock.

Your breath fogged the air.

His didn’t.

“Why were you even out here?” you asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then:

“I thought you’d come this way.”

You turned your head sharply. “You were… waiting for me?”

He didn’t flinch.

“Something about the sky felt wrong. I knew you’d ignore it.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know your pattern.”

That shut you up for a moment.

And somehow... warmed you.

More than the jacket did.

Your teeth chattered softly. You turned away, embarrassed.

Suddenly, you felt something.

His fingers — gently, lightly — tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear.

You froze.

“You should be more careful,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the rain. “This place doesn’t forgive softness.”

You looked up at him then.

And he was already too close.

Not touching.

Not reaching.

Just there.

And for a second, you wondered what it would be like if he leaned in just a little more.

“Do you always talk like that?” you whispered, lips parted. “Like you’re centuries old?”

He gave the faintest smile like he knows something you don’t.

The rain kept falling. The sky stayed grey.

And your heartbeat too loudly in your ears.

You didn’t ask him why his hands were cold even though he felt warm.

You didn’t ask why he never blinked when he looked at you.

The rain kept falling.

And he stood there, completely still, listening to the rhythm of her blood, her breath, her heart...

And all he could think was:

Don’t touch her again. Don’t want her. Don’t let her see the monster inside you.

But it was already too late.

Because for the first time in years, he wanted something enough to lose control.

And it was you.

The rain had stopped, but the night still smelled like it.

You walked slowly.

Beside him.

His jacket still hung over your shoulders, and you hadn’t given it back. He hadn’t asked.

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” you said softly, watching your boots splash through a shallow puddle.

“I know.”

He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was warm. Like he wanted to say, I just wanted more time with you, but didn’t know how.

The village lights shimmered faint in the distance — soft and yellow, like floating lanterns.

It felt like you were the only two people in the world.

“Do you always spend your nights out there?” you asked.

“Sometimes. I like the quiet.”

“Most people don’t,” you said. “Silence makes them uncomfortable.”

He glanced at you.

“What about you?”

You thought about it.

“I think silence is the only time people stop pretending.”

He actually smiled at that. Just a little. The kind that tugged one corner of his mouth — barely visible, but real.

“What do you do all day?” you asked, curious now. “No job? No classes?”

“I read,” he said. “Walk. Watch.”

“That sounds like what I do, too.”

“You watch more than most people,” he replied, side-eying you. “Always observing. Analyzing.”

You raised a brow. “Are you calling me creepy?”

“No,” he said. “Just... different.”

You looked away to hide your smile.

“Is that your way of saying I’m weird?”

“No,” he repeated, slower this time. “It’s my way of saying I see you.”

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “What did you want to be when you were little?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It’s been a long time since I was little.”

You turned to him, blinking. “How old are you, Sunghoon?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

Then smiled like he knew he shouldn’t say the next thing — but said it anyway.

“Older than I look.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

You reached the inn gate.

The lantern outside flickered faintly in the breeze. Neither of you moved.

The air was warmer now. The clouds had parted just enough for moonlight to wash over the steps.

You stood there — his jacket still on your shoulders, the scent of rain still on your skin, and his eyes fixed gently on you.

“Good night, Sunghoon,” you said finally, stepping up to the door.

“Good night, Y/N.”

You turned the handle.

Just before stepping inside, you hesitated.

“You never told me what you like,” you said over your shoulder.

He tilted his head slightly. “Like?”

“Hobbies. Music. Favorite food. Normal things.”

Another pause.

Then:

“The sound of rain,” he said. “Books with no endings. And people who don’t run away.”

You met his eyes.

And something about the way he said it made your heart ache.

You didn’t know why.

But you didn’t look away.

Not for a long moment.

Then finally, you stepped inside.

And closed the door.

August 20, 2019.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

Just returning a jacket.

Just a polite gesture.

Just good manners.

So why did your pulse stutter when the house came into view?

The same tall trees. The same crooked path. The same quiet.

You climbed the short stone steps and raised your hand to knock — but before you could, the door opened.

He was already there.

Like he’d been waiting.

Or like he’d heard you coming long before you got close.

“You came back,” he said, voice low, like sunlight through fog.

“Just to return this,” you said quickly, lifting the folded jacket.

“Of course.”

But he didn’t take it.

Instead, he stepped aside.

“Do you want to come in?”

You blinked.

“Is that okay?”

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

You stepped inside.

The air was cool, but not cold. The interior still had that strange untouched feeling — like a photo frozen in time. Wood floors. A low bookshelf. A kettle on the counter, untouched.

You walked slowly, setting the jacket on the nearest chair.

“You live like a ghost,” you said softly.

He raised a brow. “I’m neat.”

“You’re ancient,” you teased.

He smirked faintly. “So you’ve said.”

You turned toward the bookshelf — rows of old spines and journals, some in languages you didn’t recognize. One looked handwritten. Another... burned around the edges.

“These don’t look like they’re from a village library.”

“They’re not.”

“So what are they?”

“Pieces of me,” he said.

You paused, looking back.

His expression didn’t change, but there was something fragile in his stillness.

You let the question go.

“Tea?” he asked suddenly, already reaching for the kettle.

“You drink tea?”

“No. But you do.”

He made it quietly. Smooth movements. No wasted motion.

He handed you the mug and sat across from you, careful, like he was making sure there was enough distance.

“Do people visit you often?” you asked, wrapping your hands around the cup.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because they forget me,” he said. “Or… I let them.”

“But you didn’t want me to forget you?” you asked quietly.

His eyes met yours.

Dark. Unreadable.

“I didn’t plan on you remembering at all.”

You blinked. “What changed?”

He stared at the steam curling between you.

Then said, without blinking:

“You smiled at me.”

The silence stretched.

The weight of it made your chest feel tight.

Your fingers tightened around the mug.

“Why do you always say things like that?” you whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like it means something. And then you never explain.”

He stood up then, slowly — walking toward the window, looking out at the trees.

“Because I’ve learned that explaining doesn’t stop people from leaving.”

“So you just... stay mysterious?”

“No,” he said, without turning around. “I stay safe.”

You stood too. Quiet steps.

He didn’t move as you stopped beside him, just far enough for the space between your hands to hum.

“What are you so afraid of, Sunghoon?” you asked, not accusing — just soft.

A pause.

Then finally:

“That if you knew the truth about me… you'd stop smiling at all.”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing. Don’t think too much.” He says.

You didn’t leave.

You just stood beside him.

And for a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy.

It was tender.

“You okay?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust himself to speak.

Because right now, he could feel it rising — that burn behind his eyes, the pressure in his jaw, the ancient ache in his throat.

The want.

Not just to feed.

To claim.

“I think you should go,” he said, voice tight.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Please.”

His back was turned now. He couldn’t let her see his face. Not when his eyes were beginning to glow. Not when his fangs had started to edge down.

He bit the inside of his cheek — hard enough to draw blood. Let the pain steady him. Anchor him.

“Sunghoon? Is something wrong? You can trust me- I trust you.”

But all he said was:

“I don’t trust myself.”

You stared at his back for a long moment.

Then quietly… you left.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

And he stood there in the quiet, eyes still burning, heart raging inside a chest that shouldn’t have had one anymore.

August 21, 2019.

You went to the library to check the village’s records.

To look for any book, any magazine, any piece of information that would help you get a better insight about the village’s roots.

You found a series of census logs tucked into a low cabinet—records of the village’s population numbers and names dating back to the 1900s. Faded, but surprisingly intact.

And that’s when you saw it.

A pattern.

In 2010, the population was 528. In 2012, it dropped to 413. By 2015: 290. 2017: 178.

No official records of why. No mass migration. No natural disaster. No illness outbreak.

Just... names disappearing.

Not all at once. Not dramatically.

But slowly. Like something was taking them. One by one.

You scanned the reports harder now.

Looking for causes. Deaths. Relocations.

But most names just had one word stamped across the last column:

“Unrecorded.”

You slammed the binder shut and sat back.

Your chest felt tight.

You looked around the library. The light felt colder. The silence heavier.

This is getting nowhere. Rather than the doubts clearing, more questions are surfacing. Too many questions. Too less information. You doubt you are even eligible to solve this mystery. Maybe Dr.Han realizes he made a mistake choosing you once you return. You wonder how the others are doing. Are they going through the same difficulties?

You shake your head as if it shakes away the insecure thoughts creeping up. You need to focus. On this village. The people. Everyone here seems normal except... Sunghoon.

He always seemed to appear when no one else was around.

Your fingers curled against the cover of the book.

No. Don’t jump to conclusions. That doesn’t mean anything.

And yet…

Something in your gut whispered otherwise.

Still, when the sun began to set—

You found yourself walking toward the hill.

Toward him.

Carrying questions you couldn’t ask yet.

And a heart that didn’t want answers- the real ones.

The sky was painted in soft blue fading to lavender. The last light of the sun had just dipped behind the mountains, leaving a glow that shimmered across the tall grass.

You stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the village lights far below. Everything was quiet.

Except your thoughts.

Except him.

Sunghoon stood beside you — close, not quite touching. Hands in his pockets. Eyes on the horizon.

“You always find the quietest places,” you said softly.

“I think they find me.”

You turned to him, trying to read that impossible expression on his face.

“You always talk like that. Like there’s a whole world in your head and you’re just… giving me scraps.”

“I don’t mean to,” he said. “I just forget how to be anything else.”

You took a breath.

“Then remind yourself. Just for tonight. Just for me.”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And for the first time, he didn’t look away.

“You scare me,” he said quietly.

That made your chest tighten.

“Why?”

“Because you make me want to stay.”

The wind brushed through the grass.

Your heart was too loud. Your breath too soft.

He stepped closer.

His hand, trembling just slightly, reached up and cupped your cheek — gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he touched too hard.

His thumb brushed under your eye, then trailed down to your jaw.

“Say something,” he whispered.

You didn’t.

You leaned in instead.

And he met you there.

The kiss was nothing like you imagined.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild.

It was slow.

Like two people learning what it meant to feel alive again.

His lips were cool at first — like the wind before rain — but they softened against yours. Moved with aching care. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth and trying not to fall apart doing it.

You felt his breath catch.

Felt his hand slide into your hair.

Felt your knees go weak when he deepened the kiss — still gentle, still hesitant, but full of something you didn’t have a name for.

And then—

He pulled away.

Fast.

Like he’d caught fire.

His eyes were wide. Not with lust. Not even guilt.

With fear.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, reaching for him.

He stepped back.

“No. This was a mistake.”

“Why are you doing this again?” “Every time I get close, you push me away. Why?”

He didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But his face…

That expression?

It looked like someone who just tasted something too good. Something too human. Something that made him forget what he was.

“Because I can’t be the reason you get hurt,” he finally said.

And then he turned away.

Leaving you alone with a kiss that still burned on your lips, and a silence that felt heavier than ever.

August 26, 2019.

You ignored him after that. Turned your head away whenever he got into. Looked away first when you both made eye contact. Avoided him when he came to apologize the very next day of your kiss.

Not cause you hate him. You wish you did but no. You remember what Dr.Han said, “Observe. Record. don’t interfere.” You can't risk everything just cause of some stupid, weird feelings that you have. No. You can’t let your emotions get in the way of your case. This isn't right.

Youre altering time, you should do it wisely, not recklessly.

And so, you did what you thought was best. Ignore. Distance. Observe.

Or so, you thought.

You weren’t expecting to run into him.

But of course you did.

He was leaning against the side wall of the bakery, half-hidden in the shade, like always. Silent. Watching.

He didn’t call out.

Didn’t wave.

But you felt it — the shift in air when his gaze hit you. That quiet weight of his presence.

You almost kept walking.

Almost.

But then—

“Y/N.”

His voice was low. Not cold. Just… tired.

You turned after a moment of hesitation.

Met his eyes.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked.

Simple question.

But it landed sharp.

You didn’t answer right away.

“I’ve just been… busy.”

“You’ve seen me.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping forward. “Don’t turn it around like it’s me.”

You blinked. “I’m not—”

“You haven’t looked at me in five days.”

His tone wasn’t angry. It was quiet. Steady. Too steady.

“You smiled at me one night,” he said, “and then the next morning, it’s like I didn’t exist.”

“Sunghoon—”

“And I thought—” He paused. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I thought maybe you needed space. But then I saw you with that guy. That tall one from the orchard. And you were laughing. Just… laughing. Like everything’s normal.”

You looked away.

He let the silence settle.

Then finally:

“It hurt.”

That was it. Just that.

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just real.

You didn’t know what to say. So, you said the only truth you had:

“I’m scared, Sunghoon.”

He looked at you for a long time.

“Of me?”

“Of not knowing what’s happening. Of what this village is hiding. Of what you’re hiding.”

You stepped back slightly, instinctively. Not far.

But enough.

His eyes dropped to the space between you. Then back up.

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?”

You hesitated.

Then, quietly:

“I don’t know.”

That broke something in him.

You saw it. In his eyes.

Not rage.

Just sadness.��

“I wouldn’t,” he said softly. “Not even if I wanted to.”

You turned back and left without replying, unable to look into his face or even talk to him.

September 5, 2019.

You shouldn’t have gone looking.

You told yourself you weren’t. That you just needed air. That the trail by the forest was peaceful this time of day.

But really? You missed him.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

“I wouldn’t hurt you. Not even if I wanted to.”

It looped in your mind for days. Through sleep. Through silence. Through guilt.

You didn’t give him an answer. So, you were going to.

You were going to find him and say you’re not sure what this is, but you’re willing to try. That you believe he’s good. That you want to believe it, even if you’re scared.

But then—

You saw it.

You heard something first.

A low sound. Guttural. Like a growl tucked beneath a breath.

And then a figure stumbling — just ahead. At the edge of the trees. A man. Drunk? Hurt?

And beside him— Holding him up—

Was Sunghoon.

Or… something that used to be him

His head was tilted. His lips pressed just beneath the man’s jaw. His hands clutched the man’s shoulders too tightly. And his eyes—

They glowed.

Not fully. Just enough for the shadows to catch it.

Red. Dim. Inhuman.

You saw his mouth open. Saw the flash of fang.

And then—

The man sagged.

Like air had left him.

You froze.

Your heart punched against your ribs.

He stared. Still half-shadowed. Blood on his mouth.

He stepped forward.

“Y/N.”

You backed up.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Your eyes wide. Your expression already saying everything your voice couldn’t.

Fear.

The kind that wasn’t subtle.

The kind you couldn’t take back.

“No,” he said quietly. “No, don’t—please don’t look at me like that.”

He wiped at his mouth. Quickly. Clumsily.

“I can explain. It’s not—”

You flinched when he stepped closer.

That did it.

He stopped.

His hands dropped to his sides.

And something in him… wilted.

“So, this is it?” he whispered.

His voice wasn’t cold. Wasn’t sharp. It was just… empty.

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

You turned.

And ran.

And behind you, the last thing you heard was him whispering into the night:

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

You rushed back home and stumbled in.

You quickly went to your bedroom, opening the drawers and pulled out your logbook.

You sat on the floor beside your bed after grabbing a marker.

The pages were filled with sketches. Maps. Observations. And now?

Scribbled question marks. Shaky handwriting. A timeline you couldn’t look at anymore.

2010 — population: 528 2012 — 413 2015 — 290 2017 — 178 2019 — barely 60 left.

No disease. No evacuation orders. No record of where they went.

But you knew now.

You saw it.

His eyes. His fangs. The man in the forest, half-drained and limp in his arms.

You knew.

And the truth clawed at your throat like it didn’t want to be swallowed.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he had said.

You remembered his voice. Too quiet. Too pained to be fake.

But it didn’t matter now, did it?

Because while he was giving you flowers and walking you home…

He was feeding on the people who welcomed you with tea and stories.

You closed your eyes.

Your hands were trembling.

You remembered the first time you saw him.

How unreal he looked in the moonlight. How safe you felt beside him.

How stupid that was now.

Was any of it real?

The kiss. The laughter. The jacket he left folded on your bed.

Or were you just the next name on his list?

The next girl to get too close?

Were you just another pawn in his game?

Whatever it was, you shouldn't have gotten close with him. Shouldn't have tried to interfere. You shouldn't have done it and God, you regret it.

And for the first time in years… You cried.

Not from fear. But from heartbreak.

If only you backed down that day on the hill. If only you shouldn't have let him close to you. If only...

September 7, 2019.

After that day, you didn't leave your room.

You didn't go out, the fear of him catching you always haunting your mind whenever you reach for the door handle.

And weirdly enough, you should feel better, you really should but why did you feel... empty?

