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btsshiprecs · 1 year

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take on the world

Summary: Taehyung’s life changes forever when he finds a naked man in a parking lot after work one night and for reasons he can’t understand, decides to take him home with him.Or; Taehyung is a skeptic, Jeongguk claims to be a demon, and hell breaks loose. Quite literally

Taehyung loves his job, even if it means finishing at almost 8 PM from Monday to Friday. As someone who has loved being in the water since he was a kid himself, becoming a swimming instructor at the municipal pool is something that he finds rewarding. He loves kids, he loves the pool. It might not have been his dream job, but he’s happy where he is now.

Taking the late evening shift means that after his day of work he has to stay behind and tidy up, not leaving until way past eight. By the time he makes it home it's closer to nine, but he genuinely doesn’t mind. He leaves his work with wet hair and wrapped up in a big hoodie with the logo of the pool stamped on the back. He showered before leaving, and now he can’t wait to get home, cook himself some late dinner and relax. Taking the evening shift at work has made him turn into a bit of an owl, but even if he’s not sleepy yet, he’s tired; he needs a long evening sitting on his sofa doing absolutely nothing.

He’s fishing in his pocket for his keys, grabbing them in his hand when he hears something. Half empty parking lots where you can hear strange noises are never the most reassuring thing, which causes Taehyung to feel his heart in his throat as soon as he hears it. Taehyung speeds up his steps, walking to his car, but then he sees him, sitting behind a van. A man, who groans as he sits naked on the concrete. Taehyung frowns.

Taehyung stops in his tracks there, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches the stranger. He's running a hand through his long, dark wavy hair, sitting cross-legged. Another groan leaves his mouth, and Taehyung in all honesty doesn’t know what to do. The man doesn’t look… well, in a good state. Taehyung would feel a bit bad leaving him here alone. The least he can do is call someone, be it an ambulance or the cops.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

As soon as he says that, the man’s head snaps back up to look at him. His eyes seem wide, but there isn’t much that Taehyung can see in the dark. He takes a tentative step forward, half expecting the stranger to flinch, but he doesn’t. Taehyung takes another step closer, now able to see him properly.

“Oh—hey,” the guy says, immediately getting to his feet. Yep, very naked indeed. Taehyung is definitely not going to look. “I’m fine! Thanks for the concern, young man. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, that’s… that’s dope,” Taehyung replies, one of his hands going to scratch the side of his head. He isn’t quite sure of what to say now, feeling a bit awkward. “You shouldn’t be naked around here. There are kids around, you know. And it’s illegal.”

The man tilts his head, his brown eyes looking at Taehyung fixedly. “I think I might need some help in that department, since I don’t really have any clothes with me as of right now,” the man replies. Taehyung frowns. He’s not quite sure of _how _this man could make it here, to the middle of Seoul, without any clothes on. “Would you mind taking me to your home, perhaps?”

Taehyung’s mouth falls open, a choked out and disbelieving noise coming out. It’s more a strangled chuckle than anything else, really. “To _my home_?” Taehyung repeats, unable to believe what he’s just heard. The man doesn’t seem to be thinking in the slightest, which makes Taehyung scoff. “I’m sorry, but I don’t invite strangers into my house. Much less naked strangers. I can call someone who might take you to your own place, or even the police, but…”

“Please,” the guy says, staring into Taehyung’s eyes. Taehyung is about to open his mouth to reply that _no way in hell_, but something about the stranger’s stare makes him stop right there, listening. “I promise I won’t be a nuisance or bother you in any way. I just urgently need a place to stay tonight, as well as some clothes. Like you pointed out, I can’t walk around like this.”

Taehyung wants to say no, since like he said before, he wouldn’t let a stranger in his house. It’s dangerous, especially in cities as big as Seoul and especially with people as dodgy as this one. He knows all of this, he’s _thinking _about it. For that reason, it doesn’t make sense to him when he says, “Of course you can. I’ll give you a place to stay tonight.” As soon as he processes what he’s just said, he frowns. The stranger smiles at him, both terribly charming and devious. He can’t stop himself from talking, adding, “You can take my hoodie to cover yourself up.”

“Well, that’s very kind,” the guy says, at the same time Taehyung drops the bag to his side and starts to take the piece of clothing off. What the fuck? Part of him wants to stop himself from moving but _he can’t_. It’s like he’s lost control over his body and his brain, and the rational voice in him is being completely ignored and disregarded by… well, every other part of him. “Do you live far, young man?”

“Just fifteen minutes away. And the name’s Taehyung,” he adds, introducing himself. The guy hums, at the same time that he takes the hoodie from Taehyung.

“You may call me Jeongguk,” the guy replies, tying the hoodie around his body. Much to Taehyung’s relief, he covers his front with it. “Shall we get going, then?”

Taehyung doesn’t understand why he starts moving to his car, with the man trailing behind. He doesn’t understand why he feels overwhelming calmness, why he doesn’t feel nervous with a weird, naked man in his car with him. Taehyung starts the engine and starts driving away from the parking lot, waving good night to a coworker that he encounters on the way out.

While he drives, Taehyung steals a glance at the guy sitting next to him, who looks distractedly out of the window. What the fuck has he just gotten himself into?

✩

“You can sleep on the couch. I’ll give you a blanket but it’s so warm that I doubt you’re gonna need it,” Taehyung starts telling Jeongguk, as he looks around Taehyung’s place with some sort of fascination Taehyung doesn’t quite understand. There’s nothing remotely interesting about the apartment he rents—one kitchen joint to the living area, one bedroom, one bathroom. Nothing more. “Let me go get some pajamas so you can—”

“This place is rather small, isn’t it?” Jeongguk interrupts.

Taehyung’s lips part, feeling his face warm up. Part of him wants to be mad, because _what the fuck_? But the rest of him feels embarrassed and even a bit humiliated, so he’s really at a loss for words, not knowing what to say.

“I wonder if you could do much better with the salary of a kids swimming instructor,” Taehyung mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s rather annoyed right now.

“No need to get angry—I just stated a fact, it _is _small,” Jeongguk replies, turning around to give Taehyung a plain look. What the hell is this dude’s deal? “It has a charm to it. I’ve never been anywhere like this.”

Taehyung scoffs because that’s just his luck. Of course he had to pick up a stupid rich kid who’s never seen an apartment as small as his. And of course, some stupidly soft part of him couldn’t just bring himself to kick the guy out or call the police on him, as he should have. Taehyung seriously has to wonder what’s wrong with him.

“Look—the bathroom’s just there. You can go wash up, and I’ll leave some clothes by the door for you, okay?” he instructs, using one hand on the small of the guy’s back to push him in the direction of the restroom. “I’ll have the couch ready and cook dinner while you do that. So please…”

“Alright, alright. I’ll wash up now,” Jeongguk agrees, as he moves to enter the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you want! It’s no bother,” Taehyung tells him as he starts pushing him inside the bathroom. The truth is that he needs a damn break from Jeongguk’s company to rearrange his thoughts on the situation. Because _what the fuck_. “Have a nice shower!”

With that, and without waiting for a reply from the other, Taehyung closes the door and walks away to his bedroom, refuging himself there. Taehyung closes his eyes, resting his back against the door as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s doing, and most importantly, _why_. He’s so confused by this whole thing and why he’s acting like this, so he guesses there’s only one person that he can talk to. The only person that can understand Taehyung and his motives better than Taehyung himself—Park Jimin.

**To: Jiminie – 21:22**

_Jimin, i’ve done something very stupid_

_Help_

_I think I brought home a freak_

✩

Taehyung wakes up after one of the weirdest nights of his life when he hears the doorbell of his apartment go off. He frowns because upon looking to the bedside table on his right he sees it’s nine in the morning and therefore too late for anyone to come visit him. But then, after a second of hard thinking, he remembers.

It was while he and Jeongguk were having dinner that Jimin finally replied. Taehyung, who was extremely weirded out by Jeongguk’s excitement to eat instant ramen, replied to Jimin’s text as soon as it arrived. It took a lot of convincing from his end to make Jimin believe that he wasn’t talking about a weird hookup he brought home, and just as much of him insisting to keep Jimin from coming to the apartment to check Jeongguk out for himself. Despite being bewildered by this guy, Taehyung wasn’t scared. He didn’t feel unsafe.

Jimin agreed not to come at night, but he said he would definitely drop by in the morning, and Taehyung couldn’t make him change his mind about that. It must be Jimin who’s pressing the doorbell now, so Taehyung forces himself out of bed and, still sleepy and rubbing his eyes, makes his way to the front door.

On his way there he walks through the living room, where he finds a deeply asleep Jeongguk. It’s probably for the best that he hasn’t woken up yet, so Taehyung finds himself feeling glad about his seemingly deep slumber.

