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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

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A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could - you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him. “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

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jaegckerman · 3 years

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Notes in Constellations

~ This fic was inspired by the song of the same name by Chiodos ~ Description: Eren wasn't as oblivious as everyone thought - Mikasa's feelings for him were perfectly clear to him. However, it seemed that everyone around him was very oblivious to how he felt about his best friend... even if he could never let her know. Set in canonverse, leading to a slightly different way more smutty version of Chapter 123, but don't expect a happy ending. Tagging: @kirsteiiins because she's awesome. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.6K CW: : Smut, I guess?; Angst; Mentions of death and violence; Manga spoilers! Link to AO3

I see her smile in her sleep I know that she's a dreamer I follow every move she makes

If you asked anyone in the Survey Corps, and even before that in the Scouts Regiment, everyone would have told you that Mikasa Ackerman was hopelessly in love with Eren Jaeger… which was too bad, since the boy seemed to have nothing but killing titans on his mind. He was constantly barking at her, taking her kindness for Mikasa simply being annoyingly overbearing, and didn’t shy away from snapping at her for it. Eventually, Armin tentatively came up to him one night and suggested he have a conversation with the girl to let her know that her affections were misplaced. Gently, Armin emphasized, knowing how much it would hurt her and how tactless his best friend tended to be. It made Eren blush furiously; he did run hotter than a normal human being due to his Titan powers, but he could have sworn his whole head was on fire. He was just glad that it was dark outside and his best friend’s keen eye couldn’t make out the color of his cheeks as Eren just hummed noncommittally during Armin’s speech, then scoffed at his words. He stammered something about how Mikasa only saw him as a brother, and changed the subject, with no intention of adhering to the blonde’s advice in any way, shape or form. Neither of them was sure who he was trying to convince.

I know that this is the last thing on your mind, Eren, but what you’re doing is unkind to her and Mikasa deserves better, Eren recalled Armin’s voice as he watched the girl in question, holding back a smile. Levi’s squad was traveling from Trost to the port, and with the railway still a few months away from being completed, they had to go by horse and camp out for the night in a cabin that belonged to Flegel Reeves. They were currently setting the table for dinner, and she was humming absentmindedly before she abruptly stopped and scurried off to the other side of the room… only to return with a bundle of flowers she had picked off the side of the forest path they had traversed early that morning – she was probably the only human on Earth who wasn’t scared of angering Levi; she just hopped off her horse, crouched down, and started plucking flowers from the ground while he snarked at her to stop “farting around” and get going, and Eren had to suppress a chuckle at the scene. He had almost forgotten about his own task of hunting down enough plates and mugs for the entire squad until she looked up at him, probably because she felt him staring. He hurriedly averted his eyes and turned his body back towards the stupidly high cabinet to hide his blush, stretching as he felt around the wooden boards and grabbing what felt like ceramic. With a triumphant little “hah!”, he pulled down a stack of plates and turned around only to find Mikasa watching him; he wondered for a second if he should maybe listen to Armin after all. She quickly shifted her own gaze, her usual stoic mask on, but he had still caught the look on her face just before that, and it was nothing short of… Adoring didn’t do it justice, but his vocabulary was limited when it came to matters of the heart. He suddenly realized just how domestic the scene was, and what that must be doing to her. While she may be as skilled as a hundred soldiers, and damn good at pretty much anything she did, he knew this was a piece of the kind of life she craved the most. Maybe he really was being a selfish, unkind monster in more ways than one.

Because as observant as they were when it came to Mikasa’s feelings for him, what Levi’s Squad never seemed to notice was the way his own heartbeat would pick up whenever she entered the room. They never noticed how his face flushed when her hands brushed his whenever she took pails of water or wooden boards or whatever else he carried from him to alleviate his burden in any way she could. They had no idea that he snapped at her, not because he was annoyed or still jealous of her abilities, but out of concern, since she was always so busy taking care of him and everyone else, she never took proper care of herself. None of them ever seemed to catch his longing stares and, thankfully, no one ever caught him in the dead of night, when his mind was consumed with the fantasies the sight of Mikasa provoked, and he convinced himself it was her hand or her tongue stroking his aching length.

Eren had taken over watch duties with Armin while she fell asleep next to the fire they had built, her need to be close to him overwhelming even her desire for a comfortable resting place. When she didn’t follow Sasha to the cabin and instead shut her eyes right where she was sitting, she had said she wanted to stay because she was cold and didn’t want to leave the heat of the flames. Of course, she never said it was because she wanted to stay with him, because she knew that he would inevitably argue with her, but Eren knew and decided to stay silent. He was so painfully aware that he would not have many more opportunities to see her look peaceful as he snuck glances at her sleeping form while Armin babbled on about something Onyankopon had told him about his home country’s landscape – he didn’t register a word his best friend was saying, and he felt bad, because he was sure it was as interesting and smart as anything Armin has ever said. However, all he could think about was how Mikasa’s sleeping position looked uncomfortable, so he bundled up his coat and made a makeshift bed on the ground for her. She squirmed and her eyes fluttered open for a second when he tried to lay her down gently, but she quickly fell back asleep, with a small smile on her face.

And no one knew just how much his heart ached at the sight, wishing he could give her everything she had always dreamed of, could always give her comfort, and peace and stability and, most importantly, all the love that was threatening to make his heart burst out of his chest. No one knew that he never openly and decisively rejected her, not because he really didn’t believe that she loved him like that, as he always argued when confronted, but because he could not bear the thought of her looking at another man the way she looked at him. He could not, for the life of him, reconcile with the idea that Mikasa, his Mikasa, would shed the mask and be soft and loving and devoted to someone else.

Well, when he turned to look back at Armin, his best friend gave him a smug smile, and maybe one person did know. But still, Armin had no idea how right he had been about Eren being unkind and undeserving… and yet, he couldn’t find it within himself to forgo his selfish desires completely. Not yet.

It's been a long, long night Say you're mine, say you're mine Can I keep you tonight?

He had no idea what had gotten into him. He had never planned on doing this – well, to be fair, he had definitely thought about it, or more like fantasized about how she would tell him that she wanted him, how he would crash his lips against hers, what they would taste like, what she would feel like in his arms, pressed against him…

But he had never planned on the words actually leaving his lips, hoping for an answer that would allow him to cross that line and leave everything behind once and for all. He was so, so tired already, and the fight hadn’t even started yet. And then Mikasa had come to him with her ice cream cone, her eyes shining like they used to when they would play-pretend being Armin’s mom and dad when they were children, and he had tasted the sweet treat that had just been in her mouth, and she had looked so lovely and soft and relaxed for once and… he knew, he could not leave her behind without exploring the possibility, without making completely sure whether his fantasies could actually become reality or not. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he would have the resolve to do what needed to be done with no regrets.

So when she came to find him, crying at the knowledge of what he had to do as he stared at the low light emitting from the refugee camp, knowledge that had been plaguing him for three years, feeling weak and exhausted beyond words, he couldn’t stop the awkward question from tumbling from his lips.

“What am I to you?”

As she blushed and her grey eyes started to shimmer despite the lack of light, he wondered if his own betrayed how much he wanted her to say he was… her everything, her most beloved, wanted her to ask him to follow her to the ends of the world, just the two of them. That she was his, and his alone. And in turn, he would take her hand and lead her away, away from all the war and death and show her that he had always been hers.

We dance around just like constellations You keep my body warm And we dance around just like constellations You're keeping me awake at night You make my body warm

Eren had known earlier that, had they not been interrupted, Mikasa might have elaborated on her answer. She might even have corrected herself, retracted the dreaded f-word that had left her lips, might have told him what he wanted to hear. Maybe she would have added that by “family”, she meant the type of family that husbands and wives made up. Or maybe he would have found the guts and the selfishness to fess up in spite of her answer. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be, and it seemed the path he was on was truly the only one available to him.

He would take what he could get before he began the hardest and last journey of his life, though. He indulged in one last night of fun with his friends and the refugees… The kindest strangers he had ever met, willingly sharing their limited supplies with them, and he knew he would crush them under his feet in just a few months. Thankfully, the liquor they were served helped a great deal in repressing that knowledge, at least for tonight.

And when his teal eyes blinked open sluggishly as he awoke from his drunken slumber, he indulged in the warm feeling of Mikasa pressed close to him. Her alcohol-addled breath came out in hot and steady puffs as it fanned across his cheek. When he turned his face to look at her, her lips were so close to his, and he had to close his eyes and swallow hard at the pain that the sight instilled in his racing heart. He clenched his fists against the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes once again, and an unbidden hiccup spilled from his lips, startling the black-haired beauty beside him awake. Silently, he cursed the lightness of her sleep before he twisted his head away from her.

“Eren…?” she murmured, her hand leaving his lapel to rub at her sleep-crusted eyes. “Are you okay?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep, Mikasa…” he murmured, surprised and perturbed at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“We should go back to our beds. This isn’t good for your back.”

Her warmth from beside him disappeared as she gracefully stood up. He took a deep breath, willing the tears away, and took her outstretched hand to help him to his feet. The moment their hands touched, he felt something like an electric current pass through him, and by the quiet gasp she emitted, he was sure she must have felt it too. He looked down at her face, his eyes boring into hers, feeling and conveying an intensity of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in since that fateful medal ceremony. Mikasa simply stared back, the silence between them growing heavier, until he broke it with a soft, “c’mon, then,” and led her outside, never letting go of her hand.

And I fall for her, like snow from the sky Gracefully I land in her arms

They arrived in front of the room Kiyomi had organized for Mikasa. They all had plush, comfortable beds, but when she opened the door and turned on the electric lights, he saw the woman had decided to splurge on Mikasa specifically. Her bed was twice as big as his, and the décor looked both cozy and pricey, not almost bare like his room.

“Eren… would you come in for a second?” She looked down at the floor when she asked the question, shuffling her feet nervously. They still hadn’t let go of each other. Ignoring his, once again, racing heartbeat, he nodded and pulled her inside with him. They both sat on the bed and finally disentangled their hands.

“Eren, I’ve noticed, uhm…” She was nervous, and Eren really couldn’t blame her. He had never been the most pleasant person to have serious conversations with, and judging by her behavior, this was definitely going to be a serious conversation. He mentally steeled himself for all the lies he would probably have to tell her.

“What, Mikasa?” His tone was supposed to be harsh, but it came out soft, almost alluring, and seemed to encourage her to continue.

“I’ve noticed how… depressed you’ve been all day. And then, you asked me those questions and… are you sure you’re okay?”

Inhale slowly. Exhale even more slowly. Dig your nails into your palms until you bleed. Hurt yourself, just don’t hurt her, he reminded himself, because really, all he wanted to do was curl up in her lap and cry about how much he just wanted to stop existing, to find a way to escape all the pressure. He wanted to wail and scream about how unfair everything was. Instead, what he said was, “Of course I’m okay, Mikasa.”

He had never been good at repressing his emotions, but over the last three years, he had learned a lot.

“Why did you ask me those questions, though? It was so… unlike you.” She had started fiddling with her fingers, and he could see her cheeks had turned red again. He didn’t answer as he studied her delicate features, because he had no good one; he thought – hoped, really – the interruption would have been it, and she would pretend it never happened.

Suddenly, she turned her head to look him straight in the eyes, and despite the blush still staining her face, determination shone in those onyx irises. “Were you hoping for a different answer? Because I think you know –“

He hushed her with his lips before she could say anything else. He had no idea what came over him, but with the electric current running down his spine once more, with the gasp she emitted, the way she grasped at his shoulders and with how his hands automatically found the sides of her face, tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, taste her sweetness even more intensely, he couldn’t regret it or overthink it.

Just one more piece of heaven before he had to throw himself into hell. Was that too much to ask?

Mikasa suddenly pulled away, her lips swollen and eyes glazed over. “Eren, what – why – I…”

He put a finger to her mouth. “Just for tonight… can’t we just… be?” His eyes were the clearest green, with specks of blue intermingling, a glimmer of hope he thought he had lost forever reflected in them. Mikasa herself studied him with that special look reserved just for him, making his chest swell, and nodded.

So when he leaned in to kiss her once more, they silently decided talking could wait for the next day. Her hands wandered to his hair, longer than she had ever seen it, and pulled a little. A gasp escaped Eren’s lips and she took the opportunity to slide their tongues together, both of them moaning at the sensation. His fingers flew down to her waist to pull her closer as heat began to pool in his abdomen.

Their tongues danced as they fought for dominance, Mikasa’s intoxicating taste overwhelming Eren’s senses. Her hands wandered down from where they were still entangled in his hair to grapple at the buttons of his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders and throwing it… somewhere, neither of them cared. She caressed up and down his back, feeling the muscle ripple below the fabric of his thin shirt. Eren pulled Mikasa’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it lightly, and when a moan wandered from her mouth into his, another spark ran down his spine. He felt himself growing stiffer by the second, and without even thinking about it, he started playing with the buttons on Mikasa’s soft pink shirt, slowly working his way up as he opened them to reveal more of her skin.

“Eren…” she whispered against his mouth, causing him to pull back. Please don’t reject me now, he prayed silently, I need you so much, although what came out of his mouth was, “sorry, I never – is this okay? We can stop anytime…”

Her grey eyes were hooded, and she was almost on top of him, with how much closer he had pulled her, and she was a beautiful sight to behold, her upper body only clad in the pink shirt that had caught at her elbows and her bra, her chest heaving and her skin already flushed. She shook her head. “No, I…”

Suddenly, she was straddling his waist and pushed him down on the bed, shrugging out of her shirt and letting it fall to the floor behind them. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…” She took his hand, which he only now noticed was trembling, and ran it up her defined abs to her covered breast. Her voice was breathy, but her tone determined, when she continued. “Take me.”

Something inside of Eren snapped. With a growl, he pulled her down on top of him and, arms wrapped tightly around her, flipped them over so he was pressing her into the mattress with his entire weight. Their mouths clashed together, all initial insecurity replaced with hunger as they bit and sucked at each other’s lips, licked into each other’s mouths, exploring every millimeter they could reach. Eren’s clothed hips rutted against hers, and the only coherent thought in his mind was more, he needed more.His lips traveled to her neck, and he bit down experimentally, relishing in the moan Mikasa gifted him with.

“Do that again,” she whined, and he was happy to oblige, suckling and biting and eliciting the same response a few more times. He was painfully hard by now, and he moved on instinct when he made his way down her torso, continuing his ministrations. He pulled one of her breasts out of the confines of her bra, and licked over the pebbled, pink nipple.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her back lifting at the new sensation.

“Oh, you like that?” Eren grinned against her sternum as he made his way over to the other side, but her hand against his head stopped him.

“Wait-“ She forced him back on his knees as she sat up and reached behind her back. Eren was confused for a moment, until she pulled her arms free of the bra straps and let the garment join her shirt and his jacket. He was so busy staring at her beautiful chest, wondering if he should resist or succumb to the urge to bury his face in it, he barely registered when she murmured, “You too,” copying his movements from earlier as she unbuttoned his shirt, although she was doing it considerably faster than him. She stared at his newly exposed skin just as unabashedly as he had been looking at her, an expression of pure want etched onto her face.