He’s a monster! He kills innocent people, hes a vampire. But why didn't the fact alone scare you? Why were you craving for his presence? Why were you thinking about the moments you've spent together? This isn't even real. Its past, you weren't even born at this time period. You shouldn't be feeling things you aren't supposed to.

But you can't deny the fact that your heart aches for his presence- for him.

But you don't have time for this. Not when you have two days on your watch. Two days before everything goes back to normal, hopefully. And so, you push aside your feelings saying the time is playing tricks on you and start writing the report.

All of your log entries, now are typed and kept in digital doc by you. You enter the log entries, from day one to the day you discovered the root cause of all of this- the dissapearance. You procrastinated too much while typing them in, thinking about all the wonderful days you’ve spent with locals- with him.

But all of this isn't real, at the end of the day. You don't belong here- you shouldn't. This isn't your timeline. This is not your story. This isn't the reality you are supposed to live in and experience. This is just a case that you've got assigned to. It's your duty. And you fulfilled it by finding out the reason. And this is where you shall end it. End of this chapter, end of this case and end of him.

September 9, 2019.

Today is the day.

You pack your bag, filling it with the things you bought and the things you are taking back to your timeline. The memories, the events and the adventures.

There wasn't a single second you haven't thought about him. But this is it. You have to say your goodbyes.

You can't warn the others, who haven't yet got bitten by Sunghoon. Because as dr.Han said, “Don't interfere.”

Youve already made the mistake of not listening to him and crossed the boundary and faced the consequences. You aren't going to do it again. Because at the end of the day, its fate. It already happened. You can't change it, not even when you go back in time. Because what's written, is written. If changed, you are bound to face the consequences.

History can't be re-written.

And so, with that, you leave.

You stood by the terminal light beam.

Delta 12’s jump pulse flickering through the mist.

Your bag beside you. Your heart heavy with no one in the future world- the real world would understand or know of.

You turned back one last time towards the village.

Thanking it for everything it gave you- thanking it for giving Sunghoon.

Who'll be remembered as the passing wind and the falling of leaves by you.

And when you jumped-

The light swallowed you whole.

And in the same breath,

You were gone.

July 22, 2090.

You opened your eyes.

The jump light was fading. The room around you was cold. White. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

You were home.

But it didn’t feel like it.

Not yet.

Your bag was still at your side. Your fingers still trembling. Your body still in two places — the sterile floors of the lab… and the moss-soft grass beneath his feet.

You didn’t even notice the door sliding open until you heard the softest gasp.

“Y/N?”

You turned.

And there she was.

Mira. Her braid was undone, her coat slung over one arm, her eyes red — like she’d either just woken up… or hadn’t slept since the moment she jumped back.

She stared at you.

Then smiled. Weakly.

“God, it’s you.”

You couldn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

She crossed the space between you in three quick steps and pulled you into the kind of hug you didn’t realize you needed until her arms wrapped around you.

You felt her chest shudder.

You were crying too.

Soon, the others trickled in.

Taehyun — still composed, but his eyes softer than usual. Yuvi — who dropped her bag the second she saw you, crashing into the hug with a half-laugh, half-sob. Jungwon — who just stood by the door for a long time, taking all of you in like he didn’t believe you were real until that moment.

No one said much at first.

They just… stood there.

Five people who had faced time itself.

And came back with hearts a little heavier.

Eyes a little older.

It felt nice. Seeing everyone’s familiar faces after being drowned in unfamiliar faces who don't even exist in reality.

Finally, Mira sniffed and said, voice shaking:

“I missed you guys.”

Yuvi let out a teary laugh.

“I didn’t realize how much till now.”

Jungwon gave a small nod, blinking fast.

Taehyun just whispered:

“You’re all here.”

You wiped your face and smiled.

Soft. Quiet. Real.

“Yeah.”

“We’re here.”

You all look at each other. A moment of silence. As if you guys are finally taking in and registering everyone’s presence. And then, you all hugged. A big group hug filled with emotions which arent said loud but felt. And finally, you felt like you are back home.

September 11, 2019.

The room smelled of old circuits and sterile air. The walls glowed faint blue, humming with quiet energy.

You sat where you always had — Same table. Same lights. Same white jackets.

But nothing was the same anymore.

Not the silence. Not the weight in everyone’s eyes.

Not the version of you that existed before.

The door slid open.

Dr. Han stepped in, shoulders straighter than usual, expression unreadable.

“Good morning.”

He stood at the edge of the circular table, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning each of you.

“You’ve all returned safely,” he said. “On record, your missions were successful. But the records don’t matter if we don’t understand why.”

He took a breath.

“So, let’s talk about what really happened.”

Dr. Han looked at Yuvi first.

“Yuvi. March 2311. Seoul. What caused the blackout?”

Yuvi didn’t hesitate. But her voice was softer than usual.

“It wasn’t just data loss,” she said. “It was deliberate. The two largest tech giants—SolarCore and NeuraStream—were engaged in a silent war for memory control. They each tried to overwrite the other’s data… and in doing so, they wiped everyone’s.”

A pause.

“The blackout wasn’t a glitch. It was a battle. One that made the world forget six months — and made the companies forget what humanity was.”

Dr. Han only nodded.

“Mira. 1652. The scribe’s ink.”

Mira folded her hands.

“The man wasn’t mad. The ‘sky-born woman of light’ — she was a time displacer like us. From the future. Possibly one of the early, undocumented tests.”

She met Dr. Han’s eyes.

“The ink? It was our ink. Synthetic. Used in lab reports.”

Silence fell.

Dr. Han blinked slowly. “You’re saying the anomaly… was ours.”

“Yes,” Mira whispered. “We caused the myth.”

“You two. Northern Territories. Duplicated villages.”

Taehyun glanced at Jungwon. Jungwon gave a tiny nod.

“There were two villages,” Jungwon said. “Identical. Same people. Same dogs. Same newspapers.”

“Except,” Taehyun added, “They existed in overlapping timelines. One was five minutes behind the other. A permanent sync lag caused by a failed early prototype of time field testing.”

Jungwon finished it quietly.

“It was human error. A time scar. We tried to erase one. But they both kept living… until one finally collapsed.”

“Y/N,” Dr. Han said, turning to you. “The village of Myeon-ri. The one that vanished without cause.”

Your fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table.

You could still feel the wind there. Still hear his voice.

You slid the chip forward.

“There was no disease. No mass migration. No disaster. It was slow. Intentional.”

You looked up.

“A predator lived there. Not wild. Human-shaped. Possibly centuries old. A vampire, by older terms. He fed carefully, spaced apart. But eventually, the numbers dropped too far.”

The others stared.

You didn’t flinch.

“He didn’t want the village gone. But he couldn’t stop. And no one remembered the ones who vanished. They were erased — from memory, from databases. Like they never existed.”

“Vampire?” Dr.Han questioned.

“Vampire.” You confirmed.

Dr. Han asked, quietly:

“Did he know who you were?”

A pause.

You met his gaze.

“No.”

A beat.

“But I think I knew who he used to be.”

You lied. Of course he knows you. He knows the woman he fell for the first time. He knows the woman who was his first ever kiss.

You didn't tell them. You didn't to protect him and in a way, protect yourself too.

Dr. Han stepped back. He looked at each of you — not as scientists, but as people who had seen too much.

“You all did what centuries of historians couldn’t. You brought back truth.”

He turned toward the exit, then paused.

“Take the week off. Rest. File clean versions by the end of the month. We’ll… figure out what to do with the rest.”

The door hissed closed behind him.

And you all sat in silence. Hearts still somewhere in another time.

The streets are quiet at 2 a.m.

Neon signs buzz in blues and pinks. Artificial rain shimmers above, falling against projection domes that keep your coat dry.

You pass a street musician playing a slow guitar.

The song is unfamiliar. But it feels like him.

Like a song you might’ve danced to on his porch. Or hummed under your breath while he walked you home.

Your throat tightens.

You sit on a bench, ignoring your holopad as it pings with follow-up requests from Dr. Han.

You can’t open the file. You can’t even look at his name on the case label.

Your hand slowly reaches into your coat pocket.

The jacket he gave you is long gone.

But you still have one thing.

A pressed leaf.

Red. From that tree near the hill. Where he waited for you every evening. Where he said nothing — just smiled — like you were his favorite moment of the day.

You hold the leaf to your chest.

And for a second… you close your eyes.

And pretend he’s sitting beside you.

Back in the lab, the report still sits unsaved. You’d written everything except the truth.

“He didn’t follow me back.”

But your chest burns with what you didn’t say.

I think he wanted to. I think I wanted him to. And I think I left the part of me that believed in forever… in his hands.

You missed him. You looked for him in everything. The wind, the leaves, the clouds, the time, everything. And somewhere back in 2019, sunghoon feels the weight of your absence.

Sunghoon didn't really think it'd affect him that much, but it did. He was helpless when he didn't find you. Asked everyone, searched everywhere but there wasn't a trace of you, there wasn't a thing left behind you. And God, did he miss you.

The silence after you was worse than the centuries before you.

You were only here a month — But the air still tasted like you. The breeze still moved like the hem of your coat.

He stood by the river.

The same one you almost slipped near. The one where he caught your hand.

You used to laugh here.

Now it was empty.

And so was he.

His throat burned. The ache that had quieted in your presence — like your scent tamed the storm in his blood — now returned with wildfire in his veins.

He hadn’t fed in days. He didn’t want anyone else.

He wanted you.

"Y/N..." he whispered, though the name felt like poison now.

He tried to hold back. He really, truly did.

But you were gone.

And he had nothing left to prove he was still human.

The next night, they found the baker's house empty. Then the woman who sold herbs. Then the elder by the hill.

No one saw what took them.

And Sunghoon?

He stood in the village center, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, eyes still locked on the road you used to walk down every dusk.

His hands shook.

His mouth trembled.

"You were supposed to stay..." "You promised me forever in your eyes."

But you didn’t answer.

Because you were gone.

And so were the people in the village.

The village lingered with only with him feeding off of everyone and your presence.

Time moved on.

The village eventually collapsed. Records rewritten. Footprints washed away.

But he didn’t vanish.

He moved. Fed. Lingered in shadows.

Years passed. Decades blurred.

He watched the world crawl toward neon skies and cities that blinked like stars.

You were long gone. But he never stopped believing in the possibility that time — the very thing that tore you from him — might one day return you.

“Okay but hear me out,” Taehyun says, typing aggressively while Mira tries to slap his hand off the panel. “If I didn’t reroute the carbon filters that night, we’d all be bald. Fact.”

“Fact?” Mira scoffs. “Fact is you nearly made the algae tank sentient. That thing winked at me.”

“I still miss it,” Jungwon adds quietly, head down in his own files, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Yuvi kicks her chair back dramatically, groaning. “My simulation’s stuck again. If I see one more ‘Data Error: Please Restart,’ I swear I’ll throw myself into the code.”

Your lips curve as you watch them — the way the five of you fit into this space like puzzle pieces. The room hums with soft tech glows and distant rain tapping the glass walls.

It's late. But none of you seem in a hurry to leave.

Mira throws an energy bar at Taehyun. He catches it one-handed, smug. Jungwon’s quietly stealing Yuvi’s half-charged mug again. You just watch — feeling both part of it and… a little removed.

Because they didn’t live what you lived. Not the way you did.

Not with him.

Not with Sunghoon.

“You good?” Yuvi asks you suddenly, turning in her chair.

You blink. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Duh,” she says, nudging your arm. “We’re all tired. End of world stuff every Tuesday.”

You laugh. The others join in. And just for a second, it feels normal.

Like the past didn't follow you here. Like he never reached across time.

But the quiet ache in your chest says otherwise.

Later, when the lab empties out one by one — when Yuvi yawns and Mira packs up her files — you linger behind.

Taehyun walks past you, ruffling your hair gently like he always does. Jungwon side hugs you as he exits. And Mira and Yuvi give you a hug before logging off.

Then the lights dim. The labs settle. And you finally move.

It was almost midnight.

Your body was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and a half-shattered mind. The labs were quiet. The halls were colder. Your coat clung to your shoulders, and all you wanted was silence.

You stepped into the elevator.

It was empty. Or— so you thought.

You didn’t even notice him at first.

Not until the doors closed. Not until the world narrowed into this steel box. And not until a voice — low, aching, quiet — cut through the air like a thread snapping in your chest.

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”

You froze.

Slowly, your eyes turned toward the figure standing in the far corner.

And there he was.

Sunghoon.

Pressed against the wall of the elevator, the overhead light casting a cold glow across his skin. His white dress shirt clung perfectly across his chest — sleeves rolled just below his elbows, forearms tense. His black tie was loose, like he’d worn it all day just to see you like this.

His head was tilted slightly down, shadows covering half of his face — but even in the dimness, you saw it.

The red. Faint. Glowing. Watching.

His jaw clenched. His lashes heavy against his cheek. His entire body still, like he was trying not to shake.

Like just standing here, in front of you, took everything he had left.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He finally looked up. Right at you.

“You disappeared,” he said softly. A step closer.

“But I didn’t.”

Another step.

“I stayed. I searched.”

His voice trembles.

“And I waited.”

He stops inches away from you. Close enough for you to see that his hands are shaking. That his smile is breaking. That the pain he’s carried all these years hasn’t dulled — only buried deeper.

Your lips part, but no words come.

Because what do you say to a man who waited seventy-one years for a goodbye?

Your body doesn’t move. But he does.

He steps forward — slowly — like if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish all over again.

Then his hand lifts. And he touches you.

Not roughly. Not hungrily.

Just one cold, steady hand cupping your cheek — reverent. Careful. The way he always touched you. Like you were something sacred.

His other hand rests at your waist, pulling you gently toward him.

Your breath hitches.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

His thumb brushes your skin — and only then, do you exhale.

But your voice barely comes out.

“How… how did you get in here?”

His smile twitches — half amused, half ruined.

“You’re not the only one who learns things in seventy years.”

You stare at him.

“You broke into the lab?”

“No,” he murmurs. “I learned how to become a ghost in systems like these. Took years. But I found my way into every firewall with your name on it. Every door you walked through.”

He leans in just slightly — not threatening. Not desperate.

Just there. Real. Close.

“I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you again.”

No matter how many years it’s been — no matter how far you ran into the future —

he still found you.

He holds you like a memory he never let go of. Like a secret he kept alive for decades.

And when he finally speaks — his voice cracks.

“Tell me you didn’t forget me.”

You blink. Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

Because how do you explain the sleepless nights? The dreams where he touched your hand again? The jacket you almost replicated just to feel close?

He waits.

And when you don’t answer — when silence sits between you like a second goodbye — you hear it again:

“Y/N…” “Tell me you didn’t forget me.”

You look up at him then.

And the glow in his eyes — the faint red warmth — flickers.

Flickers like it’ll die if you lie.

Your throat is tight.

“How did you even find me?” you whisper.

He smiles — not the charming one. The broken one.

“I never stopped looking.”

A beat.

“The village disappeared, but I didn’t. I moved. I adapted. I learned your world. I followed every digital trail you left behind. I memorized your voice. I traced you through five corporate systems and twenty years of noise.”

His forehead leans into yours, almost touching.

“You left without saying goodbye.” “I needed to know… if it meant as much to you as it did to me.”

You’re not breathing.

Because in his voice — beneath the stillness, the eternal youth — is pain.

Not monstrous. Not violent.

Just human. And heartbreakingly yours.

Your hands move without thinking. One rises to his chest — over where his heart used to beat.

It’s quiet now. But yours is loud enough for both of you.

He’s still waiting.

Eyes glowing. Breath held.

“Tell me,” He whispers again. “Tell me you didn’t forget me.”

You swallow.

Tears sting the edges of your eyes — the kind you refused to cry back then. The kind you buried inside lab reports and daily logs.

And finally, your voice breaks.

“I didn’t forget.”

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like the words hurt. Like they heal.

“I just…” you breathe, “I just didn’t know how to come back.”

There it is.

The truth.

The full, naked truth sitting between you — soft and devastating.

“I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If you were even—”

He kisses you.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just… quiet. Desperate. Familiar.

The kind of kiss that says thank you for surviving.

The kind that says don’t leave again.

it feels like time folds in on itself.

Like the wind from the village, the rain on your skin, the jacket on your shoulders, the words you never said — they all return in that one breath.

And this time, you kiss him back.

Hands gripping the front of his coat, your breath catching — like your body finally remembered what safety tasted like.

He pulls you in closer, desperate, like he still doesn’t believe you’re real. Like you’ll vanish again if he lets go.

When your lips part, and you both breathe — barely — your forehead leans into his.