When Taehyung gets to the door and opens it, he indeed finds Jimin on the other side. Before he has the time to greet him or say anything—he’s still a little slow—Jimin barges in, squeezing himself past Taehyung’s body and the door frame.

“Where’s the creep?” he asks, looking around himself. His eyes land on the couch then, taking one step closer. “Is that _him_?”

Taehyung closes the door quietly then, shushing Jimin. “Don’t talk too loud! If he’s still asleep he can’t give me a headache,” Taehyung says, which makes Jimin laugh lightly. “That’s him, yeah. Come to the bedroom so we can talk.”

“He’s kinda cute,” Jimin comments as he starts walking behind him. “Handsome, even.”

“Oh my god—don’t say that, please,” Taehyung tells him, entering his bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed. Jimin, after clicking the door shut behind him, does the same. “He’s not cute. He’s so _weird_, Jimin.”

Taehyung hasn’t let himself look at Jeongguk like that, really. It’s undeniable that he’s attractive, both his face and his naked body that Taehyung saw last night, but Taehyung’s mind isn’t going there. _Nope_, not at all.

“What’s weird? You’ve been saying that since last night but wouldn’t tell me anything,” Jimin says, getting himself a bit more comfortable on the bed. “Oh! Does he have any weird kinks?”

“No! I told you it’s not like that. It’s not sexual, he isn’t a hookup,” Taehyung repeats, Jimin raising an eyebrow at him. “I found him at the parking lot yesterday when I came out from work. He was _naked_, Jimin. Groaning in the middle of the parking lot. And when I asked if he was okay or needed me to call someone, he just asked if he could stay at my place.”

“What. The. Fuck. What the actual fuck, Taehyung,” Jimin says, giving him a disbelieving look. God, Taehyung can’t believe himself, either. “What… how in the hell did you say yes? Are you out of your mind?”

“I—I don’t know! I knew it was dangerous, but like… for some reason, I couldn’t say no? Like, it didn’t feel like I could control myself? It sounds ridiculous, I know,” Taehyung explains, failing at voicing how he felt last night.

“You’re way too good,” Jimin accuses. Taehyung sighs, because it’s not like he said he could stay out of the kindness of his heart. It’s almost as if he lost control of himself, not because he was _too good_. “Did you ask him what was up last night?”

“I didn’t feel up for it,” Taehyung replies. Jimin, once again, looks at him incredulously. “I didn’t have the energy to deal with him for longer than that, Jimin. There’s just… something about the way he talks and acts. He seems so foreign? Like a different breed entirely.”

“Well, he looks very human to me,” Jimin says. Taehyung sighs. “Let’s wake him up.”

“Jimin, no—” Taehyung starts, standing up right after Jimin does.

“Taehyung, yes,” Jimin says, pulling the door open. “We’re gonna ask him what the fuck he was doing naked in a parking lot last night, and if there’s something remotely unconvincing about what he says, we’re going to throw him out. What if he’s dangerous?”

“If he were dangerous you wouldn’t be talking to me right now,” Taehyung says. Jimin’s lips part, but they close without saying anything when he realizes Taehyung has a point. “I just think… maybe he was confused, a bit disorientated? Maybe he was on drugs or something. He might have an explanation.”

“Fine,” Jimin sighs. “But we’re still waking him up.”

Taehyung is resigned but he doesn’t try to stop Jimin when he walks to the couch, placing one hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder and shoving him. When Taehyung takes a step closer he sees Jeongguk frown in discomfort, but it doesn’t take much more to wake him up.

“What the—” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes with his fists before he blinks them open lazily. His eyes fall on Jimin, who’s right across from him, and so he frowns. “Who are you? Where’s Taehyung?”

“I’m here,” Taehyung calls then, his deep voice causing Jeongguk to shift his eyes to him. Taehyung waves awkwardly at him then. “This is my friend Jimin. He’s visiting.”

“Exactly,” Jimin says then with a nod, Jeongguk looking at him once again. “And you are…?”

“I’m Jeongguk. Taehyung’s guest,” Jeongguk replies, starting to sit up on the couch instead of lying down. “He invited me to stay the night.”

“More like you invited yourself,” Jimin points out. The three of them stay quiet at that, Jeongguk not bothering to confirm nor deny. “So, _who_ are you? And what were you doing naked in a parking lot?”

“I’m not positive it’s a story that you humans are ready to hear,” Jeongguk says then, making Jimin scoff at the same time Taehyung frowns. _You humans_…? “It’s a bit of a complicated one.”

“Bring it on. We’re ready,” Taehyung says, taking a seat on the coffee table next to Jimin. Maybe they shouldn’t be sitting there, but Taehyung is sure his white Ikea table will be able to handle this. Or at least, he hopes so. “It can’t be any weirder than everything else has been up until now.”

“It’s not weird. Just simply unbelievable for the likes of you,” Jeongguk tells him. Taehyung, who steals a glance at Jimin to check his reaction at Jeongguk’s words, sees his friend lift a skeptical eyebrow.

“Just tell us, Jeongguk,” Jimin says, not interested in his spiel.

“Fine—fine. It’s where my portal dropped me,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung’s eyebrows raise at that. “I was naked because apparently my attire doesn’t seem to be able to change dimensions. Rather stupid if you ask me, but it is what it is. I had just come out of the portal when Taehyung found me, so I saw an opportunity to scathe any trouble with the police for my nakedness.”

Taehyung and Jimin look at each other then, sharing a confused look. Jimin mouths at him, _what? _Taehyung replies with _See? Drugs_.

“What are you even talking about?” Taehyung asks him then. “Portals, dimensions—what? What does that mean?”

“It means I came here from another plain,” Jeongguk explains. Taehyung wonders how he can stay so serious while spewing all this _bullshit_. “I came here from Hell. I’m a demon.”

Taehyung can’t help the way in which his face winces at that, and Jimin can’t hold back a chuckle. The latter says, “Yeah, come on. Now tell us the truth if you don’t want us to kick you out of here as naked as you arrived.”

“It’s nothing but the truth,” Jeongguk insists, still keeping a straight face. “Why do you think Taehyung brought me here, even despite his initial and very understandable wariness? I used my charms on him.”

“What are you even talking about?” Taehyung asks then.

“You felt like you wanted to say no but you couldn’t. That was me—I’m sorry about that, by the way. But desperate times call for desperate measures,” Jeongguk tells him then.

Taehyung can’t help but lets his eyes widen because that’s exactly what Taehyung felt happen last night. Jimin laughs again, but now Taehyung remains silent. It’s an explanation for what happened, and even if Taehyung is rather skeptical about demons and hell, it’s the only explanation he has found so far.

“You can’t be serious right now,” Jimin insists.

“I’m deadly serious, Jimin. Should we run a test?” Jeongguk asks. Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. “How about you tell me about yourself? Tell me your wildest dream. What’s your biggest aspiration? What do you wish you could be when you close your eyes at night and get ready to succumb to sleep?”

“Well, maybe it’s stupid since by now it’s obviously a dream out of my reach, but ever since I was little my biggest dream has been to be a dancer in the Paris Opera Ballet,” Jimin tells him. Jeongguk nods at the same time he raises an eyebrow, and Jimin’s lips part in horror. He turns to look at Taehyung and says, “What the fuck?”

“What?” Taehyung asks.

“I didn’t mean to tell him. Like—I don’t know why I did. I didn’t want to but I… I couldn’t stop?” Jimin tells, stumbling upon his own words. “Oh my god.”

“See? That’s what happened to me last night,” Taehyung replies. “What have you done? Is it one of those drugs—?”

“First of all, I’m a man of morals. I would never drug anyone,” Jeongguk interrupts. Taehyung presses his lips into a thin line. “Second of all, when could I have? Jimin just arrived and I was asleep. I don’t need any drugs. I told you—I’m a demon. I have my charms. All I need is for you to look at me.”

“Don’t do that again,” Jimin tells him. Jeongguk raises both arms, showing them his palms. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean we believe any of that Hell bullshit.”

“How can you not when I’ve already proven myself?” Jeongguk asks, exasperated. Taehyung doesn’t say anything, and neither does Jimin. “Look, I wish I could spend the whole day here, trying to convince you two that I’m being honest. However, I don’t have the time. I believe I should probably go find some clothes for myself if you could give me some sense of where to go”

“Well, you need to go shopping,” Taehyung tells him. Jeongguk gives him a blank stare. “You know... at a mall. Do you have money?”

“Will I need money?” Jeongguk asks. Taehyung gives him an unbelieving look. “I don’t have anything on me right now. I can get some, though.”

“I can give you some clothes to go out and we can buy more when you have money on you,” Taehyung says, not bothering to ask where Jeongguk plans to get the money from. After his reply mentioning hell and demons, Taehyung isn’t sure whether he wants to ask more or not.