The sight made Eren unfreeze from his position, pushing Mikasa to lay back down and letting his fingers graze over the soft mounds, not wasting a lot of time before he let his mouth join in. He squeezed and licked and sucked, alternating between each tit and catching the hard nubs between his teeth. He did his best to ignore the way his cock was throbbing, to ignore how badly he just wanted to bury and lose himself inside the gorgeous woman beneath him, how much he wanted to know which sounds of pleasure he could coax from her beautiful, moaning mouth when she was filled with him. Because more than that, he wanted her to enjoy herself. He couldn’t help feeling that, if he could just watch and listen to her come undone, he wouldn’t mind if he never found his own release.

With that thought, he trekked further south, the tip of his tongue tracing the dip in her abs until he reached the waistband of her skirt. He looked up at her for any sign she was uncomfortable after all, but all she did was smile and nod once more. “I said take me, and I meant it,” she panted, and without further ado, Eren pulled down both her skirt and underwear in one swift motion. He kept his eyes on her face, lest he lose all composure, as he rid himself of his own pants and boxers so there would be no more interruptions, no more barriers to overcome. Only then did he allow his eyes to wander.

The sight of strong, collected Mikasa laid bare in front of him did something to him. It wasn’t even just the way she took in his own naked body with so much desire, pupils dilating when they reached his throbbing length like she was starving for him – the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever seen her this vulnerable, the only one she trusted so much she would give herself over to him without a second thought, made him feel like he was on top of the world. It made his eyes sting, and his own appetite reached new heights. He found himself salivating as he pulled her legs over his shoulders and his head dived down to bury his face in the crease of her inner thigh. He peppered kisses up and down and back up before he became overwhelmed with holding back and let the flat of his tongue run up her slit. Her thighs tensed and she cried out, hands flying into his hair much like earlier, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep going. He licked back down, to where she was dripping, and hardened the tip of his tongue to thrust it inside, pushing and licking in and out of her, relishing in her taste. Mikasa pulled on his hair as another whine left her lips, and he couldn’t hold back the groan escaping his own throat. His cock was literally aching for some friction, but he was sure he wouldn’t last once he was inside her if he touched himself now, so he ignored the urge to stroke himself. Instead, he moved his lips and tongue up a little to lick and suck on the little bundle of nerves above her entrance and let his fingers join in, circling her before he pushed one in slowly. It slipped in easily, her wet heat wrapped around the digit, and his length twitched between his legs, begging to replace it.

“Eren…!” she gasped, her hips starting to move in time with his finger and tongue. “More, please…”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he teased breathlessly and added another finger, thrusting them in and out of her while he continued to lick and periodically suck on her clit. Her sweet smell and taste and the way she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders, her legs clenching around him, was slowly chipping away at any semblance of self-control he was hoping to maintain.

“I’m – ah – not – Eren! Oh my God, Eren, I –“ She cried out, her hips lifting and her grip on his shoulders and around his fingers tightening as all the muscles in her body tensed. Eren continued to lick and finger her through her release, until she slumped back down, and her breathing started to slow. He pulled his fingers out of her and locked eyes with her as he lapped them clean off her juices, watching her flush deepen at the lewd action. He moved his body back up, caging her between his elbows and trapping her beneath him once more, and pushed his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself.

“I assume that was good?” he asked in between kisses.

“Unbelievable, but… I still want more,” she confessed, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. Her calloused hand reached down between them and found his cock, giving it a couple of experimental pumps.

“Don’t,” Eren gasped into her mouth. “I won’t last…”

“That’s okay…” Mikasa started, but Eren didn’t let her finish, ripping her hand off himself and slamming it into the mattress beside her head. He did the same thing with her other hand that sought to replace the touch, and held them there, interlacing their fingers.

“No, it’s not,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He pressed his forehead against hers, and, with a softer voice, continued, “I want this to be perfect for you.” Their lips locked once again as he rubbed his length over her folds until it caught on her entrance, and he finally pushed inside of her. Green eyes clenched shut at the feeling of Mikasa’s silky warmth enveloping the head of his cock, and her fingers squeezed his hands at the intrusion. She broke their kiss with a drawn-out moan of Eren’s name.

With every ounce of self-restraint that he had left, Eren forced himself to slow down instead of just sinking into her completely in one hard motion, like he so desperately wanted to. He felt the way she sucked him in, inch by inch, to his bones, making him shudder and bury his face in her neck to muffle the pathetic whine he couldn’t hold back. His hips stilled when he finally bottomed out.

“Feels so good,” he choked out. “God, Mika, you’re so tight…”

Mikasa placed a kiss behind his ear and wrapped her legs around his waist. Next thing he knew, she thrust her hips up, making his cock move in her, and making Eren gasp again.

“Fuck me,” she breathed against the shell. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

Something feral awakened in Eren at her words, and much like earlier, he found himself growling as he pulled almost all the way out and thrust himself back in hard. Mikasa cried out and Eren felt her head turn away from him to the other side. “Like that?” he hissed, repeating the motion again and again and pushing her hands and forearms harder into the mattress. He pulled his head up to look at her and their eyes met, hers almost black with desire.

“Yes – yes – make me yours,” she sobbed. He swooped down to catch her lips in a kiss and began fucking into her fast and hard, letting his animalistic side take over. Her soft breasts were crushed against his chest, and he felt her hardened nipples brush against his as he moved inside her wet, silky heat, her walls embracing him like she never wanted to let him go. With every push inside, Mikasa cried out against his open, panting mouth, and he used the sounds he ripped from her throat as fuel to hold on just a little longer, to keep that coil in his abdomen from bursting, knowing that after tonight, he might never get the chance to bring her pleasure ever again. If there had ever been a time to show he had perseverance, he thought, it was now.

Her legs fell from his waist, and Eren took the opportunity to take a hold of the left one and hook it over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but when he was suddenly even deeper inside Mikasa and the woman positively screamed beneath him at the new angle, he knew it had been a good idea. He hooked her other leg over his other shoulder and let his strokes become long and deep, putting as much force behind them as he could.

“Oh God, Eren, yes! Right there, just like that, yes!”

Mikasa was writhing under him, eyes screwed shut and throwing her head from side to side as a string of her sobs and screams tumbled from her lips, echoing through the room. Her breasts were jiggling with every one of Eren’s thrusts, and her hands flew to his chest, nails digging in and scratching down his torso. Tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes as she forced them open to lock with his. Eren was bathed in sweat by this point, both from the exertion of the act and holding back. Just a tiny bit longer, he told himself, even as the heat in his lower body threatened to burn him up from the inside. He let go of one of her legs and let his thumb rub over the bundle of nerves, slick with the same desire that was coating his length.

“Oh, fuck… Eren – Eren!” Mikasa chanted and suddenly, she became even tighter, her walls clenching around him as she wailed his name over and over, sucking him in even deeper, and the dam inside him burst. He shuddered and his skin broke out in goosebumps. Letting his body fall on top of hers, his hips twitched once, twice as he released himself and painted her insides white with his cum, her name like a prayer on his lips.

Mikasa reached up with a trembling hand to stroke his hair. He turned to face her fully and caught her lips with his own. When they broke apart for air, a smile blossomed on her beautiful face. The brightness of it put the rays of sunshine beginning to permeate through the curtains to shame, and he couldn’t help but return it with his own.

They didn’t exchange any words as they reveled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, nor when they got up to get cleaned up. They remained silent, afraid to break the spell, as they climbed back into bed, Eren wrapping Mikasa up in his arms and drawing random patterns into whatever part of her skin he could reach. Eventually, her breathing slowed down, and Eren thought she had succumbed to the exhaustion, until he heard her whisper “I love you” into his skin so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. And as much as he ached to return the sentiment…

It was easier to pretend he hadn’t.

But I melted away like snow into the ground I told her I've gotta go, I've gotta go

Eren had no idea how he would find the strength to go through with leaving Mikasa behind after last night. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber after their… activities, a flush still on her face and continuing down all the way to her cleavage. Eren, on the other hand, remained restless. He went over everything again in his head – how she had blinked at him lazily, a blissful smile he had never seen from her before curving her mouth upwards, the same mouth that had been singing him praises in the shape of sweet sighs and wanton moans just minutes before, the same mouth from which his name had spilled over and over again in soft cries and literal screams as she came undone beneath him. He pulled her closer, his chest against her back, and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, trying to commit her scent and the feel of her skin against his to his jumbled memory, just in case, but… He couldn’t go.

So now, Eren was hoping against hope that the conference today would go differently from what he had seen. He would not steal away after what Mikasa and he had just shared; how was he supposed to break her heart like that? How would he find the strength to deny both her and himself? How could he accept that he would never have her like this again? Not just her body, but her heart and soul laid bare for him? How could he leave and accept that one day, she might show the same vulnerability to another man? Might gift her heart to someone else? As he stroked over her bare arm, Eren was aware his thoughts were in the very least unfair and selfish, bordering on possessive, and in some ways even sexist, and he would never voice them out loud, but he couldn’t help feeling this way in his weak moments, when his guard was down. Armin was like a brother to him, and he could not stomach the thought of losing him. It was Armin’s dream that inspired him to venture outside the walls in the first place. But Mikasa – no matter what life threw at him, he knew that as long as she was with him, he could survive anything. She was the reason he continued to move forward.

If you want to save Mikasa, and Armin… and everyone else… you have to complete your mission.

The words rang clearly in his ears, like Kruger had just said them to him instead of his father decades ago. It was an unpleasant reminder, and Eren had to restrain himself from yelling back at no one, why me? I just want to be with her. Let me be with her!

Mikasa stirred in his grip and groaned quietly. She jumped slightly at the sight of a tan arm wrapped around her waist, but quickly regained her composure when she remembered what happened last night, and another one of those blissful smiles stretched her cheeks as she turned around in Eren’s strong hold and looked up at him lovingly.

“Good morning,” she whispered and pecked the corner of his mouth. Eren couldn’t hold back the grin blooming on his own face.

“A very good morning indeed.” His hand reached up to stroke over the scar on her cheek, like he could remove the mark if he poured enough love into his touch. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.

“Do you think the others are back yet?” Her fingers traced random patterns against his chest and abdomen. Eren couldn’t suppress the shiver her touch elicited.

“It’s still early, and they were really drunk…” He pushed her on her back and rolled on top of her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as if on autopilot, and her eyes were heavy-lidded not with sleep, but lust. For him, and only him. The thought went both to his head and his hardening length, and he grinded against her. His mouth found her neck, tracing soft kisses up the sensitive area until it reached her ear. “We have time…” he murmured. One of his hands wandered down the expanse of her torso, stopping shortly to squeeze her soft breast and rub at the hardened nub before continuing his trek down south. This time, it was him who coaxed a shiver and a moan from her.

“Eren… Please…” she whined, and the sound sent a pang to his gut. Eren’s long, slender fingers found her folds, already slick with her desire, and he groaned.

“So wet already… Is that what I do to you, princess?” His voice was deep and gravelly. Two of his fingers easily slipped into her, looking for the spot from last night while he rubbed against the swollen nub above her entrance with his palm. Mikasa gasped and started moving her hips in rhythm with his movements. He took in the expression on her face, her furrowed brow, her luscious pink lips slightly open as she panted softly; her cute nose, and the blush spreading over her milky skin; her beautiful eyes, silver with unshed tears…

“More, please…” She begged. “Want you inside me again, please…” Eren’s quip about how he was technically inside her died on his tongue at the desperate look in those glittering irises. It was almost like she knew, he thought as he pulled his fingers out. He felt the same desperation take a hold of him, a different kind of desperation than the hunger they’d already succumbed to. This was about making every second they could steal together count. Just in case, his mind repeated, just in case this was the last time.

His mouth captured hers and he licked at the seam of her lips, begging for entrance, morning breath be damned. Mikasa seemed to think the same thing, tangling her tongue with his in a passionate dance and rutting her hips up against his pelvis in an attempt to get some friction. Never breaking their embrace, she rolled them to their sides, her legs still wrapped around him. Her hand took a hold of his cock and, bringing her hips closer to his, she guided it to her entrance and thrust down until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

They moaned against each other’s mouths, breaking the kiss. Their lips remained touching as they opened their eyes. Eren’s emerald irises locked with Mikasa’s silver ones, and he began to move, thrusting languidly and watching even the tiniest twitch in her facial muscles as a symphony of her moans broke through the silence of the room, accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

Remembering the effect from last night, Eren moved his hand down to the leg he could reach, and hiked it up a little. It seemed to do the trick as Mikasa’s lids screwed shut and she threw her head back with a cry. He took in the way her long, thick eyelashes rested against her cheeks, and his arm wrapped around her back to bring her even closer, crushing her against him. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin, every knob on her spine as he caressed it, her wetness spreading over his pelvis as she rubbed against it with every push. Despite the desperation they both felt, they were unhurried, taking their time to savor each touch. And he committed all to his memory, certain that even after he died, the memories and the feeling of it wouldn’t.

When she came in his arms, it wasn’t with the same screams as last night – this time, she cried out his name softly, her face buried in his neck as she tensed up, her walls milking his own release from him once again, making him groan and shudder in turn before they gradually relaxed in each other’s hold. She leaned in for a short, sweet kiss before they continued to just stare at each other, drinking each other in. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, and she nuzzled into it, giving it a peck, eliciting an adoring smile from the green-eyed man.

Suddenly, they heard voices pass by Mikasa’s room and a knock on her door.

“Mikasa? Are you in there?” It was Hange. Eren hid his face in Mikasa’s neck and groaned quietly, this time out of frustration. Then, he had an idea, and with a smirk, he began to give the skin little kitten licks, making the girl squirm and giggle.

“Yes, Hange,” she called back, trying to sound normal, “but please don’t come in right now, I just got out of the shower and I’m not decent.”

The doorhandle was halfway down already, the door almost creaking open, but at Mikasa’s request, Hange let go and left it closed.

“Alright, just… meet us in the kitchen in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Okay!” Mikasa called back.

“You too, Eren!” With that, they heard Hange’s footsteps retreat.

The pair looked at each other with wide eyes. Maybe 15 minutes would have been enough to enjoy each other’s closeness some more, maybe even go for another round, but with the knowledge that Hange somehow knew, they scrambled up to clean themselves up and get dressed as quickly as possible. Mikasa left a couple of minutes ahead of Eren, so as not to make anyone else suspicious, and when Eren joined the squad a few minutes later, no one seemed to give them any strange looks or made any comments. It seemed like, thankfully, Hange hadn’t told anyone, and they made sure to keep some distance between them so as not to rouse any suspicions. Mikasa sat next to a groaning Sasha for breakfast, who was grabbing her head but still shoving copious amounts food into her mouth, and he sat with Levi and Armin as they went over his security for today’s outing.

When they arrived at the lecture hall later, they still left a couple of spaces between them. As Eren listened to a man’s impassioned speech about Eldian rights, which explicitly excluded him and his “island devil” friends, he was both glad for the distance and felt hollow at the same time.