The glow in his eyes softens.

And then—

“You…” your voice cracks, soft and shaking. “You waited? For me?”

His eyes close slowly.

Not like he’s in pain — but like your question alone undid him.

“Of course I did,” he whispers. “How could I not?”

You inhale sharply, because no one’s ever said it like that.

Not with that kind of certainty. Like your existence was never forgettable — just… unforgettable.

“You… waited? For me?”

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him.

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours. “How could I not?”

That’s when the tears come.

You didn’t mean to. You weren’t even sure they were still inside you.

But suddenly, your eyes burn.

And your voice falls out in pieces.

“I thought…” your lips tremble. “I thought you moved on.” “Thought you’d forget me.”

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece.

“I couldn’t,” he says. “I wouldn’t.”

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow:

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after. Even the ones where you weren’t there.”

“You… waited? For me?”

His eyes flutter shut — like your voice, your doubt, undoes something deep in him.

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, forehead still resting against yours. “How could I not?”

That’s when the tears come.

You didn’t mean to. You weren’t even sure they were still inside you.

But suddenly, your eyes burn.

And your voice falls out in pieces.

“I thought…” your lips tremble. “I thought you moved on.” “Thought you’d forget me.”

His arms tighten around you instantly — like he can feel you breaking and is ready to hold every shattered piece.

“I couldn’t,” he says. “I wouldn’t.”

Your eyes meet again, and he says it like a vow:

“I loved you in 2019. I loved you in every year after. Even the ones where you weren’t there.”

And just like that— you stepped into him.

Your arms wrapped around his torso tight, face burying into his chest, body trembling from everything you’d held back for too long.

And he—

He didn’t hesitate.

He wrapped his arms around you so firmly, so protectively, it almost hurt. Like if the world tried to take you again, it would have to tear through him first.

One arm locked around your waist. The other curled high around your back, hand cradling the base of your neck — fingers gently gripping, anchoring you like he was afraid you’d disappear again.

“You’re here,” he breathed. “You’re really here.”

He didn’t just hold you.

He claimed you — not with force, but with everything he never got to say.

This wasn’t a soft embrace.

This was the way you hold something sacred. The way you cling to a miracle.

And for the first time after he met in seventy years, he didn’t feel cold anymore.

He held you like you were his whole world — like everything he endured, every year he starved, every time he nearly gave up… was worth it just to feel you in his arms again.

And for a long, still moment — you didn’t speak.

You just breathed. Chest rising against his. The faint, unfamiliar sound of his heartbeat echoing somewhere far beneath.

Then, into the quiet, barely louder than a breath—

“I missed this,” you whispered, cheek pressed against his chest. “I missed you.”

His hand gripped you tighter, almost instinctively. Like your words shattered something inside him he didn’t even know was still breakable.

He didn’t say anything at first.

But you felt it — in the way his thumb moved slowly against your back, in the way his body trembled just slightly against yours.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

You tilted your head just slightly, looked up into those red-flecked eyes that had waited decades for this.

And this time, you didn’t whisper.

“I missed you, Sunghoon.”

He looked at you, cupped your face with both of his hands with so much of care as if you were porcelain and would break if you added any more force.

He kissed your forehead like it was the only language he had left.

Slow. Tender. Devastating.

Your eyes fluttered shut — his lips lingering just a heartbeat longer, like he couldn’t quite let go.

And when he finally pulled back, just far enough to look at you again — his voice cracked through the silence.

“Don’t leave me this time…” A pause. A breath. “Angel.”

The name hit you harder than the kiss.

Because that’s what he used to call you. Back in the village. When your hands were cold from the rain, and he’d wrap his jacket around you like you were something worth saving.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes. But he saw it. Of course he did. His thumb brushed just beneath your eye.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “Just… stay.”

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: im backkkkkkkkkk y'allllllllllllll !!!!!!!!! also this thing has been keeping me from watching the outside mv so imma watch it now! ALSO WROTE THIS THING IN 2 DAYS LIKE WTH i cant believe i did tht. anyways enjoy and stay hydrated!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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potatoplace · 2 days ago

Text

Dazed

Dark!BatBoys+Feyre x Reader

Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Summary: You wake up with a headache, and don't remember much of anything.

Warnings: kidnapping, mind-manipulation à la Feysand, just a bit suggestive no smut

Words: idk it's on my phone lol

Author's Note: yaaaay I wrote something it's short and it's not super coherent but I wrote something! And felt like a tiny finished chapter so I feel fine posting it! Small wins here small wins. I might make more of this as lil interconnectedish one-shots (especially if people like it) 🫶

18+ only pls

🩵💜🤍💙❤️

Fingers ran through your hair gently, stirring you from your sleep. Your head ached, and you pushed yourself further into the softness beneath you, only opening your eyes when your head was pushed up with a breath.

What the-?

You blinked wearily at the female you were laying on-

Laying on? Why would you be...?

"Good morning, little love," she said softly, continuing to run her fingers through your hair. "How are you feeling? You had a bad fall last night." The words were said with a slight frown, worried blue-grey eyes trained on you.

"I..." you tried to remember what she was talking about but there was nothi-

Suddenly a memory of you tripping on a cobblestone and hitting your head, hard, came forward, three males and the female below you crowding your blurry vision with fearful expressions.

"My head... hurts," you said quietly, attempting to wiggle yourself from her grasp.

"No, stay here," she whined, pulling you against her more tightly, the soft silk of her nightgown brushing against your bare skin. "Do you want the boys to come in yet? I had them stay back, they were far too worried to sit still and let you rest," she said, returning a hand to your hair. "And, I know you like me best," she whispered with a grin, one that your returned halfheartedly.

Why couldn't you remember her name?

"I... I'm not... sure?" You bit your lip as you answered, anxiety running through you at the thought of disappointing her- why, you couldn't fathom.

"Is she awake?!" a muffled voice yelled, startling you as you looked towards where it came from with wide eyes.

Without waiting for confirmation the door swung open, three winged males burst through the door. Two violet and four hazel eyes locked onto you, and you pressed yourself back into the female holding you.

"Feyre, stop hogging her," the tallest of them whined, already kneeling on the bed by your feet. "She's our mate too, you know."

The female, Feyre, tightened her grip. "I'm aware, Cassian, and you, Rhys, and Az can come back to bed now that she's awake and only had a headache."

Mates.

Suddenly everything came rushing back, the memory of meeting them in the Palace of Bone and Salt, the bond snapping instantly, your mating frenzy...

And everything had been perfect ever since... Right?

But as the three males climbed into bed with you and Feyre, you couldn't help but feel that something was...

Off.

The violet eyed one, Rhys, pressed himself to your back, pinning you to Feyre's side, eliciting an annoyed grunt from Cassian. The tallest flopped down behind Rhys after his wings dissipated, slinging an arm over his waist to rest his hand on your side.

"You really scared us, bunny," Azriel said softly as he laid on Feyre's other side, scarred fingers brushing against your cheek tenderly.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, hesitating for a moment before bringing your hand to cup his cheek. "I guess I'm really clumsy..."

But was that true?

Your head ached as you thought about that, tried to remember if you tended to trip over little things all the time.

"Now that's an understatement," Cassian chuckled, patting your waist reassuringly. "Usually we catch you in time to stop any damage, but..." he sighed.

"We'll do better in the future, darling. And I suppose you'll just have to lock arms with one of us while we go walking," Rhys said simply, placing a large hand on your hip, fingers playing along the curve of the bone before attempting to tug you closer to him.

Feyre growled lowly, Rhys huffing in response. He let his hand slide lower, fingers stroking over the soft hair between your thighs, threatening to dip lower-

You pulled yourself onto Feyre completely, your head resting between her breasts and legs parted over one of hers, the position feeling safer, somehow.

I told you I was your favorite, Feyre hummed into your mind, her satisfaction curling around you pleasantly. You made a soft noise in the back of your throat, sighing happily when her slender fingers ran through your hair again.

Rhys and Cassian shuffled closer, two wings curling over the four of you protectively, a massive quilt covering your sensitive skin, hands snaking their way underneath to rest on your back.

Your head ached, but at least you had the soft touch of your mates to lull you back to sleep.

🩵💜🤍💙❤️

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars @le-nottibianche @archerxnn

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ao3commentoftheday · 22 hours ago

Note

I did the thing with "multiple oneshots as chapters as a single fic" exactly twice, once for a weeklong challenge I never finished and once where I was collecting stuff surrounding a single character. Now I know better, but I'm not sure what to do with the oneshots in the fics--I don't want to give my subscribers a bunch of bogus notifications, clog up the tags (they're both very slow most of the time), and I worry some of the oneshots don't stand on their own well (specifically, one I wrote that was supposed to be a prelude to a second I didn't write and feels half-finished as a result). But I still feel bad having the compilation fics continuing to exist on my profile. Any advice on what to do here?

I can't say for sure since this ask came in so long ago, but I'm guessing this thought came up in relation to a discussion about how posting one shots as chapters of a single work is actually not a great experience on the reader's side of things, a lot of the time.

I can see a few options for you, anon.

Post the oneshots separately, like you say, but backdate them. Since tags populate by most recent (as the default), backdated works won't go to the top of the tag.

Edit the works and add a first chapter Table of Contents so that readers know which fic is which.

Leave the works as they are. They've already been up for a while and you don't want to lose any comments/kudos that might be attached. Yes, those works can be annoying for readers but it's not the end of the world and they can manage. Post oneshots separately in the future and don't feel guilty about choices that you made in the past ❤️

#asks and answers

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pinkthrone445 · 3 days ago

Text

-What we used to be-

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:hurt, reconciliation

Warnings:insults

Summary: a mistake from your past pushes you to remember your ex and what you used to be, making you realize how much you really missed her.

AN:I don't know if somebody is still here on my profile, but I will just leave this here and go. I hope you like it

Your eyes were closed, the darkness of the room still kept you company when you started to feel soft fingertips outline the shape of your cheek and nose, very carefully, almost like the the gentle touch against your skin that a feather getting drafted by the air would leave behind, so soft that you weren't completely sure if it was really there. You couldn't avoid the smile that formed on your lips, and then, between the silence of the room, a little but deep laugh escaped from her lips

-"Good morning Hon..."-The redhead whispered softly, you could feel the air of her nose against your skin, her voice deep from the sleppyness of the night still attached to her body. You didn't said anything, pretending to be asleep just to enjoy a little more her soft and carefull hands giving you caresses. Her fingers traced your eyebrows and lips, it felt so innocent and intimate at the same time, so perfect, like if it was meant to be. Her perfume taking over your senses and your hand searching for hers between the sheets, still with your eyes closed, trying to force her closer, force her to stay a little longer. But after a few seconds of searching, you couldn't find her hand and all of the sudden the soft caresses stoped, and the bed felt cold, the sunshine slipping trough the curtains forced you to open your eyes, only to find the other side of the bed empty, almost perfectly placed, like if nobody had used that side in a long time. You couldn't avoid to sigh and touch the empty and cold pillow beside you, forcing yourself to swallow that knot that formed on your troath.

You turned to the side and saw the time on the clock, fuck, it was so late, you didn't had time to even cry or feel sad about the dream you just had. You were fucking late for work.

You ran out of the bed, trying to get ready as fast as you could, and kept running to your car.

After a fast but still legal drive, you got to school, ready to have an amazing day with your highschollers students...

-"Oh my fucking god... This is our future generation?... They don't even understand what they are trying to say... 'The Existences of Life and Deep Thought: Why Everything Is Something'" - You sighed looking at the paper in your hands and continued to read out loud-"'

In this paper, I will explain the importance of things because when we look at the world, things are really important. Many scientists like Einstein and maybe also Shakespeare have explained that thinking is crucial to the human species. If we don’t think about thinking, then what are we even thinking about? The theory of existentialism proves that existence exists, which is very meaningful when you really think about it. Furthermore, according to many philosophers and people on the internet, being is better than not being, unless not being is part of your being, in which case it depends. This paper will demonstrate that life is a metaphor, and also literally not a metaphor, depending on how you interpret the facts that I will soon discuss but haven’t yet...'"-You sighed again-"' Thinking is crucial to the human?' They should try some of that..."-You commented out loud to the empty room-"'Existence exists?' What is wrong with this kids?"-Your eyes hurt from squinting so much in confusion, one paper was worse than the other, and even the ones that used artificial intelligence were bad and no coherent at all after they tried to 'fix' it so you wouldn't notice they used AI-"Oh goodness I need a coffee"-You took off your glasses and rested your head against the desk. Since the moment you woke up today, or even before waking up, everything seemed to be against you, you had a lovely dream with your ex that made you feel so shitty, your alarm didn't ring, the coffee maker broke, you ran out of gas, you forgot your badge at home and the new security guard didn't want to let you in. And now, in your free period you had to check this horrible amount of bad written papers. While you were trying to rest your eyes a little, your phone rang with a notification taking you away of your tired thoughts. When you opened the messages the nickname "Captain Ally" pooped out, it was your old time friend Jacob, you put that nickname because he always wants to support, even when he has no idea what’s actually going on. Even if you didn't went to college with him anymore, he always tried to invite you to things like if you were still part of the gang

-"Usual bar tonight! You coming?" - You could almost hear his voice when you saw the message

-"Drinks and being away from grading papers? Count me in"- Before you could press the send button, the principal's voice cracked from the speakers

-"Miss (Y/N) please come to my office, immediately" - You sighed and got up putting the phone on your pocket, wondering if all the swearing you did when you were alone was heard by someone and they snitched on you and got you in trouble. When you got to the office the principal pointed at the chair in front of him, so you sat down. He was reading a folder with a few pages on it, and after a few seconds of murmuring to himself, he finally spoke-"Yeah... So you are being investigated..."-you frowned in confusion

-"Investigated, for what?" - Your voice came out higher than what you wanted

-"A mom... Linda Throne..."-he started to explain

-"Throne? I know that name..."-you mumble to yourself trying to remember from were

-"...Alleges that you kissed your girlfriend in front of her daughter..."-he continued

-"Oh my god!" - You knew where this was going and you didn't liked it one bit

-"...and in front of a whole class of other high schoolers at the end of school year of 2022"-he took off his glasses

-"Come on! You talked to me about it! It was nothing" - You complained

-"I know. But now she's made a formal complaint, and I have to read this..."-the principal seemed exhausted about it

-"Wait a minute that kid graduated, she is in college now. Why is she doing this now?..." - You were so confused

-"I don't know, why does anybody do anything? Attention? Money?" - He took a sip of his coffee

-"Wait a minute, Linda Throne, I remember that name. That's the mom that complained about the grade system when her kid got and F... And she complained about the books assignments... And..."-You started to remember, she was a piece of work

-"Oh my god" - The principal seemed more frustrated now than before

-"This is insane..."-You rolled your eyes

-"I know, but you did kiss your girlfriend in front of her daughter...This is serious now because she can have proof and help from other parents or students"-he was upset, almost as much as you

-"Come on, it was barely a peck. I'm not even sure if our lips touched... Do you understand? This is homophobia, this is homophobia behavior right here..."-You started to do a lot of hand gestures, angry ones

-"I know, but this is bigger than us now, you can get suspended by this, even loose your teaching license... She has a lot of money and power and she is a pain in the ass" - He got up from his desk- "You didn't hear the last part..."

-"So what do I do? I just wait for my fate to be decided?..."-You were frowning so much that your forehead started to hurt

-"Look, you are a good teacher. I want you to keep your job... You... You could write a statement in defense of your position and I will submit it on your behalf, that's all I can do to help" - He grabbed his suitcase

-"A defense? I'm not writing a statement, this whole thing is bullshit..."-You complained

-"This is not bullshit, you are lucky they are not suspending you right now and they are waiting for a trial" - He tried to make you see the gravity of the situation and you sighed trying to calm down

-"Let me ask you something... Her kid, remember that kid?" - he nodded- "Is she gay now?" - he didn't said anything, he just looked away- "She is in college and she is gay now, right?" -he didn't confirm or denied anything-"Am I right? I am right! She thinks that we turned her kid gay... Oh my god! This is insane..."-You laughed at the situation

-"Please I can not discuss it further with you, my only job was to read that notification to you... Please take the rest of the day off" - He said and insisted on it, so you grabbed your stuff to leave, calling Jacob to let him know that you definitely need a few drinks on your system.

When night time arrived, you got to the bar, finding Jacob and Janine on a table with drinks already waiting for you, the music was almost loud enough to drown your thoughts as you made your way to them, almost enough, but not enough at all...

-"You guys are amazing" - You took two big glups of your drink after saying hi to them, feeling that sweet burn on your throat

-"Oh wow, you weren't kidding when you said you weren't feeling okey..."-Jacob said seeing your glass half empty already.