“Give me a minute, then. I need to get in contact with a friend,” Jeongguk says, at the same time he starts walking to the bathroom. “If you would excuse me.”

He disappears behind the door, and only then does Jimin pinch his thigh. “Does he have a phone?” Jimin whispers to him.

“No? He didn’t have anything on him at all,” Taehyung replies, whispering as well. He bites down on his bottom lip, then asks, “Did it happen to you, too? That you couldn’t refuse?”

“Yes, what the fuck. It’s so strange, Taehyung. I’ve never believed in any of it but… Do you think maybe…?” Jimin asks.

“It can’t be,” Taehyung says, firm and final. “There needs to be a logical explanation for all of this.”

“Is that why you’re still gonna help him? With all the clothing stuff,” Jimin asks. Taehyung shrugs. “You’re not under his charms now, right?”

“I don’t think so? Yesterday I was aware that I wasn’t saying what I wanted. Right now… I feel in control. He’s already here, so I might as well help,” Taehyung says, earning himself a nod from Jimin. “Plus, if he gets money and clothes he might leave sooner.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jimin agrees. Right as he says that, the doorbell sounds off. Both of them share a look then, going still. “Were you expecting anyone?”

“Jeongguk’s friend, I guess?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s way too fast,” Jimin says. “Kind of expecting to open the door and have an entire camera crew walk in. I’m convinced this is some prank show bullshit.”

“I hope so,” Taehyung sighs, standing up at the same time Jeongguk opens the door of the bathroom.

“That would be Hoseok,” Jeongguk says, starting to walk towards the door. Taehyung and Jimin share a look. _Way too soon_. “Mind if I greet my friend?”

“I’ll open it myself,” Taehyung replies, quickly making his way to the door in three long strides. He looks through the peephole, not sure of what to find. He wasn’t expecting to find a very smiley guy at the other side, black hair and happy eyes. “How come he made it here so fast?”

“Demons are fast,” Jeongguk insists. Taehyung and Jimin keep quiet. “Can you open the door? I bet he’s getting impatient now.”

Taehyung takes his hand to the handle of the door, hearing Jimin sigh. And then, still feeling the weight of Jeongguk’s eyes on the back of his neck, he pulls the door open.

There’s a slight feeling of disappointment when he opens the door and isn’t faced with a shit ton of cameras, and the guy behind the door doesn’t pull a mic from behind his back. It makes Taehyung’s wish that this whole mess was coming to an end. Jeongguk’s friend, Hoseok, looks at him with a wide smile that feels almost mocking.

“Hello there,” the guy greets. “Is Jeongguk here?”

“Hoseok!” Jeongguk calls, Taehyung turning around to see him make his way to the door. He pulls back a little, allowing for Taehyung to pull his friend in for a hug under the frame of the door. “How’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m sure it felt like a lot less back there. Time goes by crazily here, man,” Hoseok greets him, giving him a friendly pat on the back. “How long have you been here for? And how come you’ve ended up at some human’s house?”

“Ran into him last night, right after I arrived here. Lucky coincidence, really,” Jeongguk explains, smiling wide. Taehyung watches the whole interaction in silent, until Jeongguk turns to look at him and addresses him. “Taehyung, do you mind if my friend comes in?”

“No, no, go ahead,” Taehyung says, unable to stop all the madness from happening. “This is all a mess already. May as well keep it going.”

Hoseok laughs but he still steps inside with Jeongguk’s arm around his shoulders. He seems surprised when he spots Jimin and realizes it’s not just the three of them here, waving at Jimin. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, demon,” Jimin replies, standing up from the coffee table. For some reason, that makes Hoseok laugh. “Are you going to try to convince us that you come from Hell, too?”

“I’ve been here on Earth for months now, but I do come from Hell,” Hoseok comments, one hand resting over the backseat of the couch. “I think I’ve been adjusting pretty well, though.”

Taehyung will have to agree on that one. With the cargo pants, chunky Fila sneakers and a big black tee tucked in, Hoseok doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. He looks like any other boy his age would look in 2019.

“You just look weird,” Jeongguk tells him, wrinkling his nose. Hoseok laughs again. “Did you bring the money?”

“I did, yeah,” Hoseok replies, digging into one of the big pockets of his pants. He pulls out a big, thick enveloped, saying, “This should be enough to last you for a couple of months. If you plan on staying here for longer than that you’re gonna need to find a job, and some more stable living arrangements.”

“I’ll handle that within the next few days. Thank you so much, I owe you one,” Jeongguk says as he takes the envelope from him, Hoseok waving dismissively. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Wait—you’re leaving now?” Taehyung says, turning to Hoseok. “Now that you’re here, shouldn’t you be his demonic guidance in the human world? I’m sure you can do so much better than me at showing him around?”

“I would love to but I have to be at work in less than one hour,” Hoseok replies. Taehyung’s mouth falls open. _Really_? “I’ll keep an eye on him but I’m not his babysitter.”

“Neither am I!” Taehyung exclaims, being met with silence when no one else says anything. “Seriously? Jeongguk, wouldn’t you rather spend time with a familiar friend? Someone you seem to have known for years?”

“Have spent way _too _many years with him, actually. A few thousand,” Jeongguk says, Hoseok chuckling at his words. “Plus, demons aren’t meant to escape hell and come to this dimension. If we stick together, it will be easier to find us and bring us back. We need to be discreet.”

“Exactly. Plus, Jeongguk is gonna be found so fast. He’s an important one,” Hoseok says as he elbows Jeongguk lightly. Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “You can let him go in a few days, Taehyung. He’ll get used to it quickly.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, just huffs. Jeongguk comments, “I’ll keep you good company, I swear.”

Taehyung huffs again, but it’s muffled by Hoseok as he says, “So… I’ll get going then, yeah?”

“I’m actually gonna leave, too,” Jimin says, earning himself an incredulous look from Taehyung. “I’m sorry, babe, but I have things to do today. I have work soon.”

“Fine,” Taehyung says, resigned. He guesses he’s the one who got himself into this mess, not Jimin. He’s a bit more pissed about Hoseok, since after all he is Jeongguk’s friend and it would make more sense for him to take care of Jeongguk, but he’s not going to insist anymore. He’s surprised by how well both he and Jimin seem to be taking all this demon stuff after the initial shock, wonders if maybe Hoseok and Jeongguk are charming them somehow so they’re more pliant, more relaxed. But, once again, it’s not like last night. He doesn’t feel the urge to disagree with his own actions.

Hoseok and Jimin both leave together, which leaves Jeongguk and Taehyung alone once again. When the pair disappear, Taehyung and Jeongguk look at each other, standing silently in the living room. It’s Taehyung the one who breaks the silence between the two of them.

“So… do you want clothes for shopping, or…?” he asks, unsure of what to say.

“That would be lovely as I don’t think going around naked would be appropriate,” Jeongguk tells him, with the envelope of money still in his hands. “I didn’t realize you had to pay for clothes in the human world.”

“Money moves the human world. I’m sure in hell you’ve seen a lot of money hungry people,” Taehyung tells him, at the same time he starts walking to his room. From behind him, he can hear Jeongguk mutter, _that’s true_. “I think my clothes will fit you for now. We’re more or less the same size.”

“That came as a big surprise to me,” Jeongguk says, earning himself an inquiring hum from Taehyung. “When I was back in hell, I was much bigger than the humans were there. But now I’m the same size as them. Jimin is smaller than us, though.”

“I guess that’s a good thing if you want to blend in, then. That you’re not a four meters tall monster,” Taehyung comments, making Jeongguk laugh a little. “Okay, let’s see. Maybe I’ll have something you like.”

Finding an outfit for Jeongguk turns out to be much harder than Taehyung thought it would be. He doesn’t like Taehyung’s slacks, asking for some skinny jeans like the ones Jimin was wearing today, but Taehyung doesn’t have any of those. All of Taehyung’s clothes are loose and oversized, and Jeongguk winces when he sees how they fit on him.

“Why don’t you buy anything your size?” he asks, turning around a little to see how loose the big shirt he has on is.

“That’s what it’s supposed to look like,” Taehyung tells him. “God, you complain so much.”

In the end, he puts on some jeans that Taehyung hasn’t worn for years and have a rip on the knees and a big black hoodie, with no embellishments or prints whatsoever. As for the feet, that’s where the problem comes. Despite being the same height, Taehyung turns out to have way bigger feet than Jeongguk. That makes it impossible for him to wear any of the closed shoes Taehyung offers him, so instead he takes some loafers even if he has to be careful as he walks, not wanting to trip and fall. And, well, even if Jeongguk calls them hideous.