But somehow, he had always known that the kind of life he wanted for Mikasa and himself, the life she had been dreaming about since they were naïve children, was never meant to be. Maybe that was why he had been dragging his feet and had never confessed to her how he felt. Maybe he wasn’t even supposed to have last night or this morning. But he could use it to strengthen his resolve – because, his strongest and perhaps most selfish desire, was for Mikasa to live a long and happy life, regardless of what role he got to play in it.

And so, he fought the magnetic pull begging him to stay by her side, and quietly left to fulfill the mission he had been given long before he was even born.

It's been a long, long night You said you were mine I felt so bad but I had to go No she never wanted me to leave her behind No she never wanted me to leave her

“I want to share your burden.”

Mikasa’s voice echoed in his head. Even after telling her she was a slave and that he had hated her forever, beating up Armin, not to mention the people he killed in Liberio, Sasha… And now, he was literally trying to kill every living being in the world besides the residents of Paradise.

He thought that maybe, at least that night they had shared, and his subsequent disappearance, might have stirred up some resentment in her. The war wasn’t personal, so he could see how she might be able to justify his actions, but that… had been deeply personal. He had basically taken her heart and stomped on it until it was dust, just like the titans under his control were flattening the earth. He tried to make her believe he had only used her body, and that the only passion he had for her was anger and disgust, his own heart threatening to pound out of its cage with how loudly it was screaming at him for the obvious lie. But her devotion to him… her love for him knew no bounds. It transcended time and space and circumstance. It was the only constant he had left, the only thing that still made sense to his muddled mind. It was as certain as the rise of the moon and the sun and the stars, as the ebb and flow of the sea.

Just as certain as his untimely demise.

Here she was, still offering her unwavering support. She acknowledged all the worst parts of him, all the cruelty and the stench of death, and still loved him. After everything, still, still, all she dreamed of was a quiet, peaceful life by his side, and if she couldn’t get the quiet and peaceful part, she would settle for him simply being there. And although every fiber of his being was screaming at him that he wanted the same, it was too late, and he had to let her go. He had to make her let him go.

But would it be so bad to make her happy one last time before he did? This was literally his last chance to be honest with her. And was it so bad that he wanted to defy his cruel fate and feel happy, be free at least one more time, before he succumbed to it?

Eren looked to the side at the small blonde girl, and she nodded, allowing him to use her powers to give into his selfishness before his final moments.

Suddenly, he was transported back to that night, to their conversation in the dim lights of the refugee camp, and he let them live in the reality of what might have been had her answer been slightly different, had there been no interruptions, had he finally taken her hand and just given in and followed her into her dream.

So long, so long, And we dance around just like constellations We dance around just like constellations We dance around, we dance around, You make my body warm, You make my body warm.

#eremika #eren x mikasa #eren jaeger #eren yaeger #mikasa ackerman #eremika fic #cw: smut #cw: death #cw: violence #bee's fics #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin

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fandomout · 4 years

Text

Dick Grayson x Reader

Healing him and feelings confronted

Not sure how accurate this one came out. If you have notes, let me know. The only pertain information to know is that reader has energy related powers, so one way reader applies it is by being able to heal. You and Dick both have feelings. Of course, he’s more resistant to it because of his nature, and you could never be sure of his feelings.

You were wandering the halls and passed by the training room. You look over to see Dick exercising as usual and perfecting his aim with ninja stars. You watched him wrap up as he drank water eagerly. You obviously couldn't help stare. As you saw him heading out, you attempted to dash away as for him to not catch you. However, since you didn’t have the time instead you decided to act like you were barely passing by, yet he ended up right in front of you. Seeing him, you let out an awkward laugh, which created a grin on his face. There was a weird silence left in the air. In order to relieve it, you asked him, "What are you up to?"

"Just finished some training. What are you up to?"

"Nothing right now, but you've inspired me." He chuckles and asks, "To do some extra training?" You pat his shoulder playfully and respond with a small laugh and say, "Hell no, don't have energy for that, but I want to be productive."

“No energy? Guess you’re useless, and you’re off the team. Sorry it had to be like this.” He laughs out.

“Shut up.”

"What are you going to do then?"

"You'll see. My productivity will sow. Just go shower or whatever."

"Alright then." He gives you a weird playful look before heading off. Since he had just exercised, you figured he was hungry. You hoped it would be a nice surprise as Dick doesn’t really let anyone take care of him.

You cook him an easy meal, but you knew it would be delicious. Dick stops in his tracks when he sees you in the kitchen. His slippers skidding very audibly. You look up to see him with his hair wet. He was wearing a black tank top and a grey sweater along with dark grey sweats. You gave him a smile that you hoped wasn’t too excited as you didn't want to scare him off. You recollect yourself like you tend to need to do and play it off like his presence doesn't affect you. You motion for him to sit at the table and tell him, "Sit over there. I just finished."

"You productively made me food?"

"Precisely." He walked over slowly as it seems. You put the food in front of him with water. He seemed to be a bit flushed. You assumed it was from working out. What you didn't know was it was having you care for him that made him blush. "Oh I forgot to get you a fork!"

"I got it. It-" He begins to rise from his seat, but you gently tap his head, and his sitting position is restored.

"Actually, I've got it." He didn't meet your eyes but he asked, "You're not gonna eat?"

"No. I ate kind of a lot earlier. I'm still full, but you enjoy it."

"Thank you."

"No thanks necessary. I wanted to."

"I can handle the clean up."

"Not necessary. I already did it." You were about to walk away to leave him in peace when you heard a wince. You look over to see him simply reaching for his water cup with his right hand. While you are walking over to him, your hands reach out to touch him. He protectively puts a hand to shield his right shoulder. You slap his hand away gently and ask, “When did you hurt yourself?”

“I didn’t. I’m fine.” You make your eyes glow to see all the energy full of pain.

"Liar."

"Why ask if you know?"

"Why lie if you know that I know?" He snickers and tries t distract you with lighthearted words, “I don’t think that sense made much sense. I think you need to review that sentence somewhere else. I’m good here." Despite his attempt to convince you he was fine, you held your ground and stated, "You must have pulled something." Without another thought, you start to take the painful energy away. Harshly, he harshly pulled himself away from you saying, "I’m fine.” before he groaned out loudly in pain from staring himself. He cursed out into the air. With an accusing finger, you told him, “That’s what you get. Just let me use my energy to help."

“It's not that bad. I just moved wrong?"

"You don't even believe you. Pull down the sweater. " He sighed and pulled down his sweater to reveal his arm and shoulder. You walked over to him. Your hands hovered above it as you were trying to get a feel of the energy before deciding how much to use to relieve the pain. Then, you place your hands firmly on him massaging at the shoulder blade area and shoulder. Dick grabbed at the table and stifled his groans. “Look at me.” He met your eyes. “Dick, if you want to heal faster and end the pain, you have to just let out the pain. You are wasting more energy right now, trying to keep quiet.” He looked away instantly and let it out. While, yes, you were shy around him, it all changed when he was in pain. You couldn’t have that. Dick starts letting out more groans of relief. Continuing your movements, you hunch over a bit, so your head levels with his and asks, “Better?” He lets out a relieved sigh as he slouches back a bit and nods weakly. He seemed to be sweating again. While you leave your left hand laying on his shoulder in a massaging movement, your other hand reached out to wipe away his sweat, and you commented, “I’m glad you're not in any more pain.” Unknowingly, he stares at you, which leads to being face to face. You notice after a few minutes that he’s starring, you remove your hand from his face. His left hand finding your left to stop your movement. He barely manages to utter, “I-I’m good now.” as he swallows. You let out a small shaky breathy laugh and tell him, “Right. I’ll stop. Sorry, I was in the zone of healing.” You remove you hands slowly in your awkward nature. However, you notice he still has an intense gaze on you. Despite all Dick’s restraint, his eyes meet your lips. You're unsure of what to do until his lips attach to yours, and you kiss him back. Your hands frame his face while his left hand finds itself running through your hair. You're completely breathless to begin with, regardless you keep kissing him. You can feel his want as it matched your own. The lights flicker a bit at the energy rush your receiving and your emotions galore. Suddenly, he pulls away slightly, but his lips still connect slightly. You assume he needed to breathe. Against your lips, he says, “We can’t…” He lays another kiss to your lips. “Stop...” You pull back a bit releasing your lips completely free and ask, “What?” He covers his mouth and moves his face back far from yours.

Aggressively, he says, “I said stop!” You stand up straight and you ask, “Excuse you?” His response to you are the words, “I shouldn't have done that.”, along with a guilty expression.

“Because?”

“Because.”

“Wow. The man of many words so eloquent. That's all you're really going to say about it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay...Well, I’m not done.”

“Y/N-”

“No! I love you. I do. I think I’ve known for a while. You-”

“Stop.”

“Why would you do this? You have to have some feel-”

“No. Yo-”

”You kissed me! Now, you want me to forget about it?” He changed his expression from guilt to stoic as he nonchalantly says, “Forget about it.”

“You-Want me to forget about it?” He pauses for a second before answering, “Yes.” You stand up straighter than before. You take a deep breath. Calmly, you tell him, “Done. Enjoy your meal.” while your heart yearns and breaks from the situation, and you walk away from him.

After that day, you did as he asked, but it didn’t mean you could treat him the way you did before. In order to forget, you kept distance, and your conversations have amounted to chaste questions and responses. Mostly, if you didn't have to talk to him, you weren't going to. While the whole situation pained you, this hurt the less as you were working to forget. You knew he noticed, but what did he expect? The team noticed it of course. They joked about their “parents” fighting. Despite the joke, you could tell they were worried, so you shut it down every time by distracting from the situation or drumming it to be normal behavior. Dick seemed to be grateful every time you managed it; however, you wouldn't give another glance after. One day, you were feeling bored once more, and you couldn’t let it stand. Only thing worse than being bored was being bored with a head full of thoughts. You were so bored that you started to exercise. You thought you’d never be in this position, yet there you were. You heard a knock on your door. Instantly, you rose from your position on the floor almost embarrassed to be caught exercising. You didn’t look too bad, so you walked over to the door. A small smile on your lips as you opened the door. You smile flattering after seeing Dick’s face.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

“About?”

“About...The team.”

“What’s going on?” You ask and walk over to your chair to sit on it. You motion for him to sit on the bed, and he complies. He sat right at the end to be close to you, and you almost rolled your eyes at the action instead you ignored it and waited for him to continue speaking.

“The team’s noticed our relationship...” You almost felt like he was doing this on purpose, which was upsetting you.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s back to what it was.”

“No. It’s different between us.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” You answer with no interest.

“How much longer is it-Why-Can we go back to before?”

“Before?”

“Yes. We were close-”

“But not too close, right? We’re not too close now. I think that falls under what you wanted.” barely gave a side grin.

“Is this really how it has to be?”

“Yes. I’m trying to forget something, so this is the way. I’m doing what you want, and it’s still not enough? You really are the leader, never satisfied.”

“Y/N, can we have conversation? I mean a real conversation...”

“You know what?” You stand in your seat, and he stands quickly too. You burn your gaze into his eyes and you seethe. “I can't. I can't have a conversation with you. That’s the point of all this. Don’t talk to me about this again.” You turn you back to him and take a step forward as you're about to storm out. You decide against it and tell him, “I shouldn't have to leave my own room. You leave.” He lets out a small laugh, and your heart burns with something far from negativity. You can't help it and tell him, “Stop that.” You said it with no grit thought, so you wouldn't be surprised if he didn’t take you seriously. He walks around you to look into your eyes. You shy away from it. You both just stand awkwardly until he sincerely comments, “I’m sorry…”

“It doesn't matter if you are...or even if I accept things as they are.” You snap your eyes to him softly. “Listen, I really can’t bend anymore for you. You kissed me and told me to forget it. I’ve kept distance because it is literally the only way to get somewhere close to forgetting. What you didn't realize is all the feelings I had before we kissed. That makes all of this so hard. I need you to understand that you can't have everything...most importantly, you should realize that you deserve to be happy, Dick.”

“Deserve to be happy? I’m aware of that.”

“No, you aren’t. If you were you wouldn't have pushed me aside like you did.”

“I can’t.”

“Can't or won’t? There’s a difference. If this about being scared, what do you think I am? I’m scared too, but I also really wanted-want to be with you.”

“Look, I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t know what to do anymore. The distance is killing me. I am fully away that this is all because of me. You deserve better than that.”

”So, what are you going to do? I don’t want to have this conversation again, ever. I hate to give an ultimatum. But, I haven't’ had much choice in any of this, and I think that if we don’t resolve this now., we will end up going around in circles and that’s just going to bring more pain, so it has to be now.” You walk over to the bed and sit down. He stands unmoved and expresses less, but you know he’s deep in through. He strides over to you, which scares you a little. He kneeled down on his knees. His arms landing on either side of your hips. He looks at you earnestly and says, “Out of all the things that scare me, you're at the top of the list. That sounds bad...It’s just you're so good to everyone and with everyone. You make me feel all kinds of things I haven’t felt in a long time-In a way, it actually is not the same feeling because it’s different with you. When I kissed you, I couldn't help myself. My whole being seems to know it wants more than me because I get in my own way, your right about that. It’s just the thoughts that make me conflicted. Anyway, the point I'm getting at is that I want to be with you too. If this is my last chance, I’m-I’m taking it.” He smiles at you, and you smile back.

Hope your day got better

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redqueen-hypothesis · 4 years

Text

tied together pt. 1 ➳ mlqc

➳ WORD COUNT: 1874

➳ GENRE: fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: how would the mlqc boys (gavin and kiro) propose?

➳ REMARKS: this literally came out of nowhere, it’s 3am and i need to sleep. check out the inspiration for kiro’s song here!