After a basic chit-chat, they gave you the opportunity to explain everything that happened that day, always exited for any tea that you had to spill, and by the end of it, they were as shocked and mad as you were

-"That's definitely homophobic" - Jacob said and you nodded, already sipping on your third drink

-"I can't believe it, there should be something more that we can do besides writing a paper... What if we get Melissa's help? She is involved in this too, I bet she knows someone that can help, she knows a lot of people..." - Janine comented and you felt pain in your heart when you heard your ex's name

-"You should both go talk to the school board together, you are both involved in this and you are both teachers..."-Jacob also insisted and each minute of thinking about her, your pain grew

-"Yeah,but, first, we are not together anymore, second, she is not being investigated so I won't bring her to this, I could put her on risk of losing her job too. And third, Melissa changed schools to yours a long time ago and we haven't talked ever since..."-You sighed thinking about the redhead, seeing your reflection on your own drink, you seemed so sad thinking about her.

The redhead and you had a beautiful relationship a few years back, when you and her used to work on the same school. She was almost everything that you needed, she was kind, protective, hot, passionate, lovely... It was the perfect relationship if you only ignored the fact that you knew almost nothing about her. You tried to ignore how closed she was, trying to convince yourself that she would open more to you after a time dating. But when weeks became months, and months became a year and you still knew almost the same as when you started dating, you couldn't ignore it anymore.

You tried to talk to her about it, but she always brushed you off saying that she was that way, and there was nothing wrong in having a few secrets. You pressed further after, but nothing changed. You kept trying to make her understand, to make her see that when she didn't opened to you that hurt, "I keep opening up, but it’s like talking to a mirror" ; "How can I connect with someone who won’t let me in?"; was a few of the things you said to her. But she didn't seemed to understand or she didn't wanted to understand.

You even got frustrated and felt guilt, "Maybe I’m asking for too much. Maybe I need to be patient...", you kept repeating yourself.

But you reached a breaking point when you went to a teacher's weekend and a lady came to fight with the redhead out of nowhere, only to find out that it was her sister, a sister that you knew nothing about, not even her name, a sister that she never mentioned.

That night when you got home, you tried to talk once more... You could still remember the conversation almost completely

-“I like you. I really do. But I’m realizing that I’m the only one showing up fully here. I keep trying to get closer, and it’s like... you won’t let me. And maybe that’s where you are in life right now, and I respect that, but I need more than walls and small talk. I need someone who wants to be known.”- where your words between a few tears. And Melissa, instead of being understanding, she got offended

-"Wow. So now I’m the bad guy because I don’t spill my trauma on command? You don’t even know what I’ve been through. Maybe I don’t open up because I’ve learned what happens when I do. Not everyone has the luxury of being emotionally raw all the time. I was showing up the best way I could. Sorry it wasn’t good enough for you"-she said, almost screaming.

You both tried to fix your relationship after that, but no change was made and what she was giving you wasn't enough anymore, and the relationship worn out a few weeks after.

Soon Melissa changed schools and you tried to live your life with the emptiness she left behind, pretending to move on.

-Back to the present on the bar-

By the end of the nigth, when you were more drinks on you that you could count, you took your phone off and opened the app note, planning on writing the statement that you needed

-"To whom it may concern... I (Y/N), I'm being invested for showing apropiated and short love affection to my partner. I pecked my girlfriend on the cheek, perhaps making momentary passing contact with her lips, in front of a class of my students while we were on lunch break. We were a serious relationship at the time, and it is clear to me that this behavior would not be tolerated, but encouraged if a straight couple did the same... "-while you wrote it, Jacob, sitting besides you, read aloud-"Do you think it sounds defensive?" - You asked to your friend, your eyes barely open

-"No! I think you are on the right saying all of that...Will you talk to Mel about it?" - he asked, hopping to trick you while you were drunk to talk to her, planing to be a little cupid if the chance presented

-"I won't... Don't insist or I will punch one of you"-You insisted, seing double by now

-"Okey Okey, I won't... But tell me, what happened that time, did you really kissed in front of them?" - he asked, being as nosey as ever

-"We..."-You closed your eyes, letting your mind go back to the place that you have been avoiding since the moment you broke up with her, the moments when the love overcame the bad things. You could still feel her lips on yours if you focused, the way they perfectly fit with yours and how soft her hands were when she was holding your waist. You still remember that day perfectly, you were on lunch duty, making sure everyone eat at peace, and Mel went to keep you company for a little bit. You were still happy for the morning you had that day before school, she made you breakfast and you end up having a steamy kiss session on the kitchen and on the car... And when she came to keep you company on the launch break, you both kissed before she went back to her classroom, you couldn't avoid to suck her bottom lip into your mouth and the redhead let her hand wonder a little to the back pocket of your jeans, grabbing you closer, squeezing your ass for a very briefly moment before leaving. You sighed remembering her and her perfect lips- "We... We kissed..."-thats all you said, with pain on your chest, missing her more that you wanted to admit.

The night kept going after that but you were too drunk to remember any of it, taking advantage that it was Friday, you kept drinking until you passed out. You couldn't even remember how you got home or who dragged your ass to your bed, you just assumed that it was your friends.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur, and school started again on Monday. While you kept having anxiety about your situation on your school, just a few blocks away in Abbott Elementary, Janine and Jacob were talking about you and all your problems on the teacher's room. When Mel came in, they shushed up immediately, thing that didn't went unnoticed by the redhead

-"Spill it" - she said, knowing that whatever they were talking about involved her

-"Spill what? We have nothing to spill. Do you have anything to spill?" - Jacob asked Janine, pretending to have dementia

-"Nothing to spill besides my favorite juice that's here on the table" - Janine pretend too, very badly by the way, with a very bad fake laugh at her bad joke. Melissa just stared at them, with a very serious face, and they panicked, folding under no pressure at all after just a minute under the redhead stare-"(Y/N) is under investigation for unproperly behavior, because she kissed you in front of her class on lunch time a few years back, her carrier is on the line and she doesn't want to involve you because she is scared you might get under investigation too and losse your job"-Janine talked so fast that Mel wasn't sure if she heard correctly

-"What?"-Melissa asked confused

-"Please don't make me repeat it" - Janine said and the redhead grabbed her jacket and purse immediately running outside.

-"What do you think she is going to do?" - Jacob asked Janine

-"I don't know, but if (Y/N) asks, we didn't said anything..."-The girl said and her friend nodded.

A week after that, your statement was finally ready and with shaking hands you took it to your principal

-"Here is my statement... I hope it really helps my case..."-You left it on his desk and he looked at you confused

-"What case?..."-he stared at you

-"I'm being investigated...remember?" - You explained and he let a little laugh escaped

-"Oh that! The lady dropped the charges. I forgot to tell you... I'm sorry" - He kept laughing and now it was your chance to stare at him. You have been worrieng sick for a whole week because he forgot to tell you, and he was laughing when it had nothing funny about it?

-"Dropped? Why?..." - You asked, still without understanding

-"I don't know exactly, something about focusing her time on other things that were more important that sue a teacher with minimal wage... Wait, but the district did said something" - He took a paper out to read- "First, you can not date any members of your work place anymore, and second, to avoid any sexual connection you might had formed with any colleagues here to go any further and create another problem, from next month on, you will be transferred to Abbot Elementary to help with the oldest students there... And since you were under investigation, sadly you don't have a saying on this..."-he finished reading and you left the office without saying another word, confused, barely understanding what he said.

When you managed to get your brain working again, you called Jacob to tell him if you could meet him at the bar that night, that you had news to give him, and without any further questions, he agreed.

When night came, you made your way to your usual bar, but after a few minutes of waiting, none of your friends showed up. Worried, you took out your cell phone to call, but before you could even unlock it, someone placed a glass of your favorite drink on the table in front of you, a wave of a perfume filled your nose and a wave of nostalgia flooded your chest, you knew that perfume very well

-"The woman over there sends you this" - a voice said, a voice you could recognized anywhere. You lifted your view to meet those green eyes that you haven't seen in so long, they still shone in the same way and had the same makeup as always, the only difference after all those years was a few more age lines around them. Your brain stop functioning for a few seconds, even forgetting how to breathe, she bit her lip nervously because you didn't said anything-"Hey..."-her voice snapped you to react

-"What woman?" - You asked, playing along for a moment. If you were going to work together again, you at least had to be able to have a basic conversation with her

-"Me, it was a little joke to break the ice... I'm the woman that sends you your favorite drink, who else would know exactly what you like?" - she smiled softly and you frowned. In front of you was the Melissa that you knew, but at the same time she seemed someone different, she looked more relaxed and open, more soft that all those years back. She even seemed nervous around you, not the confident redhead that pretended that nothing could get through her tough skin. Again, because you didn't answer, she forced herself to keep making up conversation -"Thank you for trying to not involve me in that investigation that they were making, that was really sweet of you..." - she said with a soft voice and sat beside you

-" How did you..." - You were about to ask

-"Jacob and Janine told me..." - she confessed ordering a drink for herself and you nodded

-"Of curse they did, I don't know why I was hopping they would keep their mouth shut..." - You took a sip of the drink she ordered for you, it was just the way you loved it

-"I'm glad they didn't tho. I couldn't let you lose your job for something that we were both involved at... It was the fault of both of us..." - she whispered playing with the straw on her hand- "I regret nothing of that by the way... Well almost nothing..."-her voice was weak, almost like if she were on pain

-"What are you talking about?" - You asked in confusion

-"I'm talking about us... I regret loosing that. I know it's too late now, but you were right... I should have let you know more stuff about me... I was just scared and I end up pushing you away" - she looked at your eyes and you sighed, those words that you always wanted to listen were too late now

-"It doesn't matter... We... That was a long time ago, we were not the same back then, it doesn't matter anymore..."-You whispered

-"I know we are different people now... But it's to late for a second chance? Would you like to meet the new me?" - she extended her hand to you and you just stared at her - "I'm Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti. I'm 51 years old" - she mentioned her age, you knew this was serious- "I have 8 siblings, 5 sisters, 2 brothers and one half brother. I love to cook and watch housewifes, also build tiny display puzzles... I..." - You stoped raising your hand

-"I appreciate your effort... But as I said, it doesn't matter anymore..."-You repeated and she gave you a sad smile

-"I know... I just realy regret my past behavior and all I did to you, you didn't deserve any of it... I just thought that if I fixed the problem with the mom that made that complaint, I would be able to fix some of the damage I did on the past..."-she seemed really sad and you felt pain in your heart for seeing her like that

-"What do mean by fixing the problem with the mom that made the complaint? That was you?" - You asked surprised

-"Yeah... I couldn't forgive myself if, because of me, you end up hurt again... So I payed a little visit to that mom and convinced her to drop all the charges after a friendly conversation..."-she played with the straw on her drink again. You knew that by friendly she must have dig out some dirt on the mom and used against her to make her drop the charges, but still was a sweet move

-"That was you?... And my transfer is also your doing?"-You asked further

-"What transfer?" - now was her time to see confused

-"They ask me to transfer to Abbott..."-You whispered and she smiled with surprise

-"Really? Oh wow... I promise it wasn't me, I wasn't even expecting that to come out of your mouth... It will almost be like old times... You and me in the same school..." - she whispered the last part very happily

-"No, it won't. This time, you and me are just coworkers...there is no 'we' this time..."-You clarify and she nodded

-"I know... I'm sorry... I'm just happy that you get to keep your job..."-she smiled softly-"By the way... Who invited you to the bar? We have been talking a while now and noone seem to be looking for you...-she made an observation and you remember the phone on your hand

-"Jacob did... I was about to call him when you arrived..."-You finally dialed the number and after a few rings your friend picked it up

-"Hey! I was about to call to let you know that I'm sick and I can't go..."-he was lying, you could even tell through the call, specially when he faked a cough-"I'm so sorry... Raincheck?" - he asked and you sighed turning to the redhead, covering the mic of the phone for a second

- "Who invited you here?" - You asked her

-"That's what I was about to tell you, Jacob invited me too, is he okey?" - Melissa asked and you rolled your eyes, a few pieces clicking into place now. Jacob knew that Melissa defended your ass so you could keep your job, and being the cupid that he always tried to be, he invited you both to that bar so you had no other chance to talk, hopping that what Mel had done to help you, was enough to forgive her. You put the phone on your ear again-"I'm with Melissa..." - You heard an exited little scream behind Jacob, confirming all your suspicious about them making a plan-"We hope that you get better soon, because next time I see you, I will kick both of your ass" - You said to your friend, hearing two different kind of screams on the phone, being pretty sure that Janine was with him too, playing cupid together.

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #comfort #comfort character #abbott elementary fanfic #abott elementary #abott elementary fanfic #lissa ann walter #melissa ann schemmenti #melissa schemmenti smut #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter fanfic #melissa schemmenti abott elementary #abbot elementary #pinkthrone445

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3amfanfiction · 3 days ago

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Escaping the Cult ch 3

Simon x reader

You’ve spent years hiding from the cult you escaped from. It’s a nasty surprise when your past comes for you and pins you to the wall.

cw: 3.2k, you run into someone new, he steamrolls over any of your concerns, job hunting, masturbation

First || Previous

A stained jumpsuit hung over the motel's bathroom door, Al's Junkyard emblazoned on the back with Simon's name patched onto the front only a few short weeks later. The light blue fabric was already beginning to look worn with the work it saw every day. A softening around the joints, the way he'd tie his sleeves around his waist. The cloth showing a whole future for anyone who dared to look.

Making breakfast at the little portable stove set on the small motel table, you thought about your own plans for the day. You felt like you'd asked everyone in the entire town about a job but surely that wasn't true. There had to be something. Something you were missing.

"I've got the grocery store and the laundromat today," you said into the empty room, voice raised to be heard over the running bathroom tap. It squeaked as Simon turned it shut. "Anything in particular you want?" you finished as he came out, pulling the jumpsuit down. You avoided looking at his ass covered in only a pair of boxers, plain t-shirt over the top, but your resolve was sharply tested when he bent over to step into the suit.

You hadn't addressed your growing feelings with him—content to let them sit on the backburner, ignored. Not something that required any attention. But it was hard when you were sharing a single room with the man. Your one saving grace was the two full-sized beds taking up the majority of the space, you didn't know how you would've handled it if you and Simon were forced to share. There would be too many opportunities to wake up in his arms if that would have happened. Quiet mornings with the sun peeking out from behind the heavy curtains, his arm wrapped around your waist, palm open and spread over the soft spill of your stomach, one leg hitched up between the two of yours, knee raised to the juncture of your soft thighs, a firm, steady pressure that begged to be ground on.

No. No, better that you had two separate beds.

Finishing up with breakfast you turned to present his food to him with a flourish. "Ta da," you crowed with a smile, holding out a paper plate, "Breakfast is served." A sad looking burrito sat at the center, eggs and cheese falling out the ends.

"It looks perfect, sweetheart, thank you."

Taking the plate with a smile he asked, "See you tonight?"

"See you tonight" you reassured, your own little ritual that hadn't ended. It eased something in him when you confirmed you'd see him later. A verbal promise that you weren't going anywhere. That you were still in this together.

Turning back to clean up your breakfast mess, you never noticed the way he hesitated, his eyes lingering on you before he shut the door.

—

The grocery store was empty on a mid-morning Wednesday. The shelves restocked from the weekend prior and preparing for the next one, it was the perfect lull to get your shopping done. Not paying as much attention as you should, you turned the corner running full-bodied into someone coming from the other direction, grocery list and phone going one direction while your basket went the other.

"I am so sorry," you gasped, newly empty hands out like you were ready to press into a wound. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

A loud, unabashed laugh burst out, a warm burr following along shortly afterwards, "Small bump like that? I'm fine as a fiddle." He grinned down at you, blue eyes shining brightly. There were crows feet at the corners, smile lines that showed a propensity for laughter. You found yourself cataloging his face as he continued, "How about you though? Anything broken?"

"No," you reassured hurriedly, your hands finally dropping back to your sides, "I'm okay." You crouched to begin picking up everything that had spilled. The handsome stranger dropped as well, grabbing your phone and list before handing them to you.

"Good. I'd hate to cause any hurt to a pretty thing like you."

You felt your cheeks heating at the compliment, no matter how casually it was dispensed. The laundromat was after grocery shopping so you were currently in your bottom of the bag clothes, the ones you wore when literally nothing else was clean. You fought through the embarrassment, not letting your spine bow. He wasn't trying to be cruel, you were only taking his words that way because you felt self-conscious. This was on you, not him.