The actual shopping trip turns out to be easier. Taehyung takes him to a shopping mall as soon as they’re both ready, and the two of them start raiding the shops on offer. The stuff that Jeongguk gets all goes down that very unexciting road—a few pairs of skinny jeans in four different colors, some plain t-shirts, hoodies, a leather jacket. He gets a pair of boots, but also some chunky sneakers like the ones Hoseok wore. Taehyung feels a pang of jealousy when he sees him spend all this money so freely.

They’re both about to leave when they walk past another shop, this one a fancier looking one. Taehyung doesn’t pay much attention to it, the mannequins are wearing suits and satin-looking shirts. However, Jeongguk stops in his tracks, Taehyung looking behind himself as soon as he notices.

“What now?” he asks. He wants to leave now since it won’t be long until he has to get to work.

“I want to check out this store,” Jeongguk announces. Taehyung gives him a disbelieving look. “What?”

“The clothes in this store couldn’t be more different to everything you’ve bought up until now,” Taehyung states, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Well, it _is_, after all.

“I’m a very multidimensional… person, Taehyung,” Jeongguk reminds him. Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’m sure I’ll also need some more formal clothes.”

“Fine,” Taehyung ends up agreeing, resigned. “But quickly because I need to get to work.”

Jeongguk ends up buying a few shirts, some dressing pants, a nice belt and a pair of dress shoes. After that, they’re finally able to leave, Taehyung driving them both home as Jeongguk looks around at the traffic.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything as he still isn’t quite sure of what to think. Is Jeongguk lying to him about the demon thing, or maybe there’s a chance of it being true? Taehyung has always thought there was more to the world than it seemed, but now when being faced with the real possibility of it being true, he finds it hard to believe. Is he going crazy just for even considering it? Probably. If he told any of his friends, they would look at him like he was losing his mind. Just like he and Jimin looked at Jeongguk at the start.

The ride is silent for the most part. They get back to the apartment and Taehyung unlocks the door for the two of them, entering the pin on the padlock. The two of them walk inside the apartment, and once inside Jeongguk flops on the couch with all the bags surrounding him.

“Well, that was good,” Jeongguk groans, a satisfied smile on his lips as he brings his hands to the back of his head and rests his head there. “I’m happy with what I got.”

“You should be,” Taehyung tells him. “That’s a lot of stuff. You have plenty of outfits to wear now.”

“No need to sound so terribly jealous. I could have gotten you something, too, if you wanted,” Taehyung says, making him scoff. “What?”

“Nothing. Just—nothing,” Taehyung replies, earning himself a shrug from Jeongguk. “So, now that you have clothes and money, are you leaving soon?”

“Wow, Taehyung. I thought we were enjoying each other’s company,” Jeongguk replies, giving him a serious look. “Will you give me a few days? I would like to acquire some other stuff, like a phone. And I don’t think I would like to go to a hotel after this. Maybe you could host me until I find an apartment of my own?”

“You really have no fucking shame,” Taehyung replies, making Jeongguk smirk. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“You wouldn’t kick me out like that. I have nowhere else to go, and I’m so new to the Earth,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest. “Please. Listen here—I’m a demon. I know how to tell when someone has a pure or a rotten heart, and I can tell you have a kind and gentle soul. You wouldn’t throw me out like that.”

“What makes you think that I would be kind to a _demon_?” Taehyung asks.

“The fact that you still see humanity in me. Even if I have told you who I am and you’ve seen my charms, you still have trouble believing it. It’s that same skepticism that prevents you from just kicking me out,” Jeongguk replies. Taehyung arches an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

“I should kick you out just for saying all that,” Taehyung replies, for some reason annoyed by Jeongguk’s words. He might be good but he’s not a fool.

“But you won’t,” Jeongguk says. “Will you?”

Taehyung sighs. “Look, I need to get to work now,” Taehyung tells him. “We can talk later when I come back. You can stay here tonight, okay? We’ll figure the rest out later.”

“Thank you so much,” Jeongguk says, giving him a big smile. Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I’ll repay you for your hospitality, even if it’s reluctant hospitality.”

“Just don’t ruin or steal anything from me, okay?”

“I’m _not _a thief!” Jeongguk exclaims, wrinkling his nose. “I’m the punisher of those who do bad—lie, deceive, steal, abuse others, kill.”

“Oh, excuse me for not trusting a demon who I found naked in the street last night,” Taehyung tells him, earning himself an eye roll from Jeongguk. “Just promise you won’t do anything bad.

“Fine,” Jeongguk sighs then. “I promise. I swear on everything unholy—I won’t do anything bad.”

Taehyung feels himself loosen up a little at that. He doesn’t know how reliable the word of a demon can be—probably not a lot. But Jeongguk’s promise still makes him feel a little more at ease, somehow.

✩

When Taehyung agreed to let Jeongguk stay with him, he wasn’t sure of what to expect when he came back. The man claims to be a demon, so he either is a very evil mythical creature or a very dishonest and convincing man. Taehyung doesn’t have many things of value back at his but he’d feel really sad at his laptop disappearing. There’s just so much shit on there.

It comes as a pleasant surprise when he opens the door to his apartment and finds Jeongguk sitting on the sofa, a book in his hands. It comes as an even better surprise when he smells _food_.

“Did you order?” Taehyung asks, even before greeting him.

“Order?” Jeongguk asks, frowning a little as he lifts his gaze from the book. “And hello, by the way. Was work okay?”

“Order _food_,” Taehyung clarifies. “And yeah, it went alright. Not very eventful but that’s a good thing in my line of work.”

“Order food? So they, like, bring it to you?” Jeongguk asks. Taehyung nods. “Damn. I wish I knew that before going out.”

Taehyung is about to reply but then he analyzes Jeongguk’s words. _I wish I knew that before going out_. _Going out_.

“You did what?” Taehyung asks, his voice pitching up. “How did you even get back inside?”

“Because I saw you put the code in the keypad before,” Jeongguk replies to him, making Taehyung frown. “I bought this made in a store I saw earlier this morning. I thought maybe you’d like to have dinner ready for when you came back from work.”

Taehyung looks over to the food in the kitchen area, the meat and vegetables that are there on two big plates. When he looks back at Jeongguk, he finds the other boy looking at him with expectant eyes, almost as if he was nervous to see his reaction.

“Shall we eat, then?” he asks, watching Jeongguk light up.

And hey, who could’ve known? Maybe sharing his apartment with a demon has its perks.

✩

One day of living with Jeongguk turns into two, then three, and in the end, a whole week goes by without Taehyung telling Jeongguk to leave. He’s a bit surprised by it, yes, but the truth is that living with Jeongguk isn’t _that_ bad… Not only does he come home to cooked meals, but he’s also offered to contribute to the rent and bills. And well, Jeongguk is fun to be around.

It’s funny to Taehyung how he can be so familiar with certain aspects of human life, but so unaware about others. Taehyung teaches him how to browse the internet, of which existence Jeongguk knew of, even if he had no idea of how to navigate it. He also teaches him how to turn the TV on, discovering Jeongguk has a soft spot for historical dramas that remind him of times he—claims that—he has lived through. He also seems to love bubblegum pop, and knows the lyrics to more 2000s American pop songs that Taehyung thought were possible for a demon.

Maybe at some point Taehyung stops feeling uncomfortable, letting himself relax around Jeongguk. Maybe he finds him endearing, along with his inability to navigate the real world. Taehyung is a little skeptical, yes, but he puts it aside. And once he forgets about all that, he finds out that he likes this—being with Jeongguk. And he likes it a lot.

✩

“Hey, Taehyung,” Jeongguk asks him one night, after they’ve both had dinner and tidied up the kitchen. “You never told me what your job was.”

Taehyung lets himself flop back on the couch when he hears that, raising one eyebrow as he twists his head around to look at Jeongguk. Jeongguk has been asking him a lot of stuff about, well, everything. The topic of Taehyung’s job was bound to come up at some point, and the truth is that he’s even surprised Jeongguk hasn’t asked until now.

“Why don’t you try to guess it?” Taehyung asks. “I picked you up right after coming out of work. Didn’t you see where we were?”

“The only thing I saw that night was the parking lot, literally,” Jeongguk replies, making Taehyung hum. “But I see you come back with wet hair every day. Do you shower after work?”

“Yeah, I do,” Taehyung replies, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Jeongguk, who takes the armrest, hums. “Make a guess.”

“You are… a pilates instructor at a gym,” Jeongguk replies, making Taehyung cackle loudly.

“Pilates? Really?” Taehyung asks, a smile still dancing on his mouth. He has trouble imagining himself doing pilates, let alone teaching it to other people. “You’re warm. Close, but not quite right.”

“Okay, okay, let me think,” Jeongguk replies, scratching his chin. “Is it at the gym?”