GAVIN

he realises it on a completely average day

you’re over in his house for a surprise date-but-not-quite date, chiding him for not stocking up on his kitchen enough for you to make a proper dinner - he’s lucky you haven’t discovered his cup noodle stash in the bottom cupboard

the two of you end up ordering take in together

you’re blowing on some hot dumplings before you place them on his plate, rambling to him about your homemade food may not taste as good but is more healthy, when it hits him out of nowhere

yeah, gavin wants to have this everyday for the rest of his life

normal days don’t feel mundane in the least when you’re by his side like this, in fact, each day becomes more and more precious to him, no matter how ordinary they are

he wants to spend the rest of his life with you

this realisation almost scares him, because while he knows that he’s been in love with you for a long time, marriage is different - do you want to marry him? should he really go ahead with taking this step - making you his?

gavin is kind of out of it for the rest of the evening, just... thinking about it

imagining how you would be like if the two of you were married, his ring on your finger

his arms wrapped around you when he goes to sleep and when he wakes up in the morning

you helping him put on his tie before he leaves for work

all the cliches, he’s a sweet boy that way

gavin finds that he wants that more desperately than anything he’s ever wanted in the world, he wants to be the one that makes you happy. for the rest of your lives

the second you leave the house, gavin’s mind is scrambling to think about whether you’ll accept or not if he did propose

this goes on for a while, until one day eli calls you and asks you why gavin has been spacing out at work here and there

not enough for him to be a danger or for him to be shirking work, of course (you know how seriously gavin takes his job), but enough for eli to steal gavin’s pork chops right under his nose - and the man didn’t even realise!

that immediately has you worried

when you confront gavin about it, however, the man looks as cool as a cucumber as always

“eli thinks i’m spacing out? i noticed, i just let it slide.”

for some reason, that’s even more worrying to you (gavin giving up his meat? no way)

he’s actually panicking on the inside, oh my god eli shut up shut up shut up-

he eventually gets exposed to minor, who’s almost as ecstatic about this proposal as gavin is, this is his best bro trying to get married here!!

minor acts as gavin’s secret agent in the company, trying to figure out your ring size with the stupidest excuses

“it’s dark, i’m scared and just need to hold your hand.”

asks the most obvious questions ever like “on a scale of one to ten, how much would you like to marry gavin?”

anna, kiki and willow catch on fast enough and drag him away the second he tries to approach you in case you find out

minor has the subtlety of an elephant stomping through a china shop

plan minor is bust

gavin just gives up on elaborate planning and buys a simple ring

he doesn’t really know when the moment is the moment, so he just keeps the ring in a box in his pocket, waiting for whenever the moment shows itself

and the moment comes a few days later, when the two of you are washing up the dishes together after dinner, and he finds that he can’t stop looking at your soapy hands

part of his brain is terrified, insistent on putting it off, because what if you say no?

the other part of his brain is tired from all this wishy washy and just goes fuck it

reaches into his pocket to pull out the box and pops it open, knows he’s supposed to be kneeling but his brain isn’t working right. gavin stands there dumbly like an idiot, watching you hum to yourself as you continue soaping the dishes

even at this point, he’s still conflicted (to ask or not to ask) but luckily for him, just before he loses his nerves and shoves the ring back into his pocket, you turn around and spot the silver band in his hand

you start to tear up, shocked, while gavin internally panics because his head and tongue seem to have disconnected

forgot the script he’d spent nights working on writing and ends up fumbling out a hoarse “will you marry me?”

it’s then he realises why he’s been so terrified the entire time, he can’t chance you rejecting him, because he can’t imagine a future without you in it

you look at him as if he’s grown a second and third head, and he nearly flees out of your window before you’re wrapping your arms around his middle to tug him back into your apartment

“yes! yes, of course, yes! a million times, yes!”

there are tears in the corners of your eyes, and he brushes them away with a shaky hand before he kisses you on the lips

after the dizziness of the proposal settles down, gavin slides the ring onto your finger with gentle hands

keeps your hands together for the rest of the night

KIRO

realises it when you’ve been pouting a bit over female celebrities trying to get close to him right in front of you

he finds it cute, of course, but he feels like it’s time to settle down, to show you that he’s as much yours as you are his

the public does not know that he’s dating in secret, and the company would surely throw a fit if they know what he’s up to

decides not consult savin about this (uh oh)

has watched plenty of romance dramas, and has acted in countless of them. he knows the drill, diamond ring, tearjerker script and crying girl equals to profit!

but kiro doesn’t want that

he wants it to be special, a unique memory that only the two of you will share together

he’s releasing an album soon, it’s in the production stages, so he decides to add an unplanned song to it, one that he’ll compose and write completely from scratch on his own

manages to act pretty natural around you, although you tend to catch him staring at you with an uncommonly serious look when you’re not looking

it’s not that kiro can’t be serious, but it just isn’t like him to be silent for so long - he’s usually chattering on about something or bursting into random songs that are stuck in his head

surprisingly (to you), he consults you about the new addition to his album, asking you about your taste in music, how you feel about the lyrics

from what you can see, it’s a sweet love song with simple melodies, but deceptively emotional lyrics

he hides the full track from you though, even if you pout and whine

“you’ll just have to find out about it when it drops,” he laughs mischievously

you resign yourself to waiting for another month

the night before, kiro tells you to wait for him at the cross junction for him the next day so that the two of you can celebrate his album release together at souvenir - but he also makes you promise not to listen to the mystery track, he wants to be the first one to sing it to you, with his own lips, and his own voice

and the day it does, social media explodes into a frenzy over the mystery track, simply titled ‘sun’

while the song seems light and cheerful at first, the lyrics have a deeper meaning to them that fans can’t quite decipher, referencing memories and dates together, before bringing up hopes of a future - a future together

you don’t see all of this, however, firmly avoiding all social media to prevent yourself from breaking your promise to kiro

you’re waiting at the crosswalk for him at night after work, a little tired from your day at the office. it’s quiet from how late it is, and the streets are a rather empty, and yet, there’s still no sign of your boyfriend

kiro’s a little late

suddenly, the sounds of a guitar strumming ring out through the quiet night air, and you turn around in surprise to see kiro walking towards you slowly, playing a melody that’s both familiar, but also one that you don’t quite recognise

wait, he’s not wearing his mask or any disguises. people are already starting to turn and stare: is it really kiro? his gaze is fixed solely on you

normally, you would run to him, but the sincere, raw expression on his face glues you to the spot - others must feel it too, because not a single person dares to approach him, not with that fierce determination you see burning in his eyes

when he reaches a short distance from you, he stops and gives you a gentle smile, right before he starts to sing

“i was just one star out of infinity, but you made me your sun. this world of mine was barren, but your warmth filled me with life.”

it’s your song - the song that belongs to the two of you - of your story together, the way you’ve changed his life

“you said i belonged among the planets and the galaxy, but you held the universe inside.”

you don’t even realise you’re crying until kiro starts tearing up as well, and his voice breaks as he reaches the end of the song

“could i be selfish, reach up to pluck the stars and pull the universe into my hands?”

you know what he’s asking

“would you... be mine?”

as the song ends, kiro plucks off the ring hanging off one of the tuning pegs of the guitar, walking up to you with a shy, gentle ‘hey, miss chips’

you throw yourself into his arms when he’s halfway into kneeling, and that’s all the permission he needs to claim your mouth in front of the crowd that’s gathered at the cross junction

they scream and cheer, because it’s kiro finally getting together with the love of his life and he looks so damned happy they can’t help but feel happy for him as well

puts the ring on your finger and kisses it, stroking his thumb over it like he can’t quite believe that it’s there

the news blows up while the two of you beat an escape, kiro donning his disguise as you wrap your hand around his

the two of you have a quiet dinner in souvenir. the chef even makes a special pudding for the two of you, shaped like a small sun

savin throttles kiro the next day at work before congratulating him, and threatens to toss all his snacks in his sleep if he ever pulls such a stunt again

kiro still thinks it’s worth it

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc headcanon #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #gavin bai #mr love gavin #gavin x reader #kiro #kiro zhou #mr love kiro

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visionsofus · 3 years

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Hey I just wanted to tell you that your writing is really great. I love reading your fics. You are doing a really great job and I hope you continue and enjoy writing as much as we all enjoy reading. I was wondering if you still take requests because I think that the song Remedy be Adele would maybe fit wanda and vision between cacw and iw really good. Thank you for your time. I'm off now re-reading all you fics. Have a great day :)

hello anon! gosh this has taken me a while, I hope you don't mind :) I really loved your song prompt and I hope you like the direction I have gone with it (though it is more post AoU than post CW sorry :')

Track #25: Remedy by Adele

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Wanda comes back injured from a mission and Vision has to come to terms with her mortality, and the limits of their relationship. Tender touching and the intimacy of tending to wounds.

Ten minutes into his pacing Vision grew worried that he might wear down the carpet. Instead, he rose a foot off the air and took to floating back and forth before the third-floor windows. It was the perfect vantage point to watch the empty drive leading from the gate to the compound’s front door.

Ten minutes quickly lapsed into half an hour, yet he had still heard no update from his teammates since the foreboding message which marked a start to his anxious pacing.

Everything went well. ETA 1 hr – stopping at hospital first.

Vision had sent something back along the lines of – if everything is okay then why the hospital? But was yet to receive a reply. The compound was equipped with a certified med bay extensive enough for most simple injuries, for Steve, Nat, Sam and Wanda to stop at a hospital meant they thought it something beyond their capabilities.

An ounce of the tension in his shoulder dissipated as he watched the front gate slowly open, and the hulking SUV begin down the drive.

Vision reached the driveway below just as the car pulled up beside the front door. From what he could see, the team looked to be in good spirits. There were smiles all round despite the soot across their faces and some general wear and tear.

“Is everything alright?” Vision demanded as Steve reached the door.

“All fine, just a little more fire power than we were expecting.”

“Who was hurt?”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, then glanced over his shoulder. “Wanda.”

Vision started forward but Steve placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” he said quietly, “don’t smother her, all things considered, it wasn’t too serious.”

Vision held Steve’s gaze a moment longer before shrugging the captain’s hand off and heading for Wanda’s side of the car. She was being helped out by Nat which Vision quickly saw was owing to the white cotton sling tied around Wanda’s neck.

When Natasha had Wanda steady on her feet she let go and left them alone, giving Vision an all too knowing look as she passed. He held his arm out for Wanda to hold as she started towards the front steps, but she ignored it.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, a hospital trip is absolutely fine.” It was a challenge to keep the sarcasm from his tone.

“Don’t,” Wanda said holding a hand up and Vision wisely stayed a step behind her.

A few moments of silence later and Vision felt he were able to ask her properly. “Are you okay?”

“I am.” There was an earnestness to her voice that he couldn’t help believing. “It was just a bit of a burn and Cap was worried about treating it ourselves, because of scarring and stuff…” Wanda trailed off as she turned away from Vision.

So, it wasn’t quite as bad as he had feared but it scared him nonetheless. These sorts of accidents hadn’t been uncommon in the year since he had joined the Avengers. But the fear, no matter how synthetic, never failed to unnerve him. His teammates readily accepting such risks to their fragile human bodies was even more scary. For Wanda especially, he always worried. Not because she couldn’t handle herself, Vision had seen and experienced her force firsthand. Rather, he dreaded the idea of anything bad happening to her. Vision had first been confronted with her mortality as he’d watched her suspended in mid-air, her city hurtling to the ground. It was an image that had often occupied his thoughts since.

Vision hadn’t noticed the takeout that Sam had retrieved from the back of the car, so he was surprised to see the full meal set out on the table when they arrived upstairs. He frowned with concern noticing just how much slower Wanda’s steps were as she took her seat at the dining table.

Vision sat next to her, taking the glass of water that Sam passed down to him and onto Wanda. Next came a plate loaded with three different kinds of pasta dishes which he set in front of Wanda.

He watched as she stabbed a few pieces of pasta onto her fork, turning purposefully to him and pointedly shovelling it into her mouth. Vision looked away sheepishly, practically hearing her satisfied smile as he did. Don’t smother her, he reminded himself.

He stayed quiet throughout dinner, half listening to the team recounting their mission, only really paying attention when they described Wanda’s injury. He was grateful to hear that the burns weren’t bad, though he noticed Wanda’s barely concealed winces when she bumped her arm against the table every now and then.

After dinner they all migrated to the television, a regular routine when it was just the five of them in the compound. Vision leant against the living room wall, his eyes flickering between the last light of the sunset which was casting the sky in shades of violet, and Wanda, who had settled into the couch for the evening news.

Steve had said that the doctors hadn’t seen the need to prescribe any pain medications for Wanda besides simple aspirin and Vision knew that Wanda had a higher pain tolerance than most. It didn’t mean she should deal with the pain though – so he set about researching the best options for helping with burn pain.

The evening continued on smoothly though Vision’s mind was far from the television that occupied his friends. It was always like this when someone get hurt, everyone acted like it was normal even as they all harboured secret concerns – he saw how everyone’s eyes followed Wanda as she moved to the kitchen for tea.

“You don’t need to hover, Vis,” Wanda said, not looking over her shoulder but having heard him follow her.

“I—” he meant to say he wasn’t hovering, but that would be something of a lie. Wanda smiled and raised her eyebrows as he leant against the kitchen island, the kettle boiling noisily about them. “I’m sorry, I was just worried.”

“It’s alright, thank you for worrying about me,” Wanda said pouring the water, keeping her sling carefully out of the way, “but I promise, I am fine.”

He didn’t reply, following her back to the living room and allowing himself to sit when she indicated he should join her on the couch.

Vision was pulled from his mind, and the rabbit hole he had fallen down regarding burn rehabilitation, when Wanda yawned and stretched gracefully beside him.

“I’m off to bed,” she said to the others, getting to her feet and waving good night to them over her shoulder. There were noncommittal murmurs of ‘goodnight’ in return from Steve and Sam, Natasha had since gone to bed herself. Today’s mission had worn them all out more than usual.

Vision shifted in his seat, fingers tapping nervously against his knee. He lasted a minute and a half before getting to his feet and following Wanda off down the corridor. Her bedroom door was closed. They had something of an open-door policy at the compound – if your bedroom door was open, you were open to company, if not – well…

He resumed his pacing from that afternoon, walking up and down the corridor outside Wanda’s room and weighing up his options. He could risk irritating her further by knocking on the door to see if she wanted company, or he could trust that she was okay as she claimed and go to his own room.

He had just resolved to return to his own quarters when she called his name from behind the shut door. Without hesitating, Vision phased through the wall, arriving swiftly in her bedroom, a space he was more familiar with than his own room.

What he saw before him had heat crawling up his neck and sent him spinning around. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry I thought you said my name—”

He tried to rid the image that was currently burned into his mind, even as his heart beat wildly in his ears.

“No, I did call you,” Wanda said, he heard the sound of her struggling, “I need help.”

When Vision didn’t make to move from where he was, Wanda spoke again. “Vision you can look, it’s not that big a deal.”

Vision swallowed, turning around but keeping his eyes on the floor, nonetheless. When he finally looked up, he was able to confirm what he had seen upon entering her room. Wanda was – well she was stuck. Her slinged arm was raised above her head, caught on the edge of her top as she had seemingly tried to struggle out of her clothes.

“I think,” Vision said, speaking quietly, “that you’re supposed to undo the sling before you change.”

“Yes, well,” Wanda huffed, “I only have two hands and one of them I can’t use.”

Vision glanced up to her face, refusing to acknowledge her mostly bare torso, the slope of her back, her waist, her chest.

“A little help, please?”

“Oh – of course!” Vision said starting forward, unsure where to begin. Wanda watched him approach and turned, nodding her head to the knot tied at the back of her neck.

Delicately, Vision untied the knot, letting her injured arm free of its sling, his eyes firmly focused on not looking below her shoulders. Wanda turned around to him and he held his hands out to help lift the top off, waiting for her invitation before he touched her.

“Go on,” she raised her arms to the best of her ability, the top hiking higher up her ribs as she did.

Vision pulled her top over her bandaged upper arm, freeing it from the thin material before doing the same on the other arm. With the utmost care, and desperately trying not to think about the tense quiet between them, Vision laid his hands on the hem of the top, pulling it up and over her head. He let the top fall onto the bed, unable to keep his eyes away from her as she shook her hair out of her face.