"Ma always got onto me, said my head was too far into the clouds, I was liable to walk right over someone. I guess she had the right of it," he chuckled, picking a fallen bag of rice up only to have it split before he could hand it off to you. He tried to cover the hole with his hand but just ended up making it worse, a flood of sharp, little grains cascading down onto the floor, bouncing every which way.

"Shit," he hissed from between his teeth, looking apologetically your way, heavy brows drawn down in contrition. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Let me go grab another bag for you, this one's no good."

"You don't have to do that, I can—"

"No, I insist," he spoke over you, standing quickly—triggering you to do the same. He put a hand on the small of your back, steering you back towards the dried goods aisle, "My ma, I was telling you about her, she would have my backside tanned if I didn't help a pretty face when I'm the reason something's gone amiss. You know, just the other day I was talking to her about my sisters and—"he took off with a captive audience, his hand staying firmly attached to your back as he walked and talked. Before you knew it your whole list had been completed and the conversation hadn't lulled once. He was a steady presence by your side and an engaging conversationalist.

You hadn't really made any friends in your time alone. You'd been friendly with your coworkers at the diner but nothing that extended beyond sharing numbers in order to exchange shifts. Maybe this town would be different. You'd clearly hit it off with this man if his sweet talking meant anything. Although you had the feeling praise dripped from his tongue constantly. A venerable waterfall of kind words never ceasing. Drowning the unsuspecting beneath their weight. It instilled a hint of caution in you and your hopes for friendship with him.

Finished paying and with bags gathered he turned to you, "So, dinner. Let me take you out—nothing serious, just as an apology."

You laughed, amused despite the caution you were holding yourself to, "You have nothing to apologize for. And besides, I can't go to dinner with you, I don't even know your name."

He smiled a crooked smile, teeth gleaming under the florescent lighting. "It's John MacTavish, but you can call me Johnny."

"Well, Johnny, there's no need for dinner. Plus I've gotta get back and get these in the fridge before they spoil," you said, shifting the bags in your hands in illustration.

"Let me get your number then. We can do lunch some other time, how about that?" he cajoled, enticing your further with an— "or there's an ice cream shop right around the corner, you can't tell me you don't love a good waffle cone."

You had been craving something sweet. And ice cream did certainly sound good. You hemmed and hawed but found yourself caving embarrassingly fast, writing your number on the back of your grocery list with plans to meet the next day. Johnny took it and held it like it was something to be treasured.

"I'll text you."

"Talk to you then, Johnny."

—

Food tucked away and clothes folded and placed in the dresser, you were talking to Simon after dinner—chicken and dumplings cooked in a little thrift-shop rice cooker tonight—giving him a run-down of your day.

"—I made a new friend. At least, I think I did," you said as you got ready for bed, in the bathroom washing your face. You didn't continue until all the soap had been rinsed off and you were blotting your skin dry, "He invited me out for ice cream tomorrow. I wish the junkyard was closer, I'd bring you one." You stuck your head out to look at him sprawled out on the bed, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. You watched it rise and fall with his steady breathing. "Simon?"

No response. He worked long hours at the junkyard taking his commitment to keeping a roof over your heads serious. You smiled fondly at the sleeping man as you quietly shut off the light, leaving the room bathed in darkness. Climbing into your own bed, Simon's snuffling snores soon lulled you into a doze, proper sleep following shortly after.

—

It was still dark the next morning when Simon got ready. He'd rolled out of bed and silenced the alarm before it had a chance to sound, intent on giving you a little extra sleep. He looked over to you cocooned in your blankets, hugging a pillow to your chest in the predawn darkness.

His heart pulled at the sight. He was so lucky that you chose him. He knew he was. Ever since you latched onto him as a little kid he'd known how much you meant to him, what he'd do to keep you safe.

The pain he'd felt when he'd found you missing was indescribable. It was a piece of himself that had cut loose. A part so integral to him, he never noticed it until it was missing.

Of course you would always be with him. It was him and you.

Until it wasn't.

He'd never forget the anger that ripped through him when he realized what you'd done. How scared and furious he'd been in equal measure. Price locked everything and everyone down after that. No one more free visits into town, no more going to visit uninitiated family members, no more freedom for fear of them abandoning the group. Simon had grit his teeth and borne it, keeping an eye on the end goal. You. He waited until the reins were loosened once more to slip away in the dark of night and begin his own hunt.

He knew he'd find you. No matter how long it took.

Looking you over one final time, he tucked the covers up over your shoulder where you'd pulled them down low during the night. He brushed a feather-light touch against your cheekbone up to your temple, a butterfly-kiss of a sensation and then he was gone into the early morning.

—

Sitting with an ice cream cone in hand you tried to remember the last time you'd enjoyed something as simple as this. For a long time your life had been too twisted up in the immediate. It made you forget to slow down and experience things. Savor them. Knowing that any time could be your last time before you were forced to move on again made these things difficult. Forever on the run.

Johnny sat across from you at one of the picnic tables set out around the front of the store, the aged wood showing a lifetime of stories on its beat up surface. Taking a bite, the creamy confection melted on your tongue and you watched Johnny gesturing wildly, banana split sat safely in front of him on the weathered tabletop.

"—And then the old man had the gall to say I was being disruptive. Me! As if it wasn't him who brought the goat into the shop."

Laughter spilled out of you, blanketing the area surrounding the table. You'd be embarrassed about the volume if Johnny had done anything other than light up each time he managed to pry it out of you. As if he was being given a gift, every time.

"I can't tell you how happy I am that you gave me the time of day," he said, smiling openly at you, crooked teeth on charming display. "Someone as bonnie as you, you must have people falling all over themselves to go on dates with you."

"I don't know about any of that," you demurred, face heating at his switch of attention. "And besides, this isn't a date. This is just ice cream." His bright blue eyes seemed to pin you in place, so different from Simon's dark gaze. His throat bobbed as we swallowed. Doing your best to keep your face level you hurriedly changed the subject, "So what do you do? I don't think I ever asked."

"I'm a bit of a jack of all trades. Any time something needs done, they'll call me. I'm actually on a bit of a solo mission right now. Looking for something."

You shivered as the chilled wind snuck fingers under your shirt and trailed them down your back, summer well and truly giving way to fall. "What is it you're looking for?" you couldn't help but ask, curious despite your reluctance to share anything about your own past but eager for another peek into his.

"Something of mine that I misplaced."

You waited but there was nothing more forthcoming. Heavy silence filled the air, no longer light and carefree. There wasn't a whole lot more you could say to that. Floundering around for something to fill the suddenly awkward silence, you blurted out, "Aren't you cold with your shirt undone like that?" and wished you'd kept your mouth shut.

It'd been drawing your gaze this whole time. His chest peeked out of the top of his button up shirt, top few buttons purposefully left undone. A wash of dark hair grew from the V, begging for fingers to dig in and pull. You wondered if he would be into the bite of pain before wrenching your thoughts back out of the gutter. You hadn't meant to draw attention to it but it was too late to take it back now.

He smirked at you knowingly before throwing you a lifeline, "Nae, I run hot. This weather is actually the perfect temperature, I was beginning to think it was never going to cool down. You know, the Millers down at the corner store had a whole batch of fruit spoil from the heat—"

And he was off once more. Johnny seemed to know everyone in town. It didn't surprise you in the least—he was such a social butterfly and he clearly made friends easily if this ice cream not-date was any indication, already well on his way to being counted a friend by you.

By the time your cones were eaten you'd fully opened up to him, your laughter coming easily after his quippy one-liners, your smile never faltering. It was an easy thing to make plans to meet up again the next day.

—

Staying in town after you and Johnny split, you went on the hunt for a job, retracing previous steps in case someone had put up a new flier in the time since you'd been past. It was a disheartening trudge that saw you walking home, hands as empty as when you started, not even an application to show for your troubles.

The motel room was empty when you got there, Simon still at work. His hours long as he used his overtime to full benefit. It meant you only got to see him in the mornings and late at night. The time sparse for you two to talk.

With nothing else to do and slippery thighs you didn't want to examine the cause of, you flopped onto the bed and unbuttoned your jeans. Slipping a hand down your pants, you sighed at the first brush of your fingers against your clit. A there and gone whisper of pleasure that you were now on the hunt for. Using steady, firm circles you stroked the little bundle of nerves that was slowly swelling beneath your fingers, the space between your thighs growing hot and damp as you worked.

You focused on Simon. The way he looked at you, his soft expression as he cupped the back of your neck in his broad palm, always searching for your eyes, wanting to keep your gazes locked for as long as possible.

It'd been a long time since the intense eye contact discomforted you. Now just thinking about it brought a wave of heat cresting up your thighs to coalesce in the cradle of your hips. Adding to the pyre already burning.

You thought about his hands, how wide his fingers were, square and blunt. His shoulders and arms, how he'd always let you lean on him and burrow into the muscle. His hips and how you'd like to grab them. Squeeze.

You felt your body flush at your imagination. Blood rushing quickly just under the skin, carrying sensation and yearning in its wake.

You wanted him here, between your thighs, hovering over your body. You wanted to touch and taste, run your fingers through his hair and tug, kiss up his jaw line and bite right at the hinge of it.

Your core tightened, pleasure peaking higher as you thought about how he would kiss, the heat that he'd give off. Nearly there. Nearly—. You thought about him leaning over you, mouth pressed to the sensitive skin of your ear, hot breath washing over it as a Scottish burr purred out, "You gonna come on my cock just as sweetly as you come on my fingers?" before blue eyes pulled back and pinned you in place. Simon morphing into Johnny in the blink of an eye as you gave the final swirl of your fingers that pushed you over the edge.

Your wave of endorphins hit hard but was short lived. Crashing quickly, you panicked at what had just happened. What trick your brain had played on you.

It was Simon for you. Always. Just him. He'd been who you masturbated to for years. It should be old hat by now, like riding a bike. You had no business imagining Johnny in Simon's place.

Getting up to wash your hands as if you could wash what happened just as easily, you pushed it firmly from your mind. It didn't matter. It wouldn't happen again so it was a non-issue. One of those freak things that happened sometimes. It didn't mean anything.

Having talked yourself somewhat off the ledge, you straightened your clothes and sat, looking around the room for something to do. You lasted about a minute after not finding anything before you stood, getting ready to leave again, unable to handle sitting still. You could take one more lap around the shops closest to you before you needed to tuck in for the night. Do something productive. Maybe you'd meet Simon halfway and walk him home.

#fic: escaping the cult #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #john soap mactavish

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lotsofluvz · 12 hours ago

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࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔ slut him out .ᐟ.ᐟ

synopsis zayne came home exhausted and frustrated. all he can think of is you blowing him off to forget all this stress.

zayne x fem!reader ☆ SMUT ☆ whiny!zayne (MDNI!)

tags blowjob, overstim, cowgirl, teasing, creampie

note it's my first time to post smut and hoping to improve in the future. i wanted to write about my man zayne aka the father of my children so i hope u enjoy reading n luv ya! <3

Zayne has one thing on his mind. He wants your mouth on his cock as you suck the stress away.

He had a long day in the hospital, and it was even more hectic today. He usually can handle this workload, but he can't seem to forget the other night. You, on top of him as you ride him to his third orgasm that night. He needs you.

He hurriedly finished his work and came home rather earlier than usual. As you heard the door open, you greeted him.

"Hey baby, how's work? Is it hectic?" you asked as you placed a kiss on his cheeks.

"It was more hectic today, but it's okay," he replied rather sullenly. You noticed the difference in his voice and asked if he was okay.

"If I'm being completely honest with you, I'm not, but the entire time, I've been thinking about you," he said while looking at you.

"What were you thinking about, baby?" you hummed as you waited for his answer.

"I've been thinking about you giving me a blowjob, having those lips of yours on my cock," he replied.

"Oh, is that why you're acting like this? It's rather rude to say that without asking me about my day," you teased him while making small touches on his neck.

"How's your day, love?" he whined and seemed to be more occupied with your touches.

"Not like that, baby, but I will forgive you today," you hummed as you guided him towards the sofa.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm just so desperate for your mouth. Please suck me off," he pleaded as you situated yourself between his legs.

"I love when you are like this, so desperate for me. C'mon baby, keep telling me what you want," you encouraged him.

"I want you to… ughh," he whined as you started kissing his thighs. "I want you to suck me… please, pull my pants," he begged as you slowly pulled down his pants, revealing his hard cock.

You shower his cock with light kisses as you tease his length slowly. Making him lose his composure as the minutes go by. "Stop teasing me... please, baby," he whined as you continued stroking him.

Without wasting another minute, your mouth met his throbbing cock. As you slowly bob your head up and down while maintaining eye contact with him. His mouth spewed out the most beautiful moan, and you want to keep hearing those moans.

"Don't stop moaning, baby. I want to hear it all, don't you dare cover your mouth," you demanded as you started to fasten your pace. "Uhhhh, miss… don't stop. Please go deeper," he begged as his moans started getting louder.

Your mouth had reached the base of his cock while your hands played with his balls. You can sense that he was reaching his climax by the way his legs are shaking. This signaled you to even hasten your pace; it rewarded you with a slur of incoherent words and fucks from his pretty mouth.

"Fuck—don't stop, miss. I'm close. I'm gonna cum—" and before you knew it, a spurt of cum rushed down your throat. His moans echoed in your shared living room.

"I'm sorry, miss. I couldn't keep it anymore," he said as he tried to calm down. You pulled your mouth off his cock and asked him to lie on the sofa. "I'm still sensitive, miss. Just give me a minute," he pleaded.

His words didn't matter as you quickly sank down his cock. earning you a loud whine from his mouth as he tries to calm himself, or else he will cum on the spot.

"Fuck—don't move too fast or else—" Before he can finish his sentence, you ride him faster as you try to reach your own climax. As the sound of your skin hitting against each other filled the room. After a few minutes, you finally felt your climax reaching.

"Shit, I'm close, baby," you moaned as you thrust into him.

"Fuck, my legs are shaking, miss. I'm gonna cum too," he whined.

After a few more thrusts, both of you reached your climax. He pressed his lips into yours as you felt his cum slowly filling up your pussy.

You slowly pull out of him and lay on his chest as the two of you try to catch your breath.

"Thank you, love. I will make it up to you, I promise. I love you," as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too, baby," as you pulled him closer towards your body.

#zayne smut #zayne x reader #love and deepspace #zayne lads #love and deepspace smut #zayne fic #love and deepspace zayne #lads fics #zayne love and deepspace #zayne #lads smut #zayne imagines #zayne scenarios #zayne x mc #zayne x yn #doctor zayne #zayne fluff #l&ds zayne

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bewitched-hours · 2 days ago

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Elo!

do yu do platonic ships? If yu do can yu do bluudud X fem! reader(Survivor) who is 11 y.o. and sometimes suggle up and fall asleep on bluudud arms.

Yu can also do slight angst like the spectre forbids their love or smt but they dgaf, as love is more powerful-

anyway make sure to get some rest and stay hapi

-Kiclown Anony

I do and that's absolutely adorable! It's a nice change of pace to just focus on the children for a bit and have something cute to read about!

As requested, She/Her for the reader!

What's more disturbing?

Another child being thrown into this endless game of life and death or them being thrown to the survivors?

Either way, you seemed almost oblivious to the chaos.

They almost thought you were also somehow convinced this was just a game of tag like C00lkidd but you quickly showed that you knew.

The other survivors were greatly disturbed of course. You were only 11 years old and not showing even a hint of a reaction to the constant deaths around you.

But similar to the kids in the killer's cabin, you were created by someone for reasons yet unknown.

And for whatever reason, your ability to feel fear was just completely gone... Why did the Spectre choose you to be a survivor??

Regardless, you had to be protected, even against your own will at times.

It was stressful when you were up against C00lkidd, Bluudud or Pr3typriincess. Since for some fucking reason you always insisted on distracting them and playing games, giving the other survivors heart attacks as they try to get ahold of your sugar-induced little body.

Speaking of, where did you always get do much candy from?!

Overall, you were a nightmare in such rounds but it was especially bad with Bluudud because you apparently found the colours on his lollipop cool.

Tbf, rainbows have always been interesting to kids since the beginning of time so you couldn't entirely be faulted to flocking to him to easily.

But surprisingly, he went easy on you. The other survivors took note how Bluudud seemed to save you for last but that was probably because you were pretty much ego-boost incarnate. Always praising everyone around you...

And although the survivors are split on it, they agreed to include you more in future strategies where you could distract the kids with your speed almost outmatching theirs.