“Nope, not a gym.”

“But you are an instructor,” Jeongguk says, getting a nod from Taehyung. “Dance?”

“God, no. Not my forte,” Taehyung replies to him. “It’s easy, seriously.”

“Is it some kind of sport?” Jeongguk asks him.

Taehyung bites down on the corner of his bottom lip to contain a smile, at the same time he says, “Yes. Getting hot now.”

“A team sports?” Taehyung shakes his head, negatively. “How about… swimming?”

“Bingo,” Taehyung says, sitting up as he curls his hands around his ankles. “And, um… What did you say you do in Hell? Punish people?”

“Pretty much, yes,” Jeongguk tells him. “That’s what we all do down there but I don’t like it. I don’t like to make people feel pain. I don’t like to punish.”

Taehyung gives Jeongguk a little smile because he believes that. After getting to know Jeongguk a little, Taehyung finds it hard to believe that Jeongguk would get joy in making someone suffer. That’s probably why he left, Taehyung thinks. Not that he has asked yet, and he’s not sure if he will. It seems like a bit of a personal topic.

Instead, he tries to break the ice with a joke. “That makes it sound like you’re a professional dom,” Taehyung asks, making Jeongguk laugh.

Just as expected, Jeongguk laughs. That is the aspect of human life that Jeongguk is eerily familiar with: sex. After all, he has been living in Hell. Taehyung guesses a lot of sex talk, and maybe sex itself, happens in Hell. Especially the nasty kind.

“Shut up, holy shit,” Jeongguk tells him, shoving Taehyung on the shoulder. “You’re such a mess.”

Taehyung laughs, throwing his head back and feeling his eyes crinkle as bubbly laughter erupts from his chest. It’s hard to tell when all of this started, when Taehyung started to feel so at ease around Jeongguk. What he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want him to leave.

✩

That time at Taehyung's apartment was the first time that Jeongguk and Jimin saw each other, but it certainly wasn't the last. Agreeing to live with Taehyung indirectly implies agreeing to have Jimin over more often than not. Jimin dropped by a lot, and Taehyung was delighted to see his best friend fall for the peculiar little devil just like Taehyung himself had. There is something so stupidly charming about him, once you get over the fact that he's... well, a demon.

Seeing how well Jeongguk and Jimin got along, it was only a matter of time before Taehyung introduced him to the rest of his friends. He comes to an agreement both with his best friend and his new roommate to keep two things a secret: first of all, that Jeongguk is a demon; second of all, that Taehyung has been sharing his apartment with him.

“I just think it would be hard for anyone to understand why we're sharing a one bedroom apartment if they don't know about your inability to exist by yourself in the human world,” Taehyung says, trying to explain to Jeongguk the reasons why he thinks things would work better this way. “Just say you met me at my work.”

“And say what? That I'm one of the little kids you teach?” Jeongguk asks, clearly a bit skeptical.

“They're not gonna ask that much,” Taehyung replies. “And if they do, then just say you went swimming there. We only teach on a few of the lanes, so the rest of the pool is free for the public.”

“Your story has too many holes,” Jeongguk complains.

“Then you just improvise. Put your little demon head to good use.”

After that, Jeongguk doesn't argue anymore, and Taehyung finds a date that works with all of his friends as well as with Jeongguk and himself. Not that Jeongguk has any places to be, really; other than Taehyung and Jimin, Jeongguk doesn't really have any human friends. He sees Hoseok sometimes, but Taehyung is sure they can work around that.

And then, he has an idea.

“Why don't you invite Hoseok to come with us?” he suggests, guessing it might be easier for Jeongguk to feel welcome if there’s more people he knows. From what Taehyung has seen of Hoseok, he doesn't seem to have much of a problem with new people, quite the opposite.

“Hoseok?” Jimin asks then from where he's sitting. Both Taehyung and Jeongguk look at him when he says that, giving him a curious look. Jimin sits up a little straight. “How come?”

“Because he's Jeongguk's friend. Why else?” Taehyung says, at the same time his gaze shifts to Jeongguk again. “You can do that telepathic thing you do to get in contact with him, and—”

“Honestly, that won’t be necessary at all,” Jimin says, making both Taehyung and Jeongguk look at him with a confused expression. “We could just call him? I have his number.”

For a moment there, Taehyung is just about to be like _much better then. let's call him instead_, as he still feels rather weirded out by this whole communication thing Hoseok and Jeongguk do. But then he fully processes what Jimin had just said, the words really sinking in. _I have his number_.

“Wait, what?” he blurts out.

“His number?” Jeongguk asks. “How did you get his number?”

“Do you guys remember on the day I met Jeongguk, how Hoseok came to bring him money and we left at the same time?” Jimin asks them, both of them nodding at the same time. “Well, we were talking in the elevator and one thing led to another and we ended up grabbing a coffee.”

“Jimin...” Taehyung starts, but Jimin keeps talking.

“And then we exchanged numbers. And maybe we've been talking a bit over the past few weeks, meeting up occasionally, too. He's really nice to be around,” Jimin tells them, starting to babble a bit. Taehyung's eyebrows raise. “And we have a lot of stuff in common, and we both make each other laugh a lot. Point is—I have his number if you need to call. Since I guess that's less invasive.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung calls again, making Jimin hum. “Are you going out on dates with a _demon_?”

Jimin lets out a strangled noise, at the same time Jeongguk starts chuckling and claps his hands, seemingly amused by the situation. Taehyung's eyes are wide in disbelief, because despite leaving together, Taehyung didn't think Jimin and Hoseok would casually go get a drink right after. There is nothing wrong with it, of course. Taehyung was just taken by surprise.

“The word date might have been mentioned a couple of times,” Jimin confesses, making Jeongguk laugh once again as Taehyung's eyes widen even more. “But you have no right to be mad! I'm dating one, you're living with another. We're even.”

“He makes a good point,” Jeongguk says, looking at Taehyung then. Taehyung shushes him.

“I'm not mad!” Taehyung exclaims, gesturing with his hands. “Just surprised. Didn't take you for the type to be into demons, you know?”

“Takes one to know one, Taetae,” Jimin tells him, at the same time a devious grin appears on his lips. Taehyung feels his cheeks grow warmer at the comment for some inexplicable reason. _What_?

“What are you trying to imply?” Jeongguk asks them. Jimin's grin widens even more, and Taehyung throws a pillow at Jimin.

“That's not true,” he says, making his best friend laugh as he catches the pillow in his hand. “Just—shut up. And call Hoseok. Ask him if he's free on Saturday evening.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Jimin replies, getting his phone from his pocket and moving back to the kitchen area to talk.

Taehyung buries his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks still warm against the skin of his palms. Right next to him, Jeongguk is quiet, but Taehyung can feel his eyes on him, scrutinizing. Despite Jeongguk's question asking Jimin what he was trying to imply, Taehyung knows that Jeongguk is aware of the intention behind that one comment. And for that reason, that only makes the blush on Taehyung's cheeks get even worse.

✩

Saturday evening does find Hoseok and Jeongguk meeting up with some of Taehyung and Jimin's friends. Yoongi and Namjoon's interest seems to be piqued when Taehyung mentions introducing to them a new close friend of his, but what _really _does the trick for both of them is the moment where he mentions that the guy Jimin has been dating will be tagging along, too. Of course, they weren't going to say no, but it's that piece of information that turns their reply into an easy yes.

At first, Taehyung is a bit worried by the fact that Yoongi and Namjoon are both a bit shyer and more reserved than Taehyung and Jimin, something that has the potential to make Jeongguk feel awkward. Jimin shares the same concern, so in the end they decide to go to the one place where everyone's inhibitions disappear, making it possible for everyone to unleash themselves and have the best night ever, for all of them.

They, of course, are going to noraebang.

Which is how the six of them find themselves in a rented noraebang room in Hongdae, with a collection of empty bottles of soju on the table at the back of the room. Hoseok and Jeongguk are on the small step that serves as a stage now, mics in their hands as they do a very out-of-tune rendition of TWICE's _What Is Love? _Taehyung, who has his phone out as he records the two of them attempting to follow the choreography, can't keep the fond smile off his face. From the corner of his eye, Taehyung can see Jimin laughing with his whole body, rolling on the couch as his shoulders shake with each of his chuckles.

Hoseok and Jeongguk have big smiles plastered on their faces and their cheeks are rosy from the soju, and for that reason, Taehyung's chest feels warm. Just in the same way that he feels when he notices the grins on Yoongi's and Namjoon's faces, seemingly amused by the pair.

And Taehyung likes this. Taehyung, who has always been fiercely protective of his friends, shouldn't allow for two boys who claim to be demons to merge so easily into his friend group, to get so close to the people he loves. Hell, part of him still wants to believe Jeongguk and Hoseok have been lying to them all along, even if he has the fact that they can communicate from miles away without Jeongguk having a phone and the charms as proof.