Vision started and quickly turned around again, the intimacy sending his eyes back to a spot on the wall which he bore into intently. He listened to the rustling of fabric as Wanda pulled a sweater over her head. When she was done, she tapped his shoulder, her other hand extending the sling for him to support her arm with again.

Vision leant in, looping the fabric around her shoulder, taking care to not jostle her wounded arm.

“Do you not fear getting hurt?” He asked hesitantly, his chin brushing against her forehead as he finished the loose knot.

“Of course I do,” Wanda murmured back, her eyes closed contently as Vision pulled back a little and set about readjusting the fabric to make it more comfortable.

“How do you manage it?” Vision asked. “The fear.”

“I don’t.” Wanda’s reply was a harsh confession that had Vision’s own heart clenching empathetically.

He finished with the sling, gently brushing her hair over her shoulder. “How do I manage it?” He hadn’t really meant to speak it aloud, but it was an honest question. He wasn’t sure how long Wanda would still want to be around him if he hovered like this every time she got the smallest injury. Vision would do anything not to jeopardise their current relationship, this thing that was something and wasn’t at the same time. Anything to reinforce the line between friendship and whatever was on the other side that they both seemed intent on keeping to.

“We manage it together,” Wanda said softly, shrugging with her good shoulder. “We take it one day at a time, one accident at a time and we help each other.”

Vision smiled at her, reaching out to cradle her hand gently. “I suppose we can manage that.”

#wanda vision #wanda x vision #scarletvision #soft fics #visionsofusfics #post AoU #wanda maximoff #the vision #domestic shit #tending to each others wounds

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almostxinnocent · 4 years

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“Society wants to believe it can identify evil people, or bad or harmful people, but it's not practical. There are no stereotypes.” ― Ted Bundy Anyone who knows me also knows that I am a huge fan of true crime. Even knowing that, it has taken me a long time to actually write about this, or maybe just fear at re-living it over again has held me back. I figure if I don’t do it now I never will. It would be easier to simply do this as just another story. So here we go. (Part One)When I was fourteen other girls were reading Teen Beat and I was reading True Crime novels about Ken Bernardo, Jeffrey Dahmer and other serial killers no young girl should know about. So when I stumbled across the address to actually write one of them it was no surprise that I jumped on the chance.

For the sake of privacy and my sanity we will call him Mr. E. A lot of people don’t even know about it but there is a place called J-pay where you can write to inmates and see if they respond. I wanted to ensure a response so I included a couple of pictures of myself. I was fifteen and throwing modesty aside, I thought I was pretty attractive. It had been a few weeks since I had sent my first message and I rushed home each day to see if there was a response. It had become a routine for me. I quickly logged into the website and saw that I actually had a response. I had only written one person and immediately I felt like a ten year old on Christmas morning. I clicked to open it and greedily read what was inside.

“I have to say for a young girl you are not only intelligent, but beautiful as well. I would be more than happy to answer your questions but if I am going to be nice to you, you need to be nice to me too. I have a couple questions of my own.”

I read down further, scrunched my face up at some of the more personal questions like “How often do you bath” or “What does your hair smell like before a good wash” . I knew he was highly intelligent, and I was sure he would smell bullshit from a mile away. I can’t say I wasn’t nervous but it was more nervous excitement. I was going to write my reply, but hesitation got the best of me. I turned the computer off and went to drown myself in another book. When I finally did sleep I was thrown into some pretty intense nightmares. I woke up tired from the lack of good sleep I had gotten and rolled over in bed. It wasn’t unusual to remember my dreams, but this time I would rather not have. All night I had dreams of being visited by Mr. E. They seemed so real that I actually decided I would not write back at all.

After a couple nights of not having any nightmares and scolding myself for being a sissy, I gathered enough courage to write back.

“Mr. E,I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to see your response, even if you do ask some pretty weird questions. To show you that I will be an honest pen-pal I will answer them but first I want to ask a couple of my own. Do you ever feel sorry for what you did to the family of your victims? I already know how you feel about the girls that you killed. There are so many books written about you! What is it like not being able to be free anymore? What is your day to day like there? Do you get a lot of fan mail? Do you think I am a fan??”

I went down his list and answered all his questions, providing as little detail as possible. It did give me the creeps to think about a real life serial killer who tortured girls to death so close to my age having knowledge of my personal bathing habits and odors. Sometimes knowing someone is locked up isn’t enough, it’s wondering what they do with their time that can be unsettling. We had been writing for about four months before things started to get even more uncomfortable. Mr. E had always given me the answers that I wanted, although I tended to not ask any graphic details about his murders. Then suddenly he started to give me details on his own, some of them that I had never actually read in any of his books. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t more jumpy than usual or that the contents of his letters were not giving me nightmares. The truth was I had been plagued by them, but I just could not stop responding.

I knew if my mother ever found out what I was doing she would probably take away my computer and everything else that provided contact with anyone in the world, and I think that was putting me on edge as well.I wanted to believe that Mr. E trusted me, but I knew his mail was being read. Since the details were just descriptions of his killing rituals and habits I guess it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was revealing where more bodies were or anything. His personal questions started to became more intrusive too. The minute I started to feel too uncomfortable, or there was a lapse of response, I would get a kinder letter of assurance which motivated me to keep writing. I was playing a game of cat and mouse but was starting to feel I was more the mouse than cat.

Finally, in one of our conversations he asked for my address. He told me that he had a few drawings and poetry he wanted me to have. In this message he especially made it a point to compliment me and thank me for keeping him company. He told me about how most of the writing he received was from distasteful and rude women (I assumed grown-ups) that he would never consider responding to. I have to admit I was flattered and less uncomfortable but looking back I see I was being manipulated. I gave him my address. I figured being locked up forever would prevent anything bad from happening to me. I was safe, so why not? It was only a few days later that a small package arrived, and I ran upstairs before my mother could see what I had. I opened it carefully, and my heart was pounding so loud it seemed like it was coming from across the room. I almost lost my breath to be completely honest. Here I was, a teenager getting mail from a notorious serial killer! Who would believe it!

Inside the package contained two poems, with what looked like dried blood smeared across them. A lock of hair tied with what looked like some kind of frayed rope and three drawings. One of the poems went as follows; “Her lips looked like two berries. I knew I had to touch but my touch was so heavy off her face the lips I plucked I kissed the bloody space where they once used to be a beautiful and gaping hole but then she tried to flee I wrapped her up in ribbons I tied them like a bow Her mouth kept making noises So the hole I had to sew” I am sure you get the picture. In my young mind I wasn’t sure what to think, but I guess I thought it was to be expected. I wondered if there were any rules about what you could send someone so young, but then again I had never mentioned my age. I had only sent photos since you had to be eighteen to use the website. We had made an agreement that when his arrived, I would send my own. That night my nightmares were so intense that I woke sweating and feeling trapped. The next morning I cut off a lock of my own hair, pricked my finger and smeared some blood across it. I can’t explain how or why but Mr. E had some kind of hold on me. At this point you might be wondering what kind of laws they had back then about what you could or could not send into prison. I didn’t realize that we lived in a world with such liberties or restrictions. I was in a state of being embarrassed about my nightmares and thinking I was some hot shot getting details nobody else had gotten. Two more weeks went by and I did not hear from my pen-pal. I was confused and constantly checking my inbox. I wondered if what I sent had gotten him into some kind of trouble, but was more worried my mom might find out if someone from the prison contacted us. Then a week or so later, another box appeared and I once again ran upstairs to open it. I was lucky that the mail was there when I came home from school. I did not want to have to deal with a confrontation with my mom about strange boxes at our front door. I opened the box and was immediately confused. What I saw put goosebumps all over my body, not just my arms. It was almost painful. There was only a letter, and the box was too big for just a letter. That was strange enough. The letter was short itself was short. “I hope you are as excited as I am. It won’t be long now.” The more I thought about it, the less scared I was. I was actually angry. I felt like I had been betrayed. Then I realized how ridiculous that was. Why would I expect honesty from a serial killer? I bet this was his new way of getting his kicks now that he was locked up. I went to my computer and was ready to write a bunch of insults but when I got to the web page it would not load. That happened a lot, so I decided to just cut my losses and move on. I was embarrassed that I had been such an easy target, so even weeks later I never told my friends and obviously not my mother.One night I was out with my best friend and we went to our favorite spot, the playground. Yeah, I know. Juvenile, but it was the best place at night because it was private and nobody bothered you. After the usual talk about boys at school, and general gossip we decided it was time to head home. My mother was almost always gone on the weekends, and it happened to be the weekend my little brother and sister weren’t at home with me either. I tried to convince Lilly to spend the night but she said her dad would freak out since she basically spent every weekend at my house anyways. This meant flicking through television channels until I got frustrated enough to read a book and then go to sleep.My walk back home was short but it seemed like the perfect time for my mind to start thinking about Mr. E. It bothered me that I was so foolish and even though I knew I had nothing to be scared of I still felt a little jumpy when I was turning the corner onto my street. I finally got home and shut and locked the door and let out a deep sigh. It felt like I had been holding my breath. I had to laugh at myself as I walked upstairs to start a boring routine of spending a Saturday night alone. My little yorkie Koby was running around my legs wagging his stub tail excitedly. I picked him up and opened my bedroom door. “Hello pal, I told you it wouldn’t be much longer.” I felt dizzy and nauseous at the same time but I could not move. It felt like the entire room tilted. I stood there trying to process what was happening. He made no attempt to move from the bed. He was holding one of my stuffed animals in his hands. I kept telling myself this wasn’t real, it was another dream. This wasn’t him. This was not happening. This wasn’t him. The voice inside my head became more frantic and I put my hands on both my ears. I felt like I was losing my mind because there could not possibly be a man sitting on my bed, holding my stuffed animal. “Don’t be upset, I know I’m not who you are looking for but I promise I can give you much more than some man stuck in a cell could anyway. We have so much to talk about. I knew you were the one when you sent that hair back to me. I said to myself, here is a girl who isn’t afraid to do things out of the ordinary.” His voice was vibrating though me. I knew my only way to get out of this would be to either do what he said, or make him think I would. At the same time that thought was going through my head I also realized there was no way I was going to talk my way out of this. This wasn’t Mr. E, and this wasn’t a nightmare. I could tell this man was very tall from the height of him simply sitting there. His black hair was straight. He looked ordinary. He didn’t look like a monster at all. “How?....” I barely said the words as if speaking too loud might cause him to do something. “Well, I could insult your intelligence for not making sure the website you were using was actually the real website, but most of you young ones usually don’t bother. Let’s just say you were never writing to who you thought you were and start fresh.” All the terrible details from his letter came back to me. The way he stalked the girls, kidnapped them and then held for days while they were tortured. Like dolls, he played with them until they were no longer breathing.

“I thought I could trust you.” I whispered, still frozen in my place. I could attempt to run but he would just catch me on the stairs as I tried to go down. There wasn’t any feasible way to get away.

“Oh you can trust me. I never lied to you did I? Now come over here and sit on my lap and I will tell you all the fun things we will do together. I know you like the park, did you want to go back and swing on the swings again? You looked so fresh with your skirt flying up your legs.”

I shook my head and back into my doorway which was at the exact moment that he lunged at me. The fact that he had been watching me made me feel violated enough. I didn’t even bother to take time to think about how long he had been watching me but now assumed it was from the moment I sent him my actual address.

I let out a startled yelp as we both landed on the ground. He was quick and before I knew it he had my arms over my head was straddling me. He leaned down for a kiss but I kept twisting my head back and forth with tears streaming down my face. “Please don’t let him kiss me, please.” I begged God inside my mind to make it go away.

The next thing I knew he slapped me so hard across my face that I was seeing everything in two’s with blurred lines. I was no longer frantically twisting, but slowly going back and forth, still reeling from the hand that had rocked me. I was so dazed I could barely feel his mouth drooling on mine until he sharply bit down on my lip. It was so hard I came out of my daze screaming as loudly as I could before he clamped his hand over my lips and shook his head.

“There will be plenty of time for that.”

#serial killers #writing #short stories #horror #scary #true crime #true crime stories #goosebumps #stalkers #teenage #nightmare #nightmares #jeffrey dahmer #ted bundy #paul bernardo #kidnapping #scary stories #horror stories

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matchacloudz · 4 years

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Humilated Heartbreak

Just something I wrote while feeling a little down (trigger warning I guess? Nothing graphic just mentions of depression) Also my favourite video game and character ><

Masterlist

Word count: 1.5k

Its common knowledge that when a heart breaks, it can feel like the worst thing in the world. Your mind twists and manipulates things, making you feel even worse – if that could be possible. A majority of humans experience a heartbreak while in school, whether it be from a significant other, disconnecting from a friend, or the death of a loved one.

All things that can make the human heart break.

What they aren’t told, is how to deal with it. There are countless articles online on the grieving process, how to get over an ex, or how to get revenge – if you’re petty enough. Its all clickbait, its all word of mouth from others.

Everybody has a different grieving process. Some more severe than others, some longer than others. This isn’t my first heartbreak; my life story can tell you that. But one thing to note is; it doesn’t get any easier than the first time.

The first time I ever felt my heartbreak was when my older sister was killed. She was at her grade 12 graduation, having the time of her life, just starting the newest chapter of her life. She was responsible, she was the one to organize the ride home afterword. Her death may have been an accident, but it was the hands of a drunk driver. A drunk driver who was at the same graduation she was.

The second time my heart broke was when my parents separated. The grief over losing their first born was weighing heavy on their shoulders. They couldn’t cope together, it was tearing them apart, and ultimately, they decided to divorce. My father fell into a deep depression, barely functioning, hardly going to work, staying up all night. So, my mother won primary custody of me. She wasn’t doing much better however, she threw herself into her work, I barely saw her as is, leaving me to my own devices.

This is the third time I can count that my heart has broke. I didn’t know how to cope with my sisters death. I have had grandparents pass away due to complications or old age, but I’ve never had someone so close to me be gone. It was weird, I didn’t see her everyday. I couldn’t say I loved her everyday, it was hard. My entire routine was thrown off, my life was shaken up. I started going out more, hanging out later with my friends, anything to keep my mind busy and off of the loss of my older sister. That’s when I met Jai.

He seemed to be my night in shining armor. He took me under his wing, he would check up on me, made sure I was doing my homework, making sure I wasn’t slipping. I thought things would be better with him. I felt myself growing out of the shell I had built. He was everything I could have ever wanted, he was there for me, he never asked for anything in return; he seemed genuinely kind.

Until he didn’t.

I had learned from social media that he had been cheating on me. The girl hadn’t made her account private and I had been tagged in the comments. After being happy for what felt like so long, it all crumbled. The boy I thought I knew, was someone completely different.

This is when I started skipping school. I was humiliated, Jai had completely played me, making me look like an idiot. I didn’t know how long his second relationship was going on for, but it was enough for me to grow back into the shy quiet girl I used to be. The first week at school after our ‘scandal’ I was getting sympathetic looks, everyone was pitying me. It was slightly nice to know they thought he was the jerk, but I couldn’t take it. It wasn’t prominent, but it was enough attention for me to want to curl back into my skin.