C00lkidd loved having a playmate who can keep up with him, Pr3typriincess could at least style you up and leave you last to parade her 'art' around and Bluudud got a free ego-boost. Win/Win in a way-

At first BD wanted to keep you at an arms length, thinking you were annoying.

Now? He just sighs and let's you ramble on. It's kinda nice to have a fan on the opposing side, in a weird way.

Sometimes he'd have to shut you up though which he found a few headpats were enough to put a pause on your constant praise for a bit until he has to tell you to continue.

It was... Somewhat cute- if you look past him still being a killer.

Sometimes he even wanted to spare you, inviting you back to the killer's cabin to hang out more and although you'd happily agree, the Spectre couldn't have any long-lasting happiness in its realm!

No, it made sure Bluudud knew what it thought but did he care?

Of-fucking-course not. To him, the Spectre was just like an annoying parent so of course it'll be ignored while he happily let's you ramble on and secretly hopes you try to find the killer's cabin in search of him.

And it's not like you didn't try. You tried everytime after rounds.

Unfortunately, the other survivors always made sure to keep you within vision because some of them were parents and your mere presence makes them all feel responsible. Like they have to take care of a child all together to make sure you don't do anything stupid...

Like trying to find your killer buddy...

So sorry for how it turned out, I didn't really have many ideas for this but it was such a cute request!

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #platonic forsaken x reader #platonic forsaken x child reader #child reader #bluudud forsaken

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mariieyuu · 2 days ago

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Lin Ling x reader bc i love this silly guy

Tags: Fluff, gn!reader, friendship or something more? :o

Tw: implied suicide

You and Lin Ling have been talking regularly for a few months now. It's normal since you both work in the same sector, sometimes exchanging a few ideas here and there or reviewing each other's final products. An inseparable duo who are almost always full of enthusiasm.

It's not as if you didn't already know about your admiration for heroes, but something always made Lin curious. Whenever the topic turned to Nice (which wasn't unusual, since the boy was responsible for writing the scripts for his commercials), your extreme admiration for him was visible. This was something he genuinely didn't understand. Sure, everyone loves Nice, but there's not much special about him apart from that weird and annoying perfection.

Finally, after several minutes of talking about all sorts of things, Lin finally lets it slip.

— "Why... do you love Nice so much?" — The boy asks with some apprehension, looking at you curiously as he waits for an answer. After a short silence, the words slip out smoothly. — "I wouldn't say love is the right word." — You think for a moment. Surprisingly, no other words come to mind. — "To be honest, I really don't know how to describe this feeling. It's a kind of admiration, which yes, perhaps borders on love." — Fearfully, you look at Lin before continuing. With a slight lump in your throat, a soft smile forms on your face, before you look away.

— "A while ago, he saved me." — You said in a firmer tone. Practically forcing the words out of your mouth. — "He told me: ‘Even though your pain is intense, I know that something bright awaits you in the future. It may not be now, or tomorrow. But please believe, there is something at the end that will make it all worthwhile’. Those words are still in my heart today. And they motivated me to get this far." — Her smile was serene, but somehow melancholy. Lin tried to think of the situation in which Nice could have said that or how he had saved you, but gave up immediately. From the fear and sadness in her words, it was clear as daylight that this was a delicate matter, to say the least.

He continued to watch your expression for a few seconds before your voice broke the silence once again.

— "That's why I'm not giving up. I'm going to keep living to prove not only to him, but to myself, that saving me that day wasn't a waste. Don't you agree, Lin?" — He couldn't say what, but something in his eyes changed the moment he said it. Now it's a look brimming with determination, and more than ever you shine. Full of hope, you now shine brightly.

— "That's a great idea. Hearing that, I can see that Nice saving you wasn't a waste. Not at all." — Lin said optimistically, admiring your relentless determination. What he thought was just a "silly crush" on the hero turned out to be as deep as his feelings for Xiao Yueqing. As much as Nice irritated him in a way because he was so "perfect", maybe now he'll have some of his gratitude. Not least because he had saved the one he now considers his best friend.

— "Please keep living." — The phrase slipped almost unintentionally from his lips, and exposed his deepest thoughts. As embarrassing as it was, he had no regrets, and continued. — "I think... You saved me a bit too. It would be a shame not to have you around anymore." — Lin's heart beats faster with every word. But why? It's not like the two of you are something more, isn't it? This feeling is so strange, but it's also warm. Lin Ling couldn't help but feel even more embarrassed when feeling his cheeks burn slightly after he had finished speaking.

— "I promise I'll do my best." — You say, gently touching the Lin’s hand, who doesn't even dare to look you in the face at the moment. Yes, he certainly is adorable. Maybe one day he'll be able to admit what this "unknown" feeling he has around you really is.

The cell phone in your pocket vibrates. The alarm tells you that break is over, and now you're both going back to your grueling work routine. Maybe that's the price you have to pay for that little moment of tenderness with him.

— "I hope you don't give up either, Lin." — You reminded him softly, heading back to your desk. Nice wasn't the only one who saved your life, Lin Ling did it too. His kindness was the main reason you continued to believe in the words the hero had once spoken to you.

— "I will try." — The boy muttered to himself, perhaps trying to convince himself that your intentions were the same as his when he said it too.

#to be hero x #to be hero x x reader #tbhx #tbhx lin ling #tbhx x reader #gn reader #x reader

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orellazalonia · 2 days ago

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Caged in Comfort (Pt. 7)

Summary: You hide a growing illness until a high fever sends you spiraling into a regressed, terrified state. Steve and Bucky care for you throughout it all, and by morning, you cling quietly to their comfort. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression. Kidnapping. Panicking/Panic attack. More references to Labs/Experimentation. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 2k+

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You notice it the moment you open your eyes.

A strange ache behind them. Dull and pressing like someone pushing from inside your skull. Your throat is dry and rough, each swallow feeling like it scrapes something raw. Still, you don’t say anything.

Because this morning matters.

You’ve been good. You’ve followed the rules. Bucky said you were getting close to earning another trip to the balcony, outside. You can’t mess this up.

So you get up quietly, even though your limbs feel like sandbags. The room tilts slightly when you swing your legs off the bed, but you keep going. You shuffle to the pile of soft clothes Steve laid out last night, pink overalls and a white shirt with embroidered strawberries, and you dress yourself before he even comes in to help you.

It takes you twice as long. Your hands fumble with the buttons. But you do it.

You sit neatly on your blanket nest and clutch Mr. Bun tight against your chest, willing your body to stop shaking. It’s fine. It has to be fine.

The door creaks open.

Steve walks in, smiling instantly when he sees you. “Well look at you,” He says softly. “All dressed and ready. You must’ve been excited today, huh?”

You nod quickly. “Mhm, yeah.”

Your voice comes out scratchier than you expected. You watch Steve blink at the sound, but he doesn’t question it. He crouches beside you and brushes your hair gently behind your ear.

“You feel a little warm,” He murmurs after a moment.

You stiffen.

“No,” You say, too quickly. “I’m okay. Just woke up fast, ‘m not sick.”

He blinks, eyebrows pulling slightly. “I didn’t say you were, sweetheart.”

You curl your fingers into the fur of Mr. Bun, heart pounding. Too much. That was too much.

But Steve only gives you a small smile and stands again. “Well, you let us know if anything feels icky, okay? It’s alright to have off days.”

You nod, but your mouth is dry.

You manage to keep up the act through breakfast. You sit in your seat, wobbling only once when the room spins too suddenly. Steve spoons warm oatmeal into your mouth, and you swallow slowly, carefully, even though your stomach turns. Bucky sits nearby, flipping through a book, occasionally looking over at you like he’s reading your every movement.

You smile once, just once, hoping it softens the glassiness in your eyes. And they don’t say anything more. But your skin is damp. Your back sticks uncomfortably to your shirt. You can feel a fever rising like a tide under your skin.

Still, you color during playtime. You sit on the mat and trace flower petals with your crayon even though your hand shakes and the lines blur. You laugh, a soft, hoarse sound, when Steve shows you a silly hand puppet and pretends it has a voice.

You lean into Bucky’s side during “quiet time” when he sits next to you on the couch, going through a picture book for you. He doesn’t move, just lets you rest there like he doesn’t want to spook you. And you want to stay there. Not because it’s warm. But because you’re trying.

Because you need them to think you’re still their good girl.

Even if your skin is buzzing. Even if your eyelids feel like they weigh ten pounds each. Even if something is deeply, quietly wrong inside your body and you’re too scared to say it.

The day continues to drag though.

You’ve never noticed how long an hour can feel when every breath scratches your throat like sandpaper. Or how loud the clock becomes when you’re trying to keep your body still, when every movement sends a spike of heat through your body.

Your head pounds. But you keep your posture straight as you sit with your sticker book, peeling off tiny stars and carefully placing them onto a cartoon animal page. You don’t look up when Bucky passes behind you. You don’t want him to see your glassy eyes.

“You need water?” Steve asks gently, crouching near your side.

You shake your head too fast. The room tilts as you bite your tongue to stay upright.

“I’m okay,” You rasp, wincing at your own voice. “Promise.”

Steve frowns.

“You’re flushed, sweetheart,” He murmurs, brushing the backs of his fingers across your cheek. “And you’re sweating. That’s not nothing.”

You don’t answer. You just reach for another sticker. Your hand trembles enough that you misplace it, the corner crooked.

Bucky’s voice comes from across the room. “She’s not fine.”

Steve looks up. “I know.”

“She’s pale. Look at her hands.”

You look down. He’s right. Your fingers are clammy, the tips faintly blue.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says more firmly now, “We need to check–“

“I’m fine,” You snap, voice cracking.

Silence. Even you freeze.

The room hangs heavy for a moment before Bucky’s boots move across the floor. He stops behind you, looming quietly for a second before kneeling at your side.

“Look at me,” He says.

You don’t.

“Now.”

You force your head to turn. Everything in your body feels like it’s moving through syrup. Your vision swims.

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “You’re sick.”

You shake your head weakly, but it’s a pitiful denial. Your lips are too dry. Your forehead’s burning. Even your teeth ache now.

Steve sighs as he moves in beside you, sliding a steady hand around your back. “You’re allowed to be sick, baby girl,” He says softly. “But hiding it like this? That’s dangerous.”

“I didn’t wanna ruin it,” You whisper. “I was gonna be good today. I was–“

Your words break off into a cough as you double over slightly, and both their hands move to steady you. Steve rubs slow circles on your back while Bucky shifts in closer.

“You think we’d stop loving you because you have a fever?” Steve murmurs.

You nod without thinking. Or maybe it’s just your body swaying.

“You think this is a test?” Bucky asks, lower. His voice isn’t angry, it’s something else. Sharper. Like it’s cutting at the idea.

You blink through the tears. You’re too hot. Your body’s too heavy. Everything’s spinning faster now.

“I just wanted to go outside again,” You mumble. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Steve’s heart breaks a little in the silence that follows. You can feel it in the way he holds you tighter.

“Oh, honey,” He whispers, voice thick with something warm and aching, “You didn’t mess anything up.”

Bucky sighs. His hands move beneath your arms, lifting you without a word. You don’t even resist this time. Your limbs dangle limp against his chest.

“You’re burning up,” He mutters. “Steve, get a thermometer and a cold pack.”

Steve moves quickly.

You close your eyes.

Even as you’re carried from the nursery, as your cheek rests against the fabric of Bucky’s shirt and the heat floods your skull, you cling to one thought: You didn’t mean to get sick. You just didn’t want to lose the little bit of light they gave you.

You don’t remember how you ended up in their bed.

You’re barely conscious of the way the sheets cling to your damp skin, or how many pillows they’ve propped under your head. You barely even feel the cold cloth on your forehead. All you know is heat, dizziness, and fear.

The fever spikes hard.

You twist beneath the blankets, breath coming in short, frantic gasps. Your hands claw blindly until one is caught in Steve’s. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, holding your hand tight, whispering low things you can’t understand. His voice is soft, grounding, but your mind is unraveling too fast for it to reach you.

“No,” You croak, barely audible. “Don’t–don’t do it again.”

Steve’s head lifts. “What, sweetheart?”

You turn your head weakly toward him. But you’re not looking at Steve. Not really. Your eyes are wide and glassy, pupils dilated with fever and panic.

“Please,” You whisper. “I was good. I didn’t fight this time. Please don’t put the needles back in. Don’t make me forget again.”

Steve’s breath catches. Bucky, standing by the foot of the bed, freezes.

Your hand curls tighter in Steve’s grip. “Don’t wipe me please! I’ll be good… I—I can still remember my name–“

Steve’s voice breaks as he leans in closer. “You’re not there anymore, baby. You’re here with us.”

You shake your head, tears now streaming. “They said that last time too, said I was safe, said I passed. They lied, it hurts—”

Your voice climbs, panicked and high-pitched, like a child. Not like the girl who’s been obedient all week. Not the silent one who colors with shaking hands and forces smiles.

This is something raw. Something real. And it scares them.

You start to kick at the blankets, sobbing harder now. “No more. I don’t want–I don’t wanna forget—!”

Steve drops down beside you, gently gathering you into his arms. “Shhh. You’re not gonna forget anything. We’re not gonna let anyone do that to you again.”

You struggle weakly in his hold, limbs too hot and too heavy to really fight. But it’s instinct, desperation.

Bucky moves toward the bed, crouching down beside you both. His expression is unreadable, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on you like he’s trying to find something buried deep beneath the shaking.

“You think we’d ever let someone hurt you like that again?” He says lowly. “You think we’d let anyone put those damn wires back in you?”

“I don’t know,” You whisper, voice cracking. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Steve rubs your back slowly. “This is real. We’re real.”

You tremble in his arms, shrinking smaller, curling up against his chest. Bucky helps prop your stuffed bunny beneath your arm. And for a long while, no one speaks. Just your sobs, quieting slowly into hiccups. Just the sound of your breathing against Steve’s chest. And Bucky, still crouched by your side, says nothing, but stays right there.

Morning comes slow and quiet.

You don’t want to open your eyes at first. Your body feels like it’s been folded too many times and left in a dark, cramped space. Your skin is cooler now, but every muscle aches like it’s been pulled too tight for too long. The soft weight of Steve’s hand still rests on your forehead, steady and gentle like a silent promise.

You stir, blinking up at the dim light filtering through the curtains. The edges of your vision is blurry, like you’re still somewhere between dreams and waking.

Steve’s voice is soft, careful.

“Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

Your throat is scratchy. You swallow slowly, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Better,” You whisper, even though your whole body protests.

Bucky is sitting nearby, arms resting on his knees, watching you with a look that’s hard to read. His metal hand twitches like he wants to reach out but isn’t sure if you want him to.

Steve shifts closer, smoothing your tangled hair from your face. “You did really good last night, baby. You held on.”

Your don’t say anything.

“Want some juice?” Steve offers, holding out a small cup with a straw.

You nod, voice still fragile. “Please.”

They help you sit up slowly. Bucky moves to steady you from behind, his grip firm but careful, like you might break if he’s too rough. You take the cup, hands shaking slightly, and sip the cool liquid. It soothes the dryness in your mouth, but the weakness in your limbs doesn’t ease.

Steve watches you with soft eyes. “We’re going to keep taking care of you, alright? No more hiding things.”

Bucky’s voice is low but steady. “You’re safe here. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.”

You want to believe them. You want to trust the warmth in their voices. But the memories are still tangled in your mind: the needles, the cold lights, the straps.

Still, you let your head fall against Steve’s shoulder as they help you lie back down. Mr. Bun is tucked against your side, and Bucky reaches out to pull the blanket up.

You close your eyes again, breathing in the quiet, the care, the fragile space between fear and comfort. For now, that is enough.

Taglist: @the-ruler-of-death

#Caged in Comfort #dark!stucky x little!reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!fic #forced age regression #dark marvel #sick!reader #dark stucky x little!reader #minors dni

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justageekk · 1 day ago

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Thank u for feeding us Dean Huijsen girlies 🙏💋

Can u maybe do the “current bf” tiktok trend with him like we all know he’s a lil sh!t and he will tease reader

IN WHERE: playing the 'current boyfriend' joke on dean

THIS ONE SHOT IS: fem!reader x dean huijsen

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

(i fucking love huijsen, tysm for the request)

w: dialogues in spanish (translation at the end of each one.

request open!

You had seen that TikTok trend where people called their boyfriends “my current boyfriend” just to see their reactions. Some were dramatic, others jealous, and some just downright funny. And you, of course, knew exactly how Dean Huijsen would react. He wasn’t the type to stay quiet when something bothered him. If anything, he’d spark up like a match. So you had it all planned.

You set your phone to record while he was lying on the couch next to you, snacking on candy and watching videos with a bored expression.