Taehyung feels surprised by how _badly _he wanted tonight to go well, how much he wanted all of his friends to like Jeongguk as much as he does. Taehyung's lips part in realization then, when he finds himself dwelling on that thought. It's much easier to admit it now, with his brain a little fuzzy and tipsy with the alcohol, than it was the other day, when Jimin brought it up. Maybe Taehyung likes Jeongguk a little bit.

✩

“You know what?” Taehyung distractedly asks Jeongguk when they're getting back home later that night. Taehyung feels tipsy as hell, his perception of the world and his balance now a bit questionable, but he's not drunk. He's just at the point of tipsy where everything is funny, and he feels light and happy. Jeongguk is the same, and so the two of them stumble across the streets of Seoul, trying to get back to Taehyung's apartment.

“I don't know what,” Jeongguk replies, followed by a hiccup. Taehyung giggles, finding the sound the funniest sound in the world. “What?”

“For some reason, when you said you were a demon, I imagined you'd have more resistance to alcohol,” Taehyung confesses, teasing him. “But you don't. You're a lightweight.”

“Oi! You're no better,” Jeongguk accuses him, making Taehyung laugh again. Jeongguk has made a point, and there is nothing remotely funny about what he said, but it seems far more comedic in Taehyung's alcohol-induced haze, he swears. “If anything, you're worse.”

“But I’m just human,” Taehyung rebates. “While you're a demon—well, you _claim _to be one. Coming from hell and all that.”

“What do you mean claim, huh?” Jeongguk asks him then, stopping in his tracks. Taehyung keeps walking a few steps, but he stops when he feels Jeongguk's arm curl around his wrist. “Wait up. I'll prove it to you.”

“Prove it to me how?” Taehyung asks, starting to turn around.

“Wait! Stay there,” Jeongguk says, making Taehyung freeze. “I'm gonna show you my demon form.”

“Your... demon form,” Taehyung repeats, a bit skeptical.

“What are you sounding so disbelieving for? It's a thing,” Jeongguk protests from behind him. Taehyung clicks his tongue.

“Because that sounds like a pile of shit. No offense,” Taehyung replies, his tipsiness making him a bit more vocal about his lack of faith in... well, the fact that Jeongguk is a demon. He tries to play along for the most part, because right now he has no idea what to believe. It makes him feel like a fool to even consider the possibility, but he thinks he believes. _Thinks_. Until he realizes that, well, he's probably being a fool. It makes no sense, not even to himself.

“It's a pile of truth,” Jeongguk replies. Taehyung rolls his eyes. “How do you think Hoseok got to your apartment the first time so quickly? He came by flying.”

“That's not true. Plus, someone would have seen—” Taehyung starts, but Jeongguk cuts him off.

“Turn around,” he interrupts. Taehyung's mouth closes. “Look at me, Tae.”

And despite Taehyung being skeptical, he still feels his heart in his throat right then and there. He clenches his fists to his sides, takes a deep breath, and then starts to move. And even if he has lived with Jeongguk for a long time, and he supposedly has known about him being a demon for quite some time, nothing could have been enough of a warning for what he sees once he swirls around on his heels. Nothing could have made him ready for the sight.

It's Jeongguk—same Jeongguk, same black hair, same face, almost same everything. His shirt is off now, but that's not what Taehyung is paying attention to right now. Because behind Jeongguk, Taehyung sees wings. Literal _wings_. They're feathery, angel-like. The only difference with those is the color. Jeongguk's wings are tall, big and black. And Taehyung, for some reason, can't bring himself to tear his eyes away from them. He is entranced, eyes widening a little when the wings move behind Jeongguk's back.

“When I was in Hell I towered over humans,” Jeongguk laments. It gives Taehyung a certain feeling of deja-vu, since it's something Taehyung has heard him complain about before. The only difference now is that he has Jeongguk in said demon form before him, and he just... well, he's having trouble processing it. “But now I’m so much smaller. I’m the same height I am in the human form.”

“Oh, shit, Jeongguk,” Taehyung tells him then, taking a tentative step closer. He's starting to feel a bit dizzy now. “You have _horns_.”

There they are, now that he takes a closer look. They're black, which is why at first Taehyung didn't spot them in between the locks of Jeongguk's hair. He almost wants to reach out and touch, but maybe demons don't like it too much when people touch their horns. Taehyung isn't an expert on demon protocol yet; he's been a bit too busy trying to teach Jeongguk human protocol, first.

“And a tail,” Jeongguk tells him, his eyes glistening deviously. And that is not just a saying—his eyes literally glisten then, a red ring appearing around the irises. Taehyung felt dizzy already, but now he really does feel like the world is spinning too fast and he can't keep up with it.

“And a tail,” Taehyung repeats, his legs starting to fail him. “Oh, my God.”

“Well, not quite,” Jeongguk replies. It's then that Taehyung stumbles, losing control over his own legs as he falls to the ground. He closes his eyes, hears Jeongguk's alarmed voice call, “Taehyung?”

But Taehyung can't reply, of course not. He's so shocked—by all of this, by Jeongguk's demon form, by the fact that he was telling the truth all along—that he promptly passes out.

✩

Taehyung wakes up the following morning feeling like a train has run him over.

It's strange, Taehyung thinks, because he doesn't recall drinking that much last night. His head still hurts, and so he groans as he rubs his eyes and tries to pry them open. On top of that, he had the weirdest dream through the night, the most unbelievable one.

It was a soft knock on the door of his bedroom that woke him up, so Taehyung isn’t really shocked when he hears Jeongguk's sweet, honey voice call, “Good morning, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” Taehyung replies, earning himself a laugh from Jeongguk. Hell, _haha_. He rolls to his side, eyes still closed as he buries his face in the pillow. His head hurts sharply then, and so Taehyung groans again. “My head hurts so much.”

“Well, I'm not shocked. You hit your head pretty hard,” Jeongguk tells him, then. “I brought you breakfast, by the way.”

It's the mention of breakfast that really, _really_ makes Taehyung sit up on the bed, facing the world and the dreaded sunlight. He takes a look at Jeongguk, who is wearing a white t-shirt and some basketball shorts Taehyung gave him for sleeping. In his hands there is a tray.

“What did you make?” Taehyung asks, sitting cross-legged as Jeongguk approaches more and leaves the tray on the bed. Orange juice for the two of them, croissants, some sliced fruit—Taehyung feels his mouth water at the sight. Oddly enough, despite the hangover making his head hurt, his stomach is fine. It's then that he recalls what Jeongguk just said. “I hit my head?”

“Oh, my—you don't remember?” Taehyung shakes his head, softly as to try to avoid the same sharp pain from before when he moved too fast. “You passed out last night in the middle of the street. I had to carry you back here.”

“Fuck, no. No, no, no, that's so embarrassing, fuck,” Taehyung says, feeling his cheeks get warm. Did he really pass out drunk on his first night out with Jeongguk? He _swears _he didn't drink that much last night. He only felt slightly buzzed, but now Jeongguk is telling him he passed out. And now that Jeongguk mentions it, he has no recollection of getting home. “I didn't mean to get that drunk. God, what's wrong with me?”

“You didn't pass out drunk. Do you seriously not remember?” Jeongguk asks, making Taehyung frown in confusion. “Do you not remember how I showed you my demon form?”

Taehyung's frown deepens for a moment, but then he remembers the dream from last night. Or well, what he had assumed was a dream. He remembers he and Jeongguk standing in the street, and then turning around and seeing Jeongguk with wings, horns, a tail, some red his eyes. It feels like a blur. The memory isn't too clear in his mind, but now that he thinks about it... now that he thinks about it, he remembers. He remembers teasing Jeongguk about being a lightweight, and he remembers Jeongguk trying to prove to him that he’s a demon by shifting to his demon form. Taehyung's eyes widen, the memories rushing back to his mind.

“What the—I dreamed that,” Taehyung blurts out then, more to convince himself than anything. Jeongguk shakes his head at him, negatively. Almost as if he was saying, _nope, you did not, it was very much real_. Taehyung's lips part, he says, “You're fucking with me.”

“You saw it yourself. Your memories aren't lying, Taehyung,” Jeongguk tells him, from where he's sitting on the bed next to him. “I can show you again if you want.”

“Show me,” Taehyung tells him then, not missing one beat. The memory is messy, but the image is clear in his mind, and fuck—he needs to see it for himself again. When his mind is not clouded by alcohol, when he can be sure that what he's seeing is not a product of his imagination. “I want to see.”