I couldn’t go to school knowing he was there, the wounds too fresh to face them head on, the sympathy I was receiving was too much for me to be comfortable. I attended less and less, and with mom working all the time, nobody knew.

Or at least I thought.

It was probably day 3 this week of not bothering to show up at all when the doorbell rang at 11am. I tried ignoring it, figuring it was a door to door salesman or something like that, but the rings became more persistent, I just couldn’t find the energy to go see who it was.

“Y/N! I know you’re in there!”

The voice scared me, not just because I knew exactly who it was, but because of how close they were. The door was locked, but that’s not where it came from. He was under my window. I debated going over and closing it, but that would be the confirmation he needed that I was indeed home.

“Y/N/N, you know I’m not afraid to climb in the window” he said. But again, I just started at the open window. A few seconds pass, until I see his boot on the window ledge, and all of a sudden one of my best friends was in my bedroom. He looked around for a second until his eyes fell on my figure in the bed.

“Hi?” He said quietly, taking note of the solemn look on my face. I just stared back at him, a little irritated that he ‘broke’ into my room, and still exhausted from the lack of sleep I got last night. “Y/N, you know me, c’mon I’m not leaving until you say something.” He said taking a seat next to me on the bed. “Sean” I said, turning away from him.

The Diaz boy sighed and laid next to me. “You gotta say more than that Y/N/N” he said using my nickname again. But once again, I was silent. “Alright fine, I’ll speak. I know why you’re skipping, I get it ok? But you can’t do this to yourself. This isn’t my best friend, I understand what happened and trust me it sucks, but everyone thinks he’s an asshole, that girl? She dumped him, and basically no one is talking to him at school” Sean explained.

I sighed and turned over to him, taking his hand in mine and holding it close to my chest. “I’m humiliated Sean. I mean, he cheated on me for who knows how long. I mean cool, he ruined his reputation, but how is that supposed to make me feel better?” I said. “He broke my heart, he played me like a fool, and I just went along with it” I whispered. “Okay shut up, the only reason you went along with it is because you didn’t know. You were the one being wronged, and its happened before and it’ll happen again. Some people are just so shitty in the world, you can’t let shit like this get you down. You didn’t do that when your sister died, so why are you doing it when a dickhead cheats on you.”

Sean held truth in his words, I knew he was completely right and was telling me what I needed to hear, but right now I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to let the world swallow me up and start over in a new town.

“Are you not talking because you know I’m right?” He asked leaning his head on mine. “I will hit you” I say, pulling his hand closer to me. Sean just chuckled at my answer, feeling satisfied I was actually talking.

We just laid there semi-cuddling as he let me wallow in my own embarrassment. “Where’s Lyla?” I asked noting she wasn’t with him. “If her mom knew she was skipping she would be grounded for the rest of high school” Sean answered. I chuckled with him, acknowledging once again he was right. “I know it sucks Y/N/N, but are you up to going to school with me?” I let out a loud breath, “not today.” I answered him. “I mean, it’s already 1:30, I don’t think theres a point in going anymore. But tomorrow, Lyla and I will come and pick you up, and we’ll get on the bus and go to school okay? We’ll protect you from everyone” he teased.

This time, I finally hit him. “Hey! What the hell?” “You make me sound like a fucking damsel in distress! I can take care of myself Diaz!” I tell him.

The next day, my friends kept their promise. At 8am sharp, they came to my house, we waited for the bus, and I shared the seat with Sean. I could feel people looking at me, either shocked that I actually went to school that day, or they were still pitying me. What ever the case, Sean would squeeze my hand, and Lyla would confront whoever dared glance my way for a second too long.

They don’t tell you how to handle heartbreak, its something you need to heal from on your own. People tend to fill the void with whatever they find best, and in my case, all I needed was my two best friends.

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loveafterthefact · 4 years

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Love After the Fact Chapter 61: In the Company of Blades

In which Keith has friends, Lance gets to show off, and Shiro wants Adam to step on him

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“Anyway, that’s where we are right now. One thing at a time, and I will come up with a meal plan, just in case,” Thace says. They’re rushing through hallways to get to the training yards.

“Thanks.” Keith twists his hair into a large knot on the back of his head, keeping it in place with a pin. “And thanks for the pin.”

“No problem. I just hope you don’t get impaled through your skull.”

“Hasn’t happened yet. Miraculously. We are very late.” Which means probing questions from one Altean, and a probing stare from another. One, Keith can’t say no to -because he’s soft- and the other, Keith is too scared to lie to.

“Fortunately, it’s easy to blame your health. So long as we can keep Lance’s mouth shut.”

“Right...” Keith is about to explain, but Thace's exasperated groan tells him he doesn't have to.

The training grounds are divided into a series of yards, with walls erected for privacy and so no one takes up too much space. Some are large, some small, some flat, some full of obstacles and ground cover, climbing walls, chasms, even stands of trees. There are even places to practice elk-riding, a means of preserving the ancient history of the mounted warriors of old. The Marmora have more respect for tradition than one might think.

When Thace and Keith arrive, they’re beholden to quite the spectacle. Adam, wielding a polearm, squaring off with one of Kolivan’s two kits, Antok. Regris, his other kit, is standing next to his father. Both are grown, but were raised by the Blades, and remain quite close to their sire.

Regris apparently got the good end of the stick, because Antok is getting his ass kicked by the smaller Altean. Adam’s polearm is indeed double-ended, this one equipped with glaives, which he’s currently using to repel Antok. The Altean is also wearing gauntlets with small blades attached, good for slashing throats if an enemy gets too close. Keith imagines that they also discourage grappling.

It’s strange, but Keith has never once in his life thought of Adam as a warrior. He’s always the behind-the-scenes man, and battle tends to be so upfront and personal. Seems Keith was wrong, because Adam is good. He’s fast, too, keeping up with Antok’s limbs, which includes an incredibly mobile tail.

Shiro seems to be enjoying the view, watching the fierce-eyed Altean swing his polearm like it’s a toothpick. A very long, dangerous toothpick. “That’s literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Gross.” Keith shoves his brother away.

“I want him to impale me,” the larger Galra sighs.

“You’re a pervert.”

“I concur with Keith,” Thace murmurs.

“Yeah? Well neither of you gets an opinion because you were both late.”

“Health thing,” Keith murmurs. “Where’s Lance?”

“Three yards down, showing off his marksmanship skills. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” Keith murmurs. “I just had a few questions.”

“Ah.” Shiro shifts awkwardly. They’re still a bit uncomfortable, despite putting their disagreement behind them, and being otherwise normal with each other. “Listen.”

The fact that Shiro bothers to turn away from Adam’s totally-not-an-exhibition is a contributing factor as to why Keith actually does choose to listen to his brother’s opinion.

“I’m here for you. No matter what. Know that.”

Keith smiles. That sounds like his brother. “ I know. Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need you. Or Lance will let you know because I refuse to ask you for help.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Adam finally manages to disarm Antok, spinning his polearm and holding it behind his back.

“Well, Remind me never to push Adam over the edge. I’m gonna go see what Lance is up to.”

“You do that,” Shiro murmurs. “I’m gonna go find a deserted hallway and bring your attendant with me.”

“Have fun. Pervert.”

“I will, thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith trots over to the other field, curious to see what Lance has got up to. Thace hurries right behind him, scanning the facility. “Where the fuck is my mate?”

“Who cares about your mate? Where’s- mine…”

As it turns out, Keith’s mate is firing arrows from the back of a galloping elk. And every shot is perfect. He’s also shirtless, which is really great, but kind of gross because he’s doing that weird ‘sweating’ thing that Alteans do, where they get all wet and slippery. Why can’t they just pant to cool off like a normal species?

But whatever. It’s still incredibly impressive. Especially since the targets, little floating spheres, are both moving and firing at him. And it’s nice to see Lance in his element. He’s got a borrowed bow in one hand, a couple arrows between the fingers of the other, another between his grinning teeth.

“Good to know your chosen mate isn’t entirely useless,” a gruff voice murmurs from behind. Kolivan’s followed them from the other field. “Wasn’t sure about him when Shirogane came back with a report on his swordsmanship. He’s actually an incredible shot.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty great.”

The only thing better is the way Lance’s face brightens when they make eye contact. He removes the arrow from his mouth. “Hey, beloved! See something you like?”

“Hm. Not sure. You should go around again so I can decide.” Keith’s smirk morphs into a grin. “I take it you're enjoying yourself?”

“I am kicking ass! This is so much fun! Can’t believe I’ve never tried this before! Also, this is Bruna, and I love her.”

Keith smiles as Lance hangs his bow from the elk’s saddle, stroking the doe’s soft, red fur. “You know she’s carnivorous, right?”

“All close friends have their points of contention, and admittedly her terrifying teeth are… one of those things, but she’s also loyal, and fast, and very sweet.”

Keith eyes the elk skeptically, gaze lingering on her four sharpened antlers crowning her head and the filed horns protruding from her face. “This sharp, vicious creature is your friend?”

“Bruna will be loved and adored by yours truly all the days of her life.”

“Okay. Good luck convincing your father to let you bring her home.”

“Oh, I don’t have to convince either of my parents of anything. I just have to convince you.”

Keith stares down the hopeful look in his ridiculous elk-loving husband’s face. He’s thoroughly unmoved by those large, pleading, blue-and-pink eyes. Completely unswayed… Except… “If you’re getting one, I should get one too. It will give us an excuse to spend time together without being buried in tablets.”

“See, this is why I love you.”

“I love you too. Now shoot some more arrows so I can watch.”

“Okay, should I put my shirt back on, or-”

“No, it’s fine.” A sly smile. “You can keep it off if you like.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow before lifting his bow again -Does he have to show off that he can ride with no hands?- and preparing to continue his practice.

“When you’re done flirting,” Kolivan mutters. “Your mother is waiting to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, okay.” Keith looks around. “Where did Thace go?”

“I dunno. Probably to stick his tongue in Ulaz’ mouth.” Kolivan sighs, leading him to yet another training room. “I’d been counting on you to be the only one of these idiots to keep it in their pants.”

“What about your sons?”

“Pfft. Found mates while you were gone. They’re always… visiting.”

“Gross… Well, I promise never to visit you.”

The Galra chuckle. Kolivan never really has a lot to say, but what he does have to say is either incredibly serious or mildly amusing. He’s an acquired taste. One that Keith has acquired in order to survive. Kolivan’s also his mother’s closest companion, so he insists on their getting along, despite what one might call ‘creative differences’ when it comes to leadership roles.

Essentially, Kolivan’s an unapologetic, amazingly blunt asshole and Keith tries his best to be more… constructive.

“It’s about time you showed up.”

“Hey, Mom. Sorry. I stopped by the med ward.”

“Okay.” She goes easily, drawing her sword. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

That’s what Keith loves about his mother: the understanding. For only having known each other for two years, they share so much: a loss, a condition, a passion for the personal freedoms that their rulers restrict until they can barely breathe.

But Keith and his mother find a way. They dig their roots into unwelcoming ground. They learn to thrive. They draw breath.

And swords. Krolia has Keith panting in minutes, forcing him to the brink of his skills. He really is out of shape, but he’s missed this. He’s missed this challenge, this push, this direct, up-front, physical confrontation where no one is screaming, or complaining, and there’s no stack of work staring at him from behind another stack of work. Just him, trying his damndest to beat the crap out of someone who can actually match with him.

And, surprisingly, he’s doing well. His stamina and strength have taken a hit, but he’s picked up forms and techniques on Altea that give him an edge.

The Galra know how an Altean fights, but Keith knows how they think, why they make the choices they do. Their aim isn’t disarming or killing an enemy. A Galra's aim is to defeat the enemy, to beat them into submission until the ground beneath thier boots is painted red. An Altean’s aim is to make it past the enemy toward a larger goal, and do it as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Krolia isn’t his enemy. She’s just in the way. So, dodging a slash of Krolia’s sword, Keith slips past his mother, elbowing her in the kidney as he darts past. Krolia doesn’t flinch, even as she turns to stare at her son, but nobody can fully brush off a hit to the kidney, and she lowers her sword, panting her way through the pain since she has the option.

“What was that?” she asks.

“I applied a different philosophy. In a mission, you wouldn’t be my target, and I saw no reason to waste my time dispatching you.” Keith shrugs. “Why bother?”

“Because I could have gathered information on you-”

“You didn’t. In this scenario, you, an unnamed, random assailant, are not worth killing, and I have a different mission.”

“And what might that mission be?”

“I…” Keith pauses. “I hadn’t thought that far. I just wanted to show off.”

“Clearly.” Krolia looks her son up and down, amused. “I don’t understand, but you seem to think you’ve achieved something, so-”

“HA!!!”

“AHhhhhh!!!”

“-So what the fuck was that?” Krolia growls, adjusting her grip on her sword.

“I’m not sure, but that was Lance and Adam, so something’s probably being destroyed.” Keith sighs, heading back to Lance’s field. “Welcome to my life.”

Lance is indeed messing around with Adam, wielding a broadsword with an adequate amount of skill -a miracle, honestly, and one courtesy of Keith- while Adam comes at him with his polearm.

From behind the fighting idiots, Shiro grins at him, notching his head at Lance. Keith presses his lips together to hide his smile, ducking his head. He knows he’s doing a good job, but to have someone else say it means a lot.

“I thought you said he didn’t have any skills,” Krolia murmurs, watching the Alteans go back and forth.

“That’s what I thought.” Keith lifts his gaze back to his chosen mate, the glint in his eyes as he experiments with the sword in his hand, figuring out how to make it more effective against Adam’s chosen weapon. “But I was wrong. He just needed some more one-on-one coaching. He’s typically quite capable on his own, but always better when he’s working with others. He’s a people person.”

“That is one of the many, many reasons I don’t understand why you love that little creature,” Krolia murmurs.

“He’s a good buffer. He does all the talking, and I just stand there and look pretty.”

That’s not entirely true, less so as time goes on, but for some reason, Keith doesn’t want to share all that much about his life on Altea. It almost feels too personal, like he’s not ready to share his experiences with anyone yet.

“Hm, I’d think looking pretty would be his job,” Thace teases, clinging to Ulaz’ waist. Ulaz himself only nods, a more quiet kind of friendly than his mate, but friendly all the same. His fondness for Keith is indicated by a softened eyebrow, rather than a smile.

“No, but he does it exceptionally well.”

The corner of Ulaz’ mouth quirks. “Perhaps you can both come over to our place tomorrow and look pretty around our table. The kits want to see you, Mashan in particular. Besides, the hunting party returns tomorrow. A little lizard told me that they slew a pack of vakalt. Herdsmen are coming up, too. We can celebrate together, maybe put a few of them up at our den for the night. Get in a few good stories. Also, be forewarned, Lotor wants to speak to Lance outside the castle, so he may 'spontaneously decide to visit'.”