“Yo y mi novio actual…” you began, fishing for a reaction. (“Me and my current boyfriend…”)

Dean didn’t react immediately. He just lifted his gaze a little, still chewing on a gummy bear.

“…vamos a hacer este video de ‘qué harías si yo fuera una desconocida’,” you continued, smiling as you aimed the camera at yourself. (“…we’re gonna do the ‘what would you do if I were a stranger’ video.”)

At that moment, Dean turned his head to the right… then to the left… with a confused look, as if trying to locate the “current boyfriend” you were talking about. Then he locked eyes on you.

“¿Quién?” (“Who?”)

“¿Mhm?” you replied. (“Mhm?”)

Dean frowned.

“Que quién es tu novio actual.” (“I said, who is your current boyfriend?”)

“Dean, eres tú.” (“Dean, it’s you.”)

“¿Yo? Imposible. Novio actual… mmm, no sé,” he said, stroking his chin. (“Me? Impossible. Current boyfriend… hmm, I don’t know.”)

“Dean.” you said, glancing sideways at him. “Bueno, vamos a—” (“Dean. Okay, let’s—”)

“¡Epera, epera’!”, he interrupted. “Hola, eh… mi novia de ahora, que dentro de media hora no es mi novia… y yo, vamos a… ¿qué vamos a hacer?” (“Wait, wait! Hi, so… my girlfriend of right now, who won’t be my girlfriend in thirty minutes… and I are gonna… what are we gonna do again?”)

You looked at him and burst into immediate laughter.

“Dean, cállate ya.” (“Dean, shut up already.”)

“No, no, es que quiero saber pa’ organizarme, ¿vale? Porque si me vas a cambiar por tu ‘novio futuro’, mínimo dime si me toca lavar los platos antes de irme o si ya lo hace él.” (“No, no, I just need to plan myself, okay? If you’re replacing me with your ‘future boyfriend’, at least tell me if I still have to do the dishes or if he’s handling that.”)

“Eres imbécil.” (“You’re an idiot.”)

“Bueno… mi exnovia actual me va a sacar de mi propia casa,” he yelled, looking up at the ceiling. (“Well… my current ex-girlfriend is kicking me out of my own house.”)

“¡Dean, cállate!” you said between laughs, covering your face. (“Dean, shut up!”)

But he kept going, not letting you recover.

“Voy a empezar a tomar mis cosas.” (“I’m gonna start taking my things.”)

“TE VAS A CALLAR O NO.” (“ARE YOU GONNA SHUT UP OR NOT.”)

You threw the phone onto the couch, laughing uncontrollably, and he launched himself onto you, wrapping you up in a full-body hug, completely trapping you.

“Qué insoportable eres, joder. No puedo hacer una broma en paz.” (“You’re so annoying, seriously. I can’t even make one joke in peace.”)

#dean huijsen boyfriend headcanons #dean huijsen x you #dean huijsen imagine #dean huijsen x reader #dean huijsen #real madrid x reader #football x fem!reader #football x you #football x y/n #football x reader #imagine #x reader

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bloody-bee-tea · 2 days ago

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Summer of Doom 2025 Day 11 - What happens if I...?

This is a continuation of my ‘A home is more than just a house’ series and the series can be found here on AO3. This plays roughly a year or so after Erasermic found Hitoshi so he's eleven now.

Hitoshi wrings his hands in front of his body. He really needs to talk to someone but Shouta and Hizashi can't be it and he doesn't know how to ask them to call Aunt Nemuri.

Except that he does know—he just has to ask. They are not going to be mad or disappointed, Hitoshi learned that already. He learned to trust them like that and in all honesty, he is just stalling because he doesn't know what to say to Aunt Nemuri either.

But the question has been burning at the back of his head for days now and he's going insane if he doesn't talk to someone soon so he really has to do this.

Taking one fortifying breath Hitoshi steps out into the living-room and then, when neither Shouta nor Hizashi look up from what they are doing, he steps closer to Hizashi until he can tap his shoulder.

"Mh? What is it, kiddo?" Hizashi asks, finishing something on the PC and then turning towards Hitoshi.

Hitoshi feels so warm under that gaze that for a moment he forgets all about what he wanted to ask, but then the desire to call Hizashi something other than just his name burns inside of him and he scrambles to ask his question instead of blurting out something he's terrified of.

"I need to talk to Aunt Nemuri," Hitoshi says and he doesn't feel bad for it because Shouta and Hizashi have always told him that it's totally okay if he doesn't want to talk to them about something, he's always more than welcome to talk to whoever he feels most comfortable with.

And for this, that is Aunt Nemuri.

"Okay," Hizashi slowly says. "On the phone or—"

"In person," Hitoshi decidedly says because he doesn't think he could sort out his thoughts over phone.

"Now?"

"As soon as possible, please," he gives back because he knows Aunt Nemuri is busy most of the time and it would be rude to demand she drop her work or something but it really needs to be soon.

Or Hitoshi will simply burst out with it and he thinks that would be worse than anything.

"Sure," Hizashi gives back and gets out his phone, dialling a number without looking. "Hey Nem," he greets when she picks up. "The kiddo wants to talk to you. In person and at your earliest convenience."

There's an answer Hitoshi can't make out on the other end but then Hizashi's eyes narrow in suspicion and he glares off into the distance.

"I don't believe a word you say," Hizashi finally says. "You were about to crash our place, be honest."

He listens again before he lets out a sigh.

"You're no mind-reader and you cannot see the future, you hag," he fondly says and Hitoshi bounces on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, yeah, see you soon," Hizashi says and then hangs up before he reaches out to ruffle Hitoshi's hair. "Apparently she missed you and coincidentally is on her way here already. Without calling ahead. Shouta, we have to revoke key privileges."

"No chance in hell," Shouta drily replies, without even stopping to mark the test in front of him. "If we do, she'll either go crazy on the doorbell or she'll simply break in and we don't want either of that."

"Damn, you're right," Hizashi mutters and then glances at Hitoshi. "No swear words," he reminds him and Hitoshi giggles because it sure as hell wasn't him who used one right now.

"I know," he still says and then wrings his hands again. "She's on her way?"

"Yeah. You seem mighty nervous," Hizashi observes and it's not a question, not a demand to explain himself and yet Hitoshi freezes up for a moment before he remembers himself.

"I am but I'm not talking to you about that," he decidedly says because he can, because they allow that and Hizashi hums under his breath.

"Alright, kiddo, as long as no one is getting hurt."

"No one is getting hurt," Hitoshi dutifully says because he thinks the way his stomach twists with nerves hardly counts here.

"Fine, fine. You wanna stay here until she shows up?" he then offers and pats the place next to him on the couch.

Shouta looks over as well, no longer grading for a moment, and Hitoshi knows that he tends to hide himself away and overthink things, thinking no one ever notices but in this moment it's more than obvious that both Hizashi and Shouta do notice and even more clearly, they worry.

Hitoshi knows he's already worried them with saying that there is something he can't talk to them about and he doesn't want to make it worse, so he sits and then leans against Hizashi's side.

Shouta watches them for a moment longer before he goes back to his grading and Hizashi slings an arm around him before he goes back to his work at the PC and they sit like that until the front door opens.

"Hello, sprout, your favourite aunt is here!" Nemuri yells out and Hizashi rolls his eyes.

"You're his only aunt," he calls back and Nemuri makes a noise in the hallway before she sticks her head into the living-room.

"Eh, I see your overprotective guardians are here as well. Hello, I guess," she grumbles and Hitoshi grins at her before he untangles himself from Hizashi.

"Aunt Nemuri, I have to talk to you," he says and takes her hand to drag her off to his bedroom, suddenly anxious to give voice to his thoughts.

"Aww, sprout, I told you to call me Auntie Nem," Nemuri whines out but follows him without hesitation and soon enough they are hidden away in Hitoshi's room.

Hitoshi lets go of her hand, so he can wring his own in front of his body better because now that they are alone and it's time to say it, the words suddenly die in his throat.

"Sprout, are you okay?" Nemuri asks as she sits down on his bed and Hitoshi nods before he thinks better of it and simply shrugs. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I just—what happens if I—I really want to—" Hitoshi says, completely tripping over his own words and thoughts and wishes and Nemuri holds up her hands.

"Alright, stop. Take a deep breath, sprout, and then try again, okay?"

Hitoshi desperately sucks in a breath and then again and again until he feels more centered and Nemuri gives him an encouraging smile.

"There you go, that's better, huh? Now try again."

"I don't want to call them Hizashi and Shouta anymore," Hitoshi rushes out, desperate to get that out there instead of keeping it trapped inside of him for a moment longer and Nemuri blinks at him.

"What else would you call them?" Nemuri asks and Hitoshi throws his hands up in the air.

"No child calls their parents by their names!" he blurts out and then slaps a hand over his mouth when understanding dawns on Nemuri's face.

"Aww, sprout, that's so sweet!" She takes a moment to gather him up in a hug and then settles him on her lap, even though he's way too big for that by now but it’s not as if he’s going to just walk away now that he’s settled.

"What did you call your parents?" she then asks and Hitoshi is glad he's sitting like that because this way he doesn't have to look at her.

"I don't remember from before but—after I got my quirk it was all just mother and father," he mutters out and melts into her when she pats his side.

"Mh, while I do think it would be hilarious to see Shouta's face when you call him mother, I'd say those two options are out. What would you want to call them? You've thought about it, right?"

"Yeah," Hitoshi admits. "I'd call them papa and dad," he mumbles into her shirt and Nemuri squeezes him.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she softly tells him but Hitoshi's shakes his head because there are so many things that could go wrong, so many ways they could throw those words back at him and he didn't lose at least three nights of sleep over this to not tell her everything.

"It doesn't," he glumly says. "What if that is the thing that pushes them over the edge and—"

"They are not going to give you back, sprout," she interrupts him. "You do know that the adoption process is already way underway, right?"

"Yeah, but they are doing that for my benefit, because I'm so needy and insecure. What if me calling them that reminds them that they don't really want to adopt me?"

"It's not needy or insecure to need to know your place with them, and no offense, sprout, but this is really not only about you."

"What do you mean?" Hitoshi mutters because he can't see how it would be about anything else.

"I know it seems unlikely, especially with Shouta—lovable grump that he is—but they always wanted kids."

It does seem unlikely, Hitoshi thinks, especially considering that they don't already have one if they wanted one so bad and so Hitoshi looks up at her, his question surely on his face.

"Shouta doesn't really seem the type, I know, but as soon as he and Hizashi got together, that's changed. It was always their plan to have kids; they just never got around to it somehow."

"But with me they kind of have to now, don't they?" Hitoshi mutters because he knows this is his fault.

He is still unsure of their place with them—not about them, because he knows they love him, but he's terrified that one day CPS will come knocking at their door and take him away again.

And when they adopt him, CPS can no longer do that, which he said as much when they asked him about adoption, so now they kind of have to because he made them feel bad.

"Sprout, there is no legal reason for them to adopt you. I don't know if they ever properly explained but they have fostering rights over you and as long as nothing dramatic happens there is no reason for you to ever go back in the system. And by dramatic I mean one of them hitting you or you saying that you don't want to stay with them. They got their rights in a courtroom while utterly decimating your previous foster family and CPS and I promise you, no one is looking for a repeat of that. In all honesty they are using the legal adoption as an excuse to finally be able to call you their son."

Hitoshi stares up at her with wide eyes and so he gets a good look at how she rolls her eyes.

"Not that they aren't already doing that."

"What?" Hitoshi breathes out because this can't be, right?

They haven't ever called him their son where he can hear.

"They started really early with that, actually. To them, you have always been their son. The first time they told me about you they didn't call you 'the kid' or 'the child' or even just Hitoshi. They said 'our son is home now'. There was never any doubt that that's what you are. You are their son."

"They never called me that," Hitoshi mutters and he doesn't know why there's an ache inside of his chest all of a sudden but he thinks he would like it if they did call him that.

"I would guess they are scared of freaking you out, of coming on way too strong, way too soon. They come off as so mature and composed but let me tell you a little secret, sprout. They are just as scared of messing this up as you are."

"They are?"

"They are, I promise you. They are scared of doing too much or too little, of not making you feel welcome enough for you to want to stay or of completely overwhelming you."

Hitoshi can't help the tears that suddenly spill over because Hizashi and Shouta have done everything right.

"I want to stay with them forever," he gets out and Nemuri smiles kindly at him as she wipes his tears away.

"Then tell them that. And call them papa and dad, too, even though it doesn't matter what you call them."

"It doesn't?"

"No, sprout, it doesn't. I think they are both going to freak out when you do—and I mean that in a good way—and there will be tears, I can promise you that, but they don't need that. You told them you love them, right?"

"They told you about that?" Hitoshi mutters, suddenly embarrassed and so he ducks his head, but Nemuri isn't having it and makes him look at her again.

"They did. They were over the moon and they called me as soon as they could and told me. I know you think of them as all stoic and cool, especially Shouta, but I can assure you that there were tears involved, they were so happy. I think Hizashi got so excited that Shouta had to erase his quirk several times during that call. So they know you love them and that's all that matters."

"But I should tell them I want to stay," Hitoshi says with a frown and Nemuri sighs.

"These feelings are not rational, sprout. They know you love them. They still think they are not doing enough for you, or the wrong things. They know CPS placed you with them, but they don't know if that is still something you want. All of these emotions are confusing, not just for you. Here's a little secret," Nemuri whispers and leans in close. "Adults are just as overwhelmed by their emotions as children. They just learn to hide it better and maybe they can deal a little bitter with it in the long-run, but emotions are still as scary as they are when you're a child. You're in the same boat, I promise you that."

Hitoshi takes a moment to digest that because it seems completely ludicrous to him that Shouta and Hizashi could have similar worries to him, but Nemuri has always told him the truth.

"Okay, I'll tell them I want to stay with them."

"You do that."

"And—I can call them what I want? I don't have to call them papa and dad?"

"You can call them whatever feels right. If they don't end up liking what you call them, then they are going to tell you, I promise you. But there is no way they aren't going to love whatever you'll call them as long as you are comfortable."

"Okay," Hitoshi breathes out, suddenly feeling so much lighter than before but then a thought hits him.

Nemuri just said that adults learned to hide their emotions better and that thought really makes him panic.

"They are going to pretend that it doesn't mean much," he gets out, his hand tightly holding on to Nemuri. "I'm going to call them—that and they are going to pretend that it doesn't matter to them."

Nemuri hums but in the end she nods and Hitoshi's stomach sinks.

"Yeah, most likely. They are afraid of freaking you out if they freak out."

"But I—I think I might want them to freak out over this," Hitoshi slowly says and then nods when it feels right. "Yeah. So I know that it's okay."

"You want me to tell them that, sprout?"

"I mean—I don't want to raise expectations because I still don't know if I can do it or even when, but—could you? I think if they freak out it might make it feel more real. As if they want it, too."

"I promise you, they want it. But no problems, I'll tell them. Anything else you want to talk about?"

"No. Thank you, Auntie Nem," Hitoshi says, watching her closely for her reaction and for a second he feels bad when he spots tears in her eyes but then she hugs him close and lets out a watery laugh.

"I'm freaking out about this, too, just so you know," she tells him and Hitoshi laughs.

"So I'm doing it right," he then says and Nemuri laughs, too.

"You really are. Thanks, sprout."

Hitoshi wants to squirm, because he doesn't think this warrants any thanks on her part, but maybe this whole name calling thing goes in all directions and it means a lot to her, too.

It's always somehow been easy to call her Aunt Nemuri, but Auntie Nem is something Hitoshi never dared to say before, feeling as if he's overstepping on several accounts but clearly he was wrong about that.

He hugs her really tight for a moment and then gets off her lap, hoping she'll take the hint, too, because he's almost vibrating with nervous energy now and it will only dissipate when she tells them to freak out for this.

Without actually telling them what it is, he hopes, but before he can asks, Nemuri ruffles his hair again and then marches back into the living-room.

"Alright, boys listen up!" She says and claps her hands together as she fully steps into the room.

Hitoshi is peeking out from his door, unwilling to follow after her, because he can hear them just fine and he doesn't quite feel ready for the looks he's probably going to get, yet, so right here is just fine.

"Oh no, is it something bad?" Hizashi immediately asks and Hitoshi almost feels bad for staying hidden like this, for making them worry like this, but he trusts Nemuri.

"No. It's just—something big is going to happen eventually, something meaningful and you'll want to freak out over it but you'll try your best to act as if nothing happened and as if everything is normal but I'm telling you right now: that's not what the sprout wants. He wants you to freak out and treat it as the big thing it is because he's scared he's overstepping and he needs that reassurance from you."