“Close your eyes,” Jeongguk tells him. Taehyung doesn't hesitate, blinking his eyes closed. He feels the bed shift as Jeongguk stands, then hears the rustling of clothes in front of him. It's only a few seconds later that Jeongguk tells him, “Now look at me again.”

He opens his eyes then, only to have the air knocked out of his lungs. If the memory of Jeongguk standing in a dark street last night was enough to leave him speechless, chest tight, then this... this is something else, completely.

The t-shirt that Jeongguk was wearing is now on top of the mattress, lying discarded after Jeongguk took it off, probably to make space for his wings. And the wings, good—they're majestic. They’re massive, but they also look... so elegant? Maybe it's the fact that they're the color of carbon, so, so dark. Taehyung's lips part in awe, watching the feathers and the delicacy of them. He flinches a little when they move behind Jeongguk's body, not expecting that.

“Can you turn around?” Taehyung asks then, his voice sounding small even to his own ears. He's just so in shock that he can't bring himself to properly speak up.

“Of course,” Jeongguk replies, his wings retracting so he can comfortably turn around without hitting any objects in the room. “Do you believe me now?”

“I do. I do, fuck,” Taehyung replies, watching the way in which the wings bury themselves in Jeongguk's body. They're just... a part of him. A part of his body. Seeing the way they expand again, the muscles on Jeongguk's back moving when he does so, is just reassurance in that. Taehyung's heart skips a beat. “Can I get closer? Can I touch?”

Jeongguk laughs at that, which makes Taehyung feel a little better about the question. For a second there, after asking it so shamelessly, Taehyung was worried that he was being too invasive, breaking boundaries that he didn't know about. But Jeongguk laughing makes him feel better, knowing that he took no offense to it.

“You can. But be careful, they're sensitive,” Jeongguk indicates. Carefully as to not knock the tray off, Taehyung gets off the bed and places himself behind Jeongguk. He looks at the wings dumbfounded, tentatively bringing his hand up and feeling the feathers under the tips of his fingers. “Do you like them?”

“This is... this is amazing, Jeongguk,” Taehyung replies, his fingers travelling to the junction of Jeongguk's wings and his back. Jeongguk jolts a little when he brushes his fingers on there, the skin there probably more sensitive. Jeongguk swallows down thickly. For some reason, he can't hold a fit of bubbly laughter then. “You weren't lying.”

“I wouldn't lie to you, silly,” Jeongguk tells him then, almost as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Taehyung laughs, again. “You're my human, after all.”

Taehyung's stomach twists pleasantly at the words. _His human_. Taehyung thinks he likes that—likes the thought of being Jeongguk's human. Likes the thought of being Jeongguk's anything.

“And you're my demon,” Taehyung replies, Jeongguk laughing at that. “I'm sorry I didn't believe you for so long...”

“I know it's hard to believe something like this. You never knew about this... well, about this other part of the world,” Jeongguk tells him. “I would like some compensation, though.”

It's the way in which he says that, so soft yet so playful, that makes Taehyung smile, even if Jeongguk can't see it. “And what would you like?” he asks.

“A hug,” Jeongguk tells him. “Can I get one?”

“Come on,” Taehyung says. “Get your hug.”

Jeongguk spins around on his heels then, retreating his wings once again. When he faces Taehyung, there’s a wide smile on his face, one that doesn't falter when Taehyung surges forward and pulls him in for a hug. He wraps his hands around Jeongguk's neck, feeling the wings under the tips of his fingers and on the insides of his wrist. It tickles.

“Am I forgiven?” he asks, at the time he feels Jeongguk's arms wrap tightly around his waist. Taehyung feels butterflies inside his tummy, his chest resting flush against Jeongguk's.

“Of course you are, my Tae,” Jeongguk tells him. “I was never mad in the first place.”

Taehyung doesn't reply at that—just sighs, and lets himself melt into Jeongguk's embrace.

_His Tae_. Taehyung really, really likes that.

✩

Taehyung thinks that Jeongguk has proven himself to be a very considerate roommate—friend? A very considerate _person_, if demons qualify as such. A couple of weeks back he started to cook dinner for Taehyung, first with Jimin and Hoseok's supervision, but now on his own. He takes care of the grocery shopping for the two of them, as well as other house chores while Taehyung is out at work. Taehyung insists that he doesn't have to, that he feels bad with Jeongguk taking care of so much stuff, but Jeongguk is firm.

“I want to help you out,” he had told Taehyung when he tried to convince him. “You're helping me by allowing me to stay here, and teaching me how to pass as a human. It's only fair I help you out, instead of lazing around when you're out at work.”

Jeongguk has also proven himself to be very stubborn, so Taehyung doesn't argue with him further. Some help is nice, he will admit. Especially because with two people sharing the apartment, the mess is double what it was before. It's nice to not have to do everything on his own.

The point is, Jeongguk is considerate. He does plenty for Taehyung, so much so that he feels taken care of. Usually it's just stuff like that—cooking for him, helping him out, maybe buying Taehyung's favorite desserts after asking Jimin for a list of them. Taehyung is starting to get a bit used to them, used to being spoiled like this, but he didn't see coming what Jeongguk would do next.

Taehyung leaves work particularly tired today. As he walks out of the building, he daydreams about getting home, having some dinner and curling up on the sofa while he and Jeongguk watch something. Jeongguk has turned out to be a big lover of Netflix and literally everything the streaming site has to offer no matter the genre. Taehyung has lost count of how many times the two of them have sat on the sofa, watching movies or episode after episode of some random show until they both were sleepy. That, or until Taehyung realized he had work the following day and therefore should probably go to sleep.

His daydreams see themselves interrupted when, as soon as he leaves the building, he spots a familiar face. He stops in his tracks, hand still holding the door open as he asks, “Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk looks up from the floor, a smile spreading across his face. “Hi!” he greets, Taehyung stepping away from the door to let his co-worker leave. After a low _see you tomorrow_, Taehyung diverts his attention back to Jeongguk. “I came to pick you up.”

“Wait—really?” Taehyung asks, his face lighting up. Jeongguk nods. “Did you seriously remember the way? You haven't been here ever since the first night.”

“Demons are good at orientation,” Jeongguk says, making Taehyung laugh. “I have a suggestion to make, although I'm not sure whether you’ll agree to it or not.”

“Well, lay it on me, then,” Taehyung tells him, intrigued by what it might be that Jeongguk has to propose to him. “What is it?”

“I'm gonna take you home,” Jeongguk tells him.

Taehyung frowns in confusion. He doesn't see how this is not something that he would agree to. “Okay...?” he says, half-expecting Jeongguk to say something else.

“By flying.”

Taehyung's lips part. Then they close. Then they open again. “Jeongguk, _what_?”

“It'll be fun, you'll see,” Jeongguk tells him. For some reason, the mention of flying alone is enough to make Taehyung's heartbeat speed up. “I have a feeling you'll like it.”

“Jeongguk, I—” Taehyung starts. Jeongguk raises an eyebrow at him. He doesn't get to say anything else, though. Because before he can open his mouth, he feels tugging on his sweatpants and hears a squeal.

Of course, because Taehyung's luck is like this, it’s precisely as he tries to tell his demon roommate that he can _not _take him home by flying when not only one, but two of the girls he teaches show up. Mina and Miyeon are twin sisters, and they have been in Taehyung's beginner group for the last couple of months. Taehyung turns around only to find the two girls looking at him with wide smiles and bright eyes, their hair wet from the shower they took after spending all day in the pool.

The girls are four-years-old, and are also at a stage where strangers don't seem all that intimidating to them, as they're both outgoing and quite extroverted. That must be what makes them twirl around Taehyung's legs, one of them fisting the fabric of Jeongguk's own sweatpants and giving them a tug.

“Hi!” she, Mina, calls. Taehyung gives Jeongguk a curious look, wanting to see his reaction to this: it's the first time Taehyung sees Jeongguk interact with a child.

“Uh, I—hello,” Jeongguk says, giving Taehyung a horrified look. Taehyung raises an eyebrow, teasing. “It's nice to meet you.”

The girl giggles at that, her sister Miyeon leaving Taehyung to cling to Jeongguk's other leg. Taehyung notices the girls' parents behind him, so he politely turns around to greet them before returning his attention back to Jeongguk. Jeongguk, who is still awkwardly looking down at the kids clinging to his legs.

“This is my friend Jeonggukie,” Taehyung announces, seeing the girls look up at him before their eyes go back to Jeongguk. “He's a bit shy but he's very happy to meet you two.”

Jeongguk gives Taehyung another look, and this one is clearly asking for help. Taehyung just smiles, because he never thought Jeongguk would be like this with kids, but he guesses it makes sense. There are probably not many kids around Hell, which is a big relief to Taehyung. Jeongguk swallows down, looking down at the twins and forcing a smile.