Keith nods. He watches Lance and Adam spar, glancing to his littermate across the yard. So far, his companions have been more than agreeable concerning the Galra way of life. Lance, at least, will enjoy the experience, and Adam will enjoy a chance to crawl all over Shiro. Maybe he’ll even be able to drag Pidge out of their closet. It’ll be nice.

“Sure. We’ll come.” Keith smiles. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Nonsense!” Thace claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll always be one of us, Keith, and you’re always welcome in our home. You, and that Altean of yours.”

“Thanks, guys. I really appreciate that.”

He does. He’s glad that he still has a place here, even if it’s no longer his only home.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

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A Boy Like You Preview | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is don’t murder me!!! → words: anticipated 15k (?) → a/n: it’s like so fucking late rn and i have a midterm to study for but you know what....... you know what....... sometimes you gotta write blushy yoongi to make yourself forget that you are a poor college student whose boss just cut your work hours in half, so yea!!!!!! here’s whatever this is

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

He doesn't find the words, after all. You aren't too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid the rain.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you could return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

———

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It's too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you'll never find him.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling... You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his face away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve... I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi visibly relaxes when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

#my wips #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts reader insert #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi imagines #LISTEN I KNOW I SAID I'D POST FOX RAIN 4.5 AND I WILL #I JUST..... OVERESTIMATED MYSELF AND I THOT I'D FINISH EARLIER THAN EXPECTED #WELL!!!!!!! JUST ANOTHER DAY OF ZEE FUCKING UP AND WRITING SOME OTHER BULLSHIT INSTEAD LOL

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dokidoki-tae · 5 years

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I don't know if you're doing these at the moment but could you do La Squadra reacting to a s/o who has a stand called [FOREVER YOUNG], which does as the name implies keeping the user youthful even after many decades. However there is quite the catch as due to a large accident many years ago the s/o is now essentially a walking, talking corpse&has to take extra care of their body using paint&repair putty (think like Death Becomes Her)& they were largely keeping this a secret until they were (pt1)

(Pt2) walked in upon doing some "repairs" or hasmiraculously lived through some crazy kind of accident like falling down thestairs and twisting their neck or getting a hole blown out their stomach. Howwould the boys react (a little embarrassed this took 2 asks 😳)

Sorry for the long wait. This is a pretty cool stand idea! Definitely fun to write scenarios about it!

Risotto: The second he sees you, he stops in histracks, lets out an audible grunt, and excuses himself, quietly apologizing forintruding as he shuts the door. In all your life, you’ve never seen him sostunned before. He’s quite shocked, to say the least, and you don’t see him therest of the day after you’re done “repairing” yourself for the day. You’ve experiencedhell for most of your life and were lucky enough to live through it thanks toyour stand, but there was nothing that could compare to the silence from yourpartner; you worried he was disgusted by your condition and felt guilty for nottelling him about it even though you’ve been together so long. You knew he wasin his office, you eventually you made your way there and hesitantly opened thedoor, peeking your head through to find Risotto sitting in his chair, fingerslaced together as his rested on top. He sat there somberly, his eyes slowlymeeting yours when he told you to come in. “How long have you lived like this?Are you even alive?” His questions caused your breath to hitch, a shiverrunning up your spine. Your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to findthe right words. When you began to tell him about your stand and its ability, henever looked away, never blink. You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself,shoulders dropping the more you spoke and felt scared by the whole situation. “Areyou alright?” The concern in his voice was evident and helped your mood bounceback up for a split second. “I am,” you whispered. He stood up and made his wayto you and embraced you, holding you like a fragile glass figure.

Prosciutto: His reaction is similar to Risotto whenhe walks in on your but deviates from there. He’s starting, wide-eyed and jaw dropped.When he shakes himself from the initial shock of seeing you like that, he takesa step forward and aggressively starts questioning you about your appearance, eventuallylooming over and gripping your shoulders forcing you to look at him, demandinganswers. If you were to be honest, his forcefulness as frightening and was yourfear when you were trying to work up the courage to tell him about your circumstances.Your gaze dropped to the floor, feeling ashamed and monstrous. Prosciutto noticedimmediately, clicked his tongue as he internally chastised himself for his lossof composure. He released his grip from your shoulder and felt his gentle touchon your cheek, feeling him wipe a tear from your face; you didn’t even noticeyou were crying. He apologized, tone gentle, as he kissed your forehead. You foughtback a whimper, unable to believe what was happening. You looked back at him, lookinginto his deep blue eyes staring at you with concern. He voiced his concern foryou, asking you again about your appearance in a much more sensitive approach. Helistened attentively about your stand, finally revealing the catch of yourstand. He asked you if you felt any pain, holding your hand with a gentlenessthat was unlike you’ve seen before and you even felt it trembling as you spoketo him. “I will make sure nothing more happens to you.”

Pesci: It was your first-time taking Pesci on amission, usually he was following Prosciutto considering the blond was hisprimary mentor. But you were happy to have your partner with you and give him alittle guidance. Prosciutto tended to be harsh and attempted to erasure all thegentleness within Pesci. You hoped that this mission would be a good examplethat Pesci didn’t have to erasure the fundamental parts of himself and become “Prosciuttojr.” to be a competent mafioso. You hoped you were a good substitute mentor,but you had found yourself too protective and ended up getting severally woundedduring the mission. While your stand [FOREVER YOUNG] kept you alive, trying tocome up with ways to explain to the unconscious Pesci how you survived your woundswas going to be difficult. During the mission, it turns out there were moreenemies than originally believed, and you were ambushed. You knew your standcould handle the firepower directed at the two of you, and so you made the decisionto essentially become cannon fodder to be able to take on your enemies. Pesciwas terrified and horrified to see you in the line of fire and screamed interror when he saw the bullets pierced your body. It helped ignite a fire inhim, and he helped you take down the enemies. After the battle, you stoodthere, blood oozing out the holes covering your body. When you turned to lookat Pesci, he got one good look at you and passed out. That is how you ended up raggingPesci to your vehicle and laid him in the back seat while you took the driver'sseat, waiting patiently until he woke up. When he came to, he called your nameand turned to look at him with a gentle smile on your face. “Morning, sleepyhead.”Heavy tears traveled down his face, jumping up and throwing himself at you tohug you. “Y-y-you a-a-alive! I’m so g-g-glad! I d-don’t know h-how but I don’tcare! Thank g-god!” He sobbed, burying his tearful face into your hair. Perhapswhen you get home, you can finally tell him about your stand.

Formaggio: “Holy shit…” You were regaining consciousnessand the first thing you hear was the shocked voice of your stunned partner. Youreyes slowly opened, vision still blurry as you attempted to focus in on thefigure looking down on you; it was no doubt Formaggio, you knew that bald head well.When your vision became clearer, you realized Formaggio looking down at you witha dumbfounded look on his face. “Maggio… Is everthi-ugh” you groan and winced.Your neck was killing you. “Every…” he paused and gulped. “Everything isalright…I think…You’re alive…I mean…I think you are…I think…” He began to mutterincoherently. You narrowed your eyes in confusion about the entire situationbecause you couldn’t remember how you blacked out to begin with. “What happened?”you asked. He was holding you but held you at a distance from his body likeyou were some strange foreign object. “Some fucker got to you and tried to breakyour neck. . . and well... .He was kind of successful. . . I killed him,thinking he killed you but. . .” he trailed off again. Your heart poundedagainst your chest rapidly, reaching up to feel your neck and realizing whathad happened. Your enemy managed to twist your neck and break it. You signed infrustration, knowing you had to explain the complexity of your stand toFormaggio. You know you should have told him about it a long time again, buthow do you explain it when you didn’t entirely understand it yourself? Youtried to sit up with Formaggio acting as support. “You sure you wanna sit up,babe?” You felt a lump in your throat, loving that he still referred to youwith the endearing pet name he always called you. Perhaps he isn’t disgusted byyou after all. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened tome.” You assured him. “Seriously?” You sat there, neck twisted as you explain yourstands powers. Formaggio looked confused but was supportive at the end. “Babe,you’re so fucking cool.” He looked at you in awe, forcing a blush out of you. “Thankyou, Maggio. Now…do you want to twist my neck back into place for me?” You askand laughed when an audible “EEK!” came out of Formaggio’s mouth. You hope youcould pass off the tears as tears of laughter.

Illuso: Illuso has been avoiding you for a while now,and it was beginning to work your last nerve. If he had a problem with yourrelationship, he needs to tell you instead of ignoring you. What made mattersworse if that your lived and worked together. When you were in the same room ashim, it was hard to confront him because the others were around, and you didn’twant to cause a scene. You tried to let it go, but your heart was hurtingbecause of his actions. Nevertheless, you tried to remain professional becauseyou were coworkers first and lovers second; that’s how Risotto said when youfound out about your relationship. But the last straw was after a meeting, you tookthe opportunity to approach Illuso and speak to him even though the others werein the room, promising yourself you’d remain calm and composed, but when he wouldn’teven look at you when you tried to talk to him set you off. Before you couldstop yourself, your hand landed on his cheek, forcing him to topple over. Tearswere streaming down your face, the others watching you in silence. You lookedat Illuso, catching a glimpse as a trail of blood traveled down his chin beforeyou excused yourself. When you were in your room, you finally let the tearsfall and sobs escape your throat, legs losing their strength as you slid tothe ground until you fell asleep. When you opened your eyes, you were no longeron the ground but on your bed, and to your surprise, so was Illuso. The angerfrom the meeting began to emerge again, pushing him off to wake him up. “Fuck!”He muttered, pulling himself back up to catch you staring angrily at him. Hewas angry too, but it quickly vanished and instead muttered out an apology. “What?”You spat with more venom than you wanted. “I’m sorry for ignoring you…” He wasmore specific. “So you were ignoring me then.” Your heart began to ache again.You were unfortunately right. “Why?” You needed to know. After a pause, heexplained. “I saw you…when I used my stand to look through your mirror” Yourheart dropped. “You saw me…?” you gulped. “Your body. . .its condition,” he explainedfurther. Your initial reaction was fear followed by anger. “What? So you're disgustedby me, right?!” You shouted through tears. “You think I’m some freak?!” You couldn’thold yourself back. You felt humiliated. “Why the hell were you even spying onme your fucking pervert?!” You felt like you were going crazy. You wanted tocurl up into a ball and disappear until you fell on your back. Illuso was nowon top, putting you into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he uncharacteristically apologized.“I just didn’t know how to respond.” You broke down, sobbing and weeping, “howdo you think I feel?” You wailed. You laid there, Illuso never letting go as yourlet every last tear you could shed escape, wondering if you could repair yourrelationship with Illuso as easily as you could your body.

Melone: You kept your stands ability a secret fromMelone, afraid that if he found out he’d treat you as a test subject ratherthan his lover and partner. You were extremely careful with your movements andmade sure he never saw you as you “freshened up.” Almost all the others knew aboutyour stand, which is why you had the liberty to be a bit more reckless comparedto your missions with Melone. You couldn’t risk him seeing you essentiallycoming back to life from a wound that would be fatal to the average person. Butyou were careless one morning when you let your guard down because you thought Melonewas still on a mission unaware that he had returned sooner than expected. Thatis how he discovered your condition. You both looked at each other in stunned silencedbefore you screamed at him to get out, but he didn’t listen. “Amore, your body-“He began before you cut him off with screams ordering him to leave you alone.He obeyed and left the room, looking back at your with concerned laced withcuriosity. You couldn’t cry, only shake in fear at what will happen to yourrelationship with Melone. Will you become one of his experiments? His lab rats?Will you be nothing more than something to dissect? You don’t know how muchtime has passed, but the sun was setting when you heard a knock, knowing it wasMelone. You prepared yourself for whatever was going to happen. If Melone wasgoing to make you one of his experiments, surely the others would intervene andstop him. When he walked in, you prepared for the worst but were met with tenderness.“Amore, tell me what happened to you?” Your original tough exterior broke asyou told him about your stand. “Incredible, amore. You are simply incredible.”He complimented you, excitement evident in his voice. “To think such an amazingperson was my lover. You are like a god(dess)!” He proclaimed. “Y-you don’twant to dissect me?” You asked nervously. “Dissect!? NO! I could never defileyour body!” He pushed you on your back and crawled on top where he tilted yourhead to the side to pepper your neck in kisses. “My purpose is to worship you,amore.”

Ghiaccio: “LET ME SEE THEM!!” You heard Ghiaccio’sscreams from the other side of the door, knowing that someone from the team was preventing his entering from the room you were currently being patched up by Risotto. Severalhours earlier, you were on a mission with Illuso and Formaggio and ended upgetting caught in the crossfire, leaving you gravely injured. Your survival shockedthe two men, effectively freaking them out by how awake and coherent you were. Itwas then that you explained your stand. “Only Risotto and Prosciutto know…” yousaid as they drove you back to the base to get stitched up. “Don’t let Ghiaccioknow…” you quietly pleaded. When you got to base, Illuso distracted Ghiaccio soFormaggio could sneak you into the medical room to get Risotto to help seal thewounds. Well, it wasn’t long before Ghiaccio got wind that you were injured andwas now demanding to see you. He was a powerful man with a powerful stand andthere was no one that was going to stand in his way to see you. Unsurprisingly,he forced his way in and saw Risotto’s closing one of many wounds, unfazed bythe curly-haired man’s entrance. “WHAT THE. . .hell,” the last word came out asa confused whisper. His eyes darted from one wound to another, shocked that youwere still alive from those kinds of injuries. For once, Ghiaccio was stunnedsilent. “[Name] has a special stand,” Risotto began, “that makes immortal.” Hewasn’t entirely word, but immortal was too much. “I’ll leave you too.” Risottostood, leaving you with open wounds but first needed you two to overcome this.When he closed the door, neither you or Ghiaccio knew how to start, but youknew how much Ghiaccio hated awkward silence so he would break first. “What thefuck happened to you?” You winced at his words but knew it came with dating him.When you explained what happened on the mission, he began to turn red. “Why thefuck weren’t you more careful?! You think just because you can survive thisshit that you can act like a dumbass and endanger yourself?!” He yelled “Pissesme off!” He kicked a chair in the process. “Do you think I’m disgusting?” Helooked taken aback. “HUH!?” He looked at you, wondering if you were asking aserious question. When he saw the look of fear in your eyes, he knew this wasn’ta joke. “Why the hell would I find you disgusting? Why do you always ask dumb questions?”He grabbed your hand and ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Be careful nexttime, idiot.” He mumbled as a tint of pink dusted the top of his ears.

#jjba #vento aureo #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #ghiaccio #melone #my writing #my hcs #shay rambles #Anonymous

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kflirts · 6 years

Text

demon next door;

word count: 3.1k

genre: smut

summary: wooyoung is your absolutely fuckable neighbor. he’s slightly less fuckable when he beats up your roomamate. still fuckable tho

notes: my friend cait dared me to write her a wooyoung smut, so i originally wrote this with her name but changed it to reader version to publish it. ye! also thats why mark is ur roommate bc she has Questionable Judgement.