"How big of a thing are we talking here?" Shouta asks and Hitoshi can just picture him leaning forward, giving Nemuri his full attention.

It makes him feel warm inside, to know he knows them enough to know these things about them.

"In the grand scheme of things? Tiny. In the emotional impact sense? Absolutely huge."

"Is it going to be a good freak out?" Hizashi asks, his voice full of doubt and worry and Hitoshi hears Nemuri pat his cheek.

"Yes. It's going to be the best possible freak out. And as soon as you are done crying about it and there's no more quirk use in this house, I want you to call me and tell me that I'm the best aunt ever."

"We're not going to cry," Shouta says, the frown so very obvious in his voice and Hitoshi ducks his head because what if they are not even going to freak out like he imagined?

What if it really doesn't mean anything to them?

"Oh, you are so totally going to cry and it will be good and fine and exactly what the sprout needs," Nemuri says and there is absolutely no doubt in her voice, so Hitoshi forces himself to relax.

If she says they are going to cry over this then they will, Hitoshi has to trust that.

"Now, don't haunt him over this, it might still take a little while or even a long while, just remember that when something happens that will make you want to cry, just do. That's all. Oh no, before I forget," she adds and then her voice goes so quiet that Hitoshi can no longer hear her.

"Okay," Shouta finally says and then in a flurry of goodbyes Nemuri is gone before Hitoshi even knows what's going on.

He debates staying in his room for a while longer, but he finds that he wants to be out with them right now, so he ventures into the living-room on silent feet.

Hizashi and Shouta seem to be deep in thought, both curled up on the couch and Hitoshi hesitates in the doorway, suddenly unsure of his welcome.

"Hey, kiddo," Hizashi breathes out when he spots him and Shouta immediately makes space for him.

"Care to join us?" he asks, the offer more than clear and Hitoshi scrambles over to sit down between them.

"Everything alright?" Hizashi asks as Shouta closes the space between them and with Hitoshi safely caged in on both sides, by the people he wants to call his parents, there is only one possible answer.

"Yes."

#bt writes #bnha #mha #june of doom 2025 #summer of doom 2025 #shinsou hitoshi #kayama nemuri #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #married erasermic #kayama is a good aunt #fluff #hurt/comfort #insecurity #overthinking

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lilacxquartz · 3 hours ago

Text

THE LIFE YOU LIVED;

kenjaku x future vessel f!reader

plot: being the daughter of an important public figure, you were already used to unwanted attention. however, nothing could have prepared you for this.

summary: after the wedding, came the honeymoon and a certain promised end — content warning: death

part 7 of 7 • previous chapter • chapter directory • masterlist • on ao3

Chapter 7. Goodbye

After that incident, you didn’t dare try to run again, and true to his word, Kenjaku—the man who now wore your husband’s face—at the very least carried out his promise to tend to your leg.

For the most part, however, you were simply just reeling. You had no idea still how he functioned and yet, he managed to infiltrate your life so utterly.

It was surely strange though because of how gentle he was for most of the nights, but in a way that almost seemed obsessive. He would make and bring you tea, massage your shoulders and have you close by, but you never allowed yourself to fully relax around him. Not after what had happened before, anyway.

And come the time of the wedding, it passed by as a blur to you. You had no idea what to expect of what lay ahead. You were saying ‘I do’ and making such intricate promises to someone who you knew even less than the phony husband-to-be.

Beyond that stretch, he infiltrated quite well. You weren’t even going to deny it anymore. His initial execution might have been sloppy, but whoever or whatever this thing was, adapted quite effortlessly to the role he stole. You were fed on the surface, pampered and visibly pined for in public. Magazines and tabloids covered this favourably and the speculation seemed to run that your distant fiancé avoided media attention to the same extent that he did before due to early shyness. You questioned how the rest of the nation didn’t see that this was a completely different man, but then again, nobody else saw what you did.

Then came the prospect of the honeymoon, and something shifted. It was as if your already fake husband who once refined his personality to be so sickeningly sweet, curdled from the moment he whisked you away. It was as if he had tasted something sour, and kept to it.

You weren’t to know of his strange operations though, even if he knew that you had an idea of what he wanted from you. You likely knew that he was steeling himself for the grim fate, needing to steal your life for his personal gain even if you weren’t sure for what purpose. Your life had some good connections attached to it, that’s all you knew but you didn’t want to press it more than you had to.

The fact that he didn’t want to do this though, quite enjoying his time with you, was what made him act erratic. He didn’t want to get rid of your life so easily. He didn’t want to dampen what was fun for him, even if you only merely reluctantly went along with it. Time could have healed those wounds and brought him back to the sass he fell for, but it all couldn’t be.

Presenting indifference to the cameras played an important part, though. He was going to stage cold feet, so he had to look the part. You’d come back alone and maybe act different too, but that would act as the perfect cover.

Though, you weren’t stupid either. You could just tell something dreadful loomed over the horizon. It was the way he sweet-talked you into it despite the way he acted with you in public, the way that his words had venom despite being laced with something supposedly healing.

“This trip will be good for the both of us,” he claimed, leaving something unresolved in his promise. You were used to the vocal mannerisms by now, and how he spoke as if he still had something to hide.

“But I don’t want to go,” you protested instead, though it was a weak attempt. Your voice sounded so tired.

Kenjaku continued all the while, trying to be adamant about needing to dress lightly because the place he’s taking you to is warm, but also to, of course, take what you’re comfortable in. He ignored the attempts of you pleading to stay. Acquisition of your body could happen at home when you were tired too, but he knew how much you hated the walls around you. If he did care about you even a little, then it made sense for your send-off to be a good one in a place you didn’t hate.

“I just think it’s best if we stay here,” you said again, crossing your arms as you sat in bed. Somehow watching him close the suitcase and zip it up felt like he was closing up a casket. That was probably it. You knew what was approaching and you hoped somehow by staying, you could put it off for a bit longer.

If your life, after all, couldn’t be your own then your death could be yours. For even that to be taken away from you felt devastating, if not somehow dehumanising.

Kenjaku sighed all the while. He kept his voice soft and patient, but it was clear that your lack of cooperation was beginning to test him a little, “Don’t you think you deserve a holiday after everything else you’ve been through? Forget about me for a second.”

You shrugged. “Sure, but on my own terms. You’re not exactly willing to send me off somewhere without you, are you?”

His lips twitched in a smile he had to hold back. He didn’t quite know what to make of this little dance. His future victims weren’t always so aware and this particular detail managed to unsettle even him. “Perhaps not,” he mused, “but I can still offer you a nice time. I don’t have to be involved in it other than keeping an eye on you.”

You sighed at the prospect. You understood what this whole back and forth was but you still hated it. A part of you knew it would happen one way or another, because what other reason did he have for needing you? You didn’t understand the world around you, sure, but even you could put the pieces together and come to the conclusion that this would be the end soon.

Somehow you kept thinking that if you kept refusing to go, then it wouldn’t happen but you already knew the truth. The flight was tomorrow, and the tickets were already booked. He was just humouring you at this point and that hurt more than anything else.

“Why not do it now then?” you asked.

This gave Kenjaku pause. True, he was doing a lot to give you this, more than he usually would with a potential vessel. No matter how selfless he would claim his whole reasoning was, though, it was the opposite in the end. Hosts could hold onto significant memories and he didn’t want the majority of yours to be remembering him in a horrible light, his ego wouldn’t like that. However, if he could give you one last pleasant memory for him to look back onto, then that felt better.

“Because I want to at least give you something pleasant before it has to happen,” he replied, no longer keeping the prospect of your death a secret. He knew. You knew. You were both grimly aware. “Just one perfect memory.”

“But why?” you demanded. “So you can justify killing me?”

He tilted his head. “Not at all, I don’t usually care for anyone I take over, but I suppose that’s the thing. I found myself fond of you, at least initially, but I won’t blame the situation you’re in and have been in before for subduing you into… this,” he replied, keeping his word choice mindful. “I could do it right now and take one pawn off the board, sure,” he considered, “but I don’t want to.”

You could only scoff at his reasoning, but you seemed to give in. You weren’t about to accept it now and he knew that. “Fine, whatever.”

Kenjaku had a certain thought flash through his mind. You were being hostile, but your words still had less venom. You argued back against his words with the same spite that you did on the rooftop, but your tone always changed when you had to look at your former husband physically.

“Was I at least better than him?” he probed, not needing, but wanting to know.

You gulped at that and turned your nose away, but didn’t deny it. “Anyone’s better than him.”

That wasn’t the answer that Kenjaku wanted, though. He pressed again, sounding a little more irritated than before. “Tell the truth,” he requested, or rather demanded, his tone remaining firm.

A long silence stretched but then you eventually gave out with a long deep sigh. “…Yes.”

Kenjaku smiled at that, albeit almost somberly. He got the answer he wanted, but it didn’t make him feel any better, causing his lips to anchor almost immediately. He gulped too. “Then you’ll agree,” he added bitterly, “that this’ll be a good trip because I know how to take care of you. Better than he ever did.”

“But…” you caught him, still unable to quite accept the whole matter, “is it really a trip if I’m not coming home after?”

He paused as he considered a reply but the silence stretched for so long that it had time to settle, so he left that question unanswered. Whether or not he had been vocal, that was about as much as you were expecting. You thought that maybe he would say that it would be a good time so it would be something to look forward to and enjoy but the silence was a little more telling than just that.

It was a trip that you would be coming back home from, sure, but it wouldn’t be you at the same time.

If you were understanding his technique properly, that was.

You fell back onto the bed and curled in on your side. “I don’t know why I’m letting you do this,” you murmured, complaining as if you still had a choice.

Kenjaku closed the distance between you, settling into the bed with you. A soft hum escaped his lips as he couldn’t resist by pulling you into his body, knowing that you had very little fight left over. He wouldn’t go beyond that, of course, because it felt different to hurt someone he genuinely liked. “Fighting back against me wouldn’t be out of place for you,” he encouraged, talking into the back of your neck, holding you a little tighter as he felt you flinch. “Why not try?”

You tried to move away but felt too tired to do so. “And what? Give you entertainment? I don’t want to indulge you for longer than I have to…”

He didn’t reply again, but he held you a little tighter. You were exhausted and he could tell, so he simply just stayed with you until you fell asleep, listening to your soft breathing as he lay with you in uncomfortable silence before giving out to another sigh.

It was difficult, for certain, because he didn’t like this either.

~~~

Come the arrival onto the island, it still felt all too stiff to settle into. The weather was warm and the life on it was vibrant, unlike anything that you were used to back home where everything in between felt so strained but it felt surreal in the worst possible way.

You also noticed that he didn’t try to stop you when you eventually got over feeling sorry for yourself and when you ventured into the nightlife that the island offered. He always watched from a safe distance so that you didn’t get into trouble though, something you were sure of because you could feel a distantly looming presence.

You'd drink and dance for much longer than you could handle for the first week and would stumble, sometimes crawling back to the hotel room on unsteady feet. Certain strange memories rooted in your mind as you became used to his fingers grasping at your hair, pulling your head back as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

After a while, you didn’t seem too interested in drinking anymore, though. Partying endlessly didn’t have any weight to it if it was happening all of the time. You realised it especially when the air felt thicker than usual, and when you didn’t look forward to seeing the same faces blur into the crowd again and again.

For the time being, all you craved was stability.

Or something gentler.

You snuck out of the club one night after leading him there, trying to purposefully be deceptive. You crept into a crowd that would be hard to keep an eye on and then left through one of the many emergency exits to the side of the club. You were lucky that they didn’t blare any alarm, but you supposed that enough people went through such doors on accident that it wouldn’t be an issue.

You found yourself stumbling towards the beach instead, still lit up from the invasive glow of the resort that it belonged to. It was raining, but only just a little bit. It was enough to make the waves crash a little louder, but not enough to drench you.

As a result, you sat over the sand. For a moment you closed your eyes, just thinking about your sorry life.

Everything for once was peaceful, but then you stiffened, turning your head to the side as you realised the presence of someone you’ve come to not quite despise, but resent, perhaps.

You were about to tell him to leave, but then you felt the fight in you dim once more. Something about the situation, the weather, the place and who you were with made you feel almost wistful. You didn’t feel so afraid suddenly, which made you gulp. You were too partied out, too relaxed, too much of everything.

The least you could do was bother him with a nonsensical ramble. You mostly just wanted to talk, because nobody else in your life would genuinely listen. If he claimed to care, then he would, right?

“I used to have dreams, you know,” you started softly. “It wasn’t like I chose to be born into this life. I wanted to travel and learn more about the world and I don’t know, just in general, be free?”

Kenjaku didn’t say anything, sensing a bitter opportunity arise. He knew. You knew. You both just let the finality of it simmer before it had to settle.

“I guess I sound so spoiled though,” you laughed, “so I can’t complain too much. I mean, my family was loaded, so I went to the best schools and had the best toys – all I had to do was put on a big smile and pretend that we were all a happy family. But, I dunno. Something about our family dinners being more so about discussing financial strategy just felt… vacant. I didn’t want to know what trade deals were at twelve. I wanted to have a normal childhood.”

You sighed deeply again and then looked up to the gloomy clouds. “Do you think there’s anything out there… anything beyond just… death?”

He took a deep breath before trying to answer you. “It’s difficult to say,” he began, “sometimes fragments of the living get left behind.”

“…Like ghosts?” you asked, failing to pick up on his hint about cursed spirits.

He shook his head, realising that he shouldn’t make you overthink things right now. “Not exactly,” he said, “but the concept of death and what lies past it is still too broad of a subject to understand completely.”

You frowned at that, not quite accepting the answer. “So I’m just going to disappear?”

He didn’t deny the matter, keeping his tone as level as he could. “Yes and no,” he tried to disclose carefully in words that a non-sorcerer such as yourself might better understand, “bodies carry memories that aren’t just tied to the mind. When I take… someone over… parts of who they were can sometimes follow. The personality is the main part since I tend to be better or worse depending on whose face I'm wearing.”

You didn’t quite accept this as an answer, choosing to lean back slightly to look at the overcast sky.

“I hate this,” you muttered to yourself before letting out a long exhale, “but that’s okay, it’s not like I have felt alive beyond the age of sixteen anyway. It’s all been a painful blur from then til now…”

You trailed off and the rain softened as if the world was listening in too, until eventually you just relaxed, being able to talk about whatever you wanted without interruption. That was the golden opportunity for Kenjaku to strike, even if he felt weird about how this was all going. He struggled to will his body into moving subtly behind yours and it took him a lot of effort to even put his hands around your neck. You continued to speak all the while even as you felt it happen, which made it all the more difficult.

Acting quickly, he twisted your neck, leaving behind no more than a muffled gasp.

Your body quickly fell to the side, tanking into the sand like you were merely just exhausted and falling asleep. He didn’t move to catch you, instead just staring at your limp corpse with an unreadable expression. He couldn’t bring himself to move, clenching his jaw as he finally took his eyes off of you, looking up to try and will away the painful feeling he was experiencing.

This was why he didn’t like to meddle too much.

Even if he had done this about a thousand times before, something about this being your end opened up about a handful of other older wounds. Memories lost to time about the other people he had come to know and care about that he had to bitterly say goodbye to because of a plan that he was determined to see through.

He hadn’t felt this bad for centuries.

And as soon as he could move again, he scooped you up very carefully and carried you back to the hotel as if you were just asleep. He settled you over the bed and then let go of you, taking a seat right beside your body, staring at your face in stiff silence.

Sooner or later, while you were still fresh, he would need to start the transfer, but he couldn’t bring himself to take you over just yet. He simply just watched you instead as the minutes ticked by, unsure how to feel beyond just simply fucking awful.

Eventually, though, he did make the transfer. It was a grim process, since you weren’t just another body he was cutting into, but someone he genuinely found himself… not minding? That wasn’t the hardest part though, maybe settling into you was.

He used his remaining technique, although weak, to heal through the damage of the splintered bone and broken neck, eventually assimilating into your body.

Usually, he would look into the mirror to finalise the process, but upon doing so in your body, a terrible sickness overcame their senses. There she was—as you—looking back with the eyes that didn’t belong.

For the first time in maybe centuries indeed, an old, unfamiliar yet not entirely strange feeling surfaced.

Was it regret?

Remorse?

Or worse yet, was this…

Heartbreak?

(Did he end up killing someone he genuinely loved?)

this has been part 5 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

a/n: kind of an open sad ending, idk how it reads from a reader only viewpoint but i mostly just wanted to to be dread inducing 😭

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