It is not every day you meet a person who is just, so infuriatingly attractive. Even less often is the occurrence that said person is the extremely shitty boy who lives 16C (aka next door) and likes to get check his mail without his shirt on. Not that it’s a problem, of course. Actually, it’s kind of a problem, because at 2:23 in the morning you could think of things that you’d rather hear than people moaning on the other side of the wall. You understand needing some attention every now and then, but this guy is literally fucking people loudly every night. Like, he takes Viagra religiously or something. It literally drives you insane because this dude just sounds like he knows what he’s doing. And it’s obviously impolite to eavesdrop but god, how good could he be to make every single partner make that much noise? Your roommate obviously found the noises less than hot. Mark Tuan wasn’t necessary the kind to let things like that go easily, apparently being disturbed every night was slightly irritating to him. Actually, Mark made sport out of banging against the wall in retaliation and laughing when he heard the boy and his partner yell in annoyance at the interruption. It seemed Mark and the guy just really didn’t get along. This obviously sprouted a bit of an unspoken conflict between the two.

“Son of a bitch.” Mark walked in one day, slinging his bag on the floor, paper in hand. You looked up, eyebrow quirked.

“What’s wrong?”

“That fucking douchebag next door complained to the landlord about us.”

Your legs closed instinctively at the mention of your neighbor. You paused, thinking of what you possibly could have done that was worth doing to the landlord.

“About?” You continued your task of cleaning your tanks, hurrying before your fishes got tired of the bags they were in and decided to Finding Nemo that bitch.

“He said our vape air was bothering him. Landlord says this is a smoking free complex and we have to stop.” Mark flopped on the couch across from you, shaking his head as if this was the worst news he’d ever heard.

“Well.” You sighed, shrugging. “Maybe it’s for the best. You nearly died trying to learn tricks earlier.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Mark’s lips tugged up into a smile. “Vaping is my passion.”

You chuckled, “You really should go out more, buddy.”

Mark fell quiet, and you could tell he was mad.“One day I’m gonna beat that dude up, I swear.”

Chuckling at the empty threat, you shook your head. “Try not to mess up either of your faces, eh?”

Mark lifted his head now, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re dying to fuck the prick next door.”

“I do not!” You cried indignantly.

You totally did.

“Yeah.. you do.” Mark laughed.

“I don’t! I think he’s cute, is all.”

Mark scoffs. “Whatever you do, don’t look into his eyes. He might steal your soul or something. He’s a demon”

You chuckled. “That’s offensive.”

“You’re right. It’s offensive to demons everywhere. I apologize.”

At this point, your tanks were both completely clean, so you went to fill them up with water, but not before saluting Mark with your middle finger. Mark was an unimaginable pain in the ass, but a cool one. Like a big brother. Or a cousin. Something like that. Either way, no matter how much he insulted your taste in romantic partners, and how often he burned macaroni and cheese into your pot, at the end of the day, the big dummy was family. Nobody else would let you get drunk on soju at 2pm, honestly.

From the bathroom, you heard Mark yell.

“Yo, how mad do you think Douchey Mcdreamyface would be if I stole his mail?”

“That is such a bad idea!” You call back, shaking your head. Idiot.

“You’re questioning my methods, ____!”

“I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid!”

“What’s he gonna do, beat me up? He’s like 5′2. I’m so scared.” Mark teased, now in the door, watching you transfer your fish back into their tanks. You only laughed.

Spoiler alert: He totally beat him up.

“What in the fuck?” You sigh, standing in between Mark’s legs as you dabbed at the bruise on his face with alcohol. He had already gotten a long, drawn out lecture when he came in at 12am, severely busted up and blaming it on the boy next door. Now you were tending to his “wounds” as he sat on the kitchen table. “How could he have possibly hit you that hard? Like, what could he have done?”

“I grabbed his ass.” Mark replies flatly, causing you to freeze in horror. He stared at you blankly. “I’m joking, ___. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“So not funny.” You shook your head, handing him a bag of frozen veggies to hold to the bruise on his cheekbone while you looked at the one on his jaw. You tsked. Such a pretty face to get fucked up. “I don’t get why every time you talk to him it has to end up in an argument?”

“Maybe because he’s a fucker who gets on my fucking nerves and he’s always fucking in his fucking squeaky fucking bed! Like, fuck! And he think’s he’s like Casanova or fucking Leonardo DiCaprio or Michael Jackson or something!” Mark responded. “His dick is like 3 inches, I swear.”

“I can tell that you think you’re funny.” You replied sympathetically, placing a Hello Kitty band-aid on his jaw. Mark winced, and you moved, patting his head affectionately before grabbing your phone and heading to the door.

It was time to talk to Mr. Dreamy Mcdouchey.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t a little excited to have a conversation with him. Preferably, under better circumstances, it wouldn’t be confronting him about beating up your roommate, but, you know. Baby steps.

You knocked on the door of his apartment, once-overing yourself, making sure your hair wasn’t all over the place, as it tended to be at 1am in the morning.

You started a bit when the boy opened the door, eyes half shut, mouth flat and icepack to his deeply bruised shoulder. He had on a loose tank top, the kind you buy from Walmart for $3, and grey sweats. His hair was falling in his face, sticking to his forehead with sweat and water, and you assumed he was just coming from the shower.

“Didn’t you get my text Chaey-” He began to talk before looking at you. He stopped, his lips curving into a smile, the same smile a cheetah might have when it sees a baby gazelle without its mother. A preying smile, maybe. “Fuck. Hello.”

You blink, can’t helping but to but stare at how godly his cheekbones are when he smiles, how his eyes gleam with something different. Mark did not shit when he called him a demon.

“Wooyoung.” He stretches out a veined hand, the one not holding the icepack to his shoulder. “And you’re _____.”

You blink again, dumbfounded. “Yeah.” You shake your head, trying to clear your head. “Yeah. I’m ____. Sorry. I live in 14C.”

“You’re my lovely friend Mark’s roommate, I know. Please, come in.”

You nod, walking through the door into his apartment. It just smelled sensual, he was burning some kind of candle that smelled sexual. You gulped, realizing you were actually in his apartment. Now, if he would just be in you, everything would be great.

Wooyoung walked past you, slipped shuffling against the tile of his kitchen area, and he offered you a glass.

“Thirsty?” He lifted an eyebrow, and it took everything in you not to say only for you.

“Mm, I could go for something, yeah.” You seated yourself on a chair in front of the island he stood behind.

“Grape juice?” He smiled.

“Something stronger, maybe?” You offered a smile back.

He smirked, leaning forward as he whispered, “Yeah, you do strike me as a soju kinda girl.”

Something about the tone of his voice, or maybe it was the fact that he was closer to your face, made you shiver in your seat as he poured the liquid into your glass. You thankfully took it, bringing it to your lips. He watched you carefully as you swallowed, licking his lips when your eyes made contact. You, on the other hand, were trying not to choke and die.

“So.” You said, once you put the glass down. “This isn’t a social call, sadly.”

“That’s a pity.” Wooyoung nodded, poking out his lip.

Your lips tugged into a smile, but you tried to stay professional. “I wanted to talk to you about you and Mark maybe.. I don’t know.. Settling this? Like a truce?”

“A truce?” Wooyoung tried to stop himself from laughing. “Well, aren’t you just a regular little peacekeeper.”

“Well, it’s really for the best.. You’re both hurt right now, and I really don’t want to have to nurse Mark back into health every time you two have an argument..” Your fingers played with the rim of the glass, and you averted your eyes down, he was staring at you much harder than you would have preferred. He hummed, seeming to understand. He turned around to put his bottle back in the cabinet behind him, and then returned to stand in front of you, tilting his head as he stared in silence for a few moments.

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you and Mark a couple? Or does he just fuck you for recreation?”

You stared at him blankly, having absolutely no idea how to respond to him. You were mildly pissed, but also mildly dumbfounded.

“We... We’re not? And he doesn’t?” You say, your voice more defensive than you’d intended.

Wooyoung scoffs. “Surely, a pretty thing like you... He must not be able to keep his hands off of you, right?”

“What the... No? It’s not even like that. Mark’s like my brother!”

Another scoff. “Angel, let’s be truthful, yeah? You’re telling me you’ve not even thought of fucking him?”

To say you hadn’t, at first, would be a lie. But after learning how absolutely stupid Mark Tuan truly was, that ended pretty quickly. Not to say he wasn’t hot, but he just really, really wasn’t your type.

“I’m sorry, what do these questions have to do with you ruining his face?” You ask, preparing to storm out.

Wooyoung tilts his head. “Didn’t Mark tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh... Angel.” Wooyoung chuckled, as if understanding everything now. “He hit me first, you know.” He leaned in closer. “I think I said something that might have pissed him off.”

You still didn’t understand, so you raised your eyebrows.

“You see, I was under the impression that you and Mark were fuckie-fuckie. IT seems I was mistaken now, but, I think I might have said something to him around the lines of.. One day, he’d be hearing you screaming through the walls. Obviously, Mr. Tuan wasn’t Mclovin’ that.”

To say you were both absolutely mortified and horribly turned on would be a gross understatement.

“That is revolting.” You manage, throat dry.

“That’s not what your face says, dollface.” He counters, and you stand up immediately, about to make your way out. He briskly blocks you in a few strides, his smile sickeningly innocent.

“Move, Wooyoung.” You say steadily.

“Make me.” He smirks at you, his eyes just daring you to touch him.

You never turn down a dare. God, you wanted him so badly, it was scary. Something about always being able to hear him, made you beyond curious. So you pushed him in his abdomen, and he got sent back a couple of steps. You raised your eyebrows.

“Damn, you’re strong for a little thing.” He smiled happily, stepping forward again, this time closer than before. His hot breath fanned your face. “Wanna do that again?” He teased.

You wanted him. So, so badly you wanted him. “Don’t make me handle you, Wooyoung.”

“Oh, angel, you couldn’t handle me if I came with instructions.” With this he closed more space, his chest now brushing against yours. Your breathing hitched as you froze. His hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed your neck as he bent to it. “I’m gonna be honest with you.” He whispered. “You’d look so pretty when I eat you out.”

You shivered, not meaning to, but tilting your head back to allow him to tease your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut as you inhaled his scent.

“Do you want me to do that?” Wooyoung asked, leaving a single kiss on your neck. You nodded. “I said, do you want me, ___?”

“I do!” You whined back. He smiled at your words, taking your chin in his fingers.

“Hey. Good girls respond the first time, okay?” He said softly.

“Good thing I’m not a good girl and I do whatever the fuck I want.” You say smugly, your hand wandering under his shirt. He furrows his eyebrows together, grabbing your arm in a swift motion and pinning it to your side.

“You do whatever you want, so long as it pleases me, do you understand?”

Something about how stupidly dominant he is made you want to comply, so you nodded. There would be another opportunity to act out, after all. He smirked, satisfied with this answer, and he wasted no time in ridding the both of you of your shirts. He bit his lip as he groped your tits, to the point you wondered if his past partners had never let him touch them.

He teased your nipples above your bra and you whimpered slightly.

“What? Does that feel good?” He breathed, his lips nearing yours, to nip your bottom lip.

“Fuck. Yeah.” You nodded, and he quickly dragged you into his room, pushing you onto his bed. You crawled on your knees to the middle, slipping off your leggings and tossing them to the side. He crawled towards you, and you grinned.

“Come here.” You breathed, and he obliged, of course. You crashed your lips onto his, and he quickly took control, slipping his tongue into your mouth. His hips grinded against your leg softly, and you were surprised he was already that wound up. You chuckled, sucking on his tongue softly, hands on either side of his face His skin was unnaturally soft and you sighed. He felt better than you’d imagined.

“You taste so good.” Wooyoung mumbled at a point when he pulled away. “What does the rest of you taste like?”

“Stop being so seductive.” You whined, hands tangled in his hair. He was going to be the death of you.

“I’m just being myself, baby.” He brought his fingers to your open mouth. “Suck.”

You could have screamed at the words, and quickly obeyed, sucking his digits softly. He takes this time to unhook your bra, groaning at the sight, and you chuckled around his fingers. His mouth teases your nipples, and you begin to whimper softly, the pool between your legs begging for attention. You plead with your eyes, and he notices, chuckling.

“I’m not going to touch you unless you beg, Princess.”

“I don’t beg.” You said indignantly. watching his every move as he teased right above the hem of your panties. He looked up at you, eyebrow raised, not being able to hold in his laugh.

“Is that so?” He sat up and snapped your panties against your skin. You felt your insides twist up. “Yeah.”

“Aw, she’s playing bad girl, cute.” He leaned closer to your face. “Too bad I don’t go down on bad girls.”

You sighed, his fingered so close to you driving you insane. “Wooyoung, you have no idea how much I want you.“

He smirked, slowly sliding your panties down your legs. “Tell me, and say please,”

“Please. Wooyoung. Please touch me. If you don’t, I might cry.”

“Fucking hell, I’m going to ruin you.” He breathed, taking in the sight of you once he’d discarded of the undergarments..

“Please,” You repeated, running a hand through your hair as you motioned to your womanhood, urging him on. He lowered his head down, blowing in between your legs.

“Fuck.” You whined, biting down into your lip, and bucking your hips forwards. His hands rested on your thighs, as he positioned his mouth inbetween you. You were a whiny mess, aching for a touch from him.

“Jesus, ____. I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re moaning like a whore.” He looked at you, eyes deep and teasing.

You resisted the urge to say something snarky, knowing that would only make him take longer. He nodded at your silence before rubbing his index finger along your covered clit. His touch lingered. Your breath got caught in your throat. You whimpered, more than ready for whatever he had for you.

“So. Fucking. Pretty.” He kissed your heat between each word, his finger rubbing soft circles on your clit. All you could manage was a hum, nodding as he slipped a finger into you, pumping softly. You see stars at his pace, and you whimper out his name. “Woo....Wooyoung.” He smirks at your soft moans. “Shh, princess, we don’t want Tuan hearing us, now do we?” You honestly felt way too fucking good to care. He added another finger into your heat, thumb still rolling against your clit. You felt tension grow in your stomach, and you had to scratch his arm to avoid from moaning when he added his tongue into the mix. He pressed it flat against you, and smirked.

“Who’s fucking you this good?”

“You are...shit...” You moaned out your responses, his name tumbling out of your mouth over and over.

He hummed against you, adding pleasure to the waves he was sending up into your body, his pace quickened and all it took was him mumbling “Come for me, angel.” for you to come undone in his hands. He allowed you to shake and convulse, nonsense spilling out of your mouth, smiling at how absolutely fucked you looked. He rode your orgasm out, and didn’t stop, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace than before, and you begged loudly for him to stop, the overstimulation driving you insane, but he continued. “Again, princess.” He mumbled against your thigh, and come again you did. “Fuck.” You breathed out, trying to steady your breathing. “Do... you don’t think Mark heard me... do you?” Wooyoung grinned, abruptly adding a third finger and thrusting them in and out of you. This caused you to shriek loudly, which was drowned out by a long thump against the wall.

“Yeah, I’d say he did.”

#ateez #ateez wooyoung #ateez smut #wooyoung smut

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