“Such a pleasure to meet girls as, uh, adorable as you two,” Jeongguk hesitates, stealing a glance at Taehyung as he says that. Taehyung nods, as to tell him that he's doing well enough, and so Jeongguk adds, “Taehyung's friends are my friends.”

It's then that the parents of the two girls call them back, the two of them letting go of Jeongguk's legs and obediently getting back to their parents. They apologize to both Taehyung and Jeongguk for the enthusiasm of the twins, but the two of them reassure them that it's okay, and that it’s no bother. Taehyung, who has been learning how to read Jeongguk, can tell that despite his awkwardness, the other wasn't uncomfortable.

Once the family of four starts walking away, Jeongguk turns around and looks at Taehyung with urgency. His eyes are dramatically wide as he says, “That was hard.”

Taehyung laughs, slightly amused. He starts to walk in the direction of the car, hoping Jeongguk has now forgotten the flying.

“It really isn't hard,” he tells Jeongguk, seeing the other frown from the corner of his eye. He doesn't stop walking, adding, “You're just not used to kids, are you?”

6 notes · View notes

rocorambles · 4 years

Text

Dream Come True

Pairing: Kuroo x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Non-Con Drugging, Non-Con Somnophilia, Non-Con/Rape, Dub-Con, Manipulation, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Corruption Kink, Breeding Kink, Overstimulation, Sex Toys, Bondage, DDLG Kink, Non-Con Pain Play and Spanking (use of flogger and paddle), Mind Break

Summary: Kuroo wonders if you still would have eagerly accepted the position as his assistant if you knew what your future entailed.

Author’s Note: Gifting this to @royal-after-dark as part of the NSFW Haikyuu HQ Gifting Event! Happy holidays and hope you enjoy~

You could hardly believe your eyes when you had received the acceptance email and job offer with the Japanese Volleyball Association logo emblazoned on top of all the documents. It was a dream come true and suddenly all the late nights, all the cups of coffee, all the exhausting networking in college finally felt like they paid off as you eagerly accepted your dream job as an assistant in the JVA's sports marketing department.

And although you had been warned and had been nervous that you had been looking at it from rose tinted glasses, that it wouldn't live up to your expectations, you can safely say three months in that it's everything you wanted and more as you travel around Japan, meeting and watching the best of the best in the country play their hearts out from front row seats, promoting and sharing the joy of the sport you yourself had grown up loving.

It certainly doesn't hurt that you have an amazing boss.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

You had been unsure of him at first, eyes lingering a tad too long on his messy hair, the intimidating smirk on his face, the calculating gaze in his eyes, feeling scrutinized and picked apart with every word and look he sent your way.

But when he strolled in yawning and plopped a piping hot cup of coffee on your desk without you asking, when you watched him command an entire room with his presence, when you listened to him patiently and kindly teach you your tasks, it's easy to see why he had risen up the ranks so quickly, why he was so well regarded by his peers and managers.

You strive to follow in his footsteps, carefully taking note of all his feedback, always trying to perform above and beyond. And you beam with pride with every compliment and praise he gifts you with, letting your guard and professionalism slip in front of him the more the two of you get to know each other.

Maybe that's why you don't notice the predatory glint in hazel eyes as they stare at you.

Maybe that's why you don't notice the way his hands touch you more than necessary as he wraps an arm around the dip of your hip when he laughs, as he brushes a hand almost on the swell of your ass as he coaxes you to walk with him.

Time flies by and before you know it, you’re staring around wide eyed at the luxurious club the JVA has rented out for their holiday party, taking note of the plush leather seating, the perfectly tailored designer suits adorning professional athletes, the handles of expensive hard liquor gleaming behind the bar and you feel insignificant as you nervously play with the sleeves of your off-shoulder dress. But just as you’re about to get another drink and hide in one of the corners of the club to watch the festivities from afar, a glass is shoved in your face and you instantly feel a surge of confidence as Kuroo winks down at you, playfully whistling as he tells you how beautiful you look.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

He smirks as you practically glow while you bask in his attention, instinctively leaning into his touch when he brushes a stray eyelash off your face, letting him hook his arm through yours as he waltzes you around, introducing you to your favorite players, mindlessly accepting drink after drink that he subtly places in your hand. And when you begin to sloppily stumble and he tires of plastering on his fake smile, you’re none the wiser when he slips a little pill into your drink, carefully watching you as you quickly toss back the drink, brandishing your empty cup at him in glee.

It’s amazing how far science has come and he watches in amusement as his gift begins to take effect, watches as you lose control of your body, your speech, watches as you beautifully fall into his arms, drowsily murmuring incoherent ramblings into his neck as you fall into a forced slumber in his arms.

But even among the joyous chaos of the night, he can’t help but notice just how perfectly you fit against him and he’s quick to brush off the concerns of those around him, internally laughing at how easily people trust as he carries your limp form away without any opposition, sneaking glances at you and feeling his cock begin to twitch from just the sight of your vulnerable form.

He can’t get home fast enough, grateful to his past self for choosing a modest home in a secluded quiet neighborhood with no prying eyes as he unceremoniously drags you inside and dumps you on his bed. And despite how he’s at full mast, despite how his body yearns and burns for you, despite how he’s scrambling to rid himself of his clothes, he pauses to just admire how gorgeous you are splayed out before him, in his home, on his bed.

But looking isn't enough and he hovers over your body, inhaling deeply as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, groaning and grinding against your clothed sex as he takes in your scent. You're intoxicating and he worships your body, taking his time to examine and inspect every inch of you with his lips, fingers, tongue, so careful not to leave a mark despite the temptation to completely mark you as his.

It wouldn't do for you to ask too many questions tomorrow.

But that doesn't mean he completely restrains himself, shoving the front of your dress down under your breasts, flicking and tweaking your nipples with his tongue and fingers, chuckling at how they harden despite the condition you're in. Even unconscious, your body can't get enough of him and he sucks on the perky buds while his large hand travels down your body, long fingers hooking underneath your underwear and moaning when he feels how wet you already are as he teases your entrance.

He knows you're a virgin, knows you've never even had a boyfriend and that just makes him even more aroused, the thought of being the first and only cock to stuff you full, the only man to ever have you so intimately, fueling him as he slips your panties to the side and aligns himself with your entrance.

It's almost obscene how big his cock looks as just his tip teases your hole, sliding up and down your glistening folds, and he hungrily watches as he slowly enters your tight walls bit by bit, watching his entire length disappear inside of you, throwing his head back in pleasure as your walls flutter around the intrusion.

He tries to pace himself, tries to let your body adjust to him, but you're so warm, so inviting, so much better than any dream he's had of you and his hips begin to rapidly thrust in and out of you, the obscene sounds of skin against skin and his grunts filling the room. It's amazing he even has enough awareness to pull out before he finishes, not wanting any of his sticky white evidence inside of you, but he smirks at the sight of his seed splattered against your inner thighs, tantalizingly close to your now gaping hole.

Soon. He'd be buried inside of you and breeding you with his seed soon enough.

But for now, he disappointedly sighs as he wipes the thick spurts from your body, readjusting your outfit and tucking you into his bed before opting to sleep on the couch.

He'd just have to play the gentleman a little while longer.

It’s adorable how embarrassed you are the next morning and he hides the smirk that creeps on his face when he hears you frantically scurrying around, racing past him to escape the seemingly strange home you’re in, but he pretends to sleepily yawn and sit up when you reach the front door, drowsily calling your name and halting you in your tracks.

“Kuroo-san?!”

You can’t even meet his eyes as you shuffle back towards him at his request, gingerly sitting beside him on the couch, profusely apologizing and bowing for your unprofessional behavior at the party last night. But he waves off your concerns with a warm smile perfected after years of practice, nudging a pile of his clothes in your hands and urging you towards the shower, telling you to freshen up and make yourself at home while he makes breakfast. He’s setting the table and placing the hot food on the dining table when he hears your footsteps and he turns to greet you, only to freeze as he takes in your appearance.

Red is most certainly your color and it takes every ounce of self control in him not to devour you right then and there as hazel eyes sweep over you, appreciating the way his old Nekoma jersey hangs off your frame, the way his old Nekoma sweatpants are far too long for you, only serving to make you even more endearing in his eyes as you’re enveloped in his clothing and his scent. But he busies himself with piling food onto your plate and beckoning you to sit, subtly gritting his teeth as he wills his body to calm down.

Not yet. There’s far too many steps of his plan he needs to get through first before he can fully claim his prize. He’d gotten a taste of you, a helpful reminder and incentive to push him to the finish line, and that will have to do for now.

And it’s not like he has much longer to wait, not when you so easily fall for his mischievous smile, not when you don’t question why your work trips feel more like a couples retreat as time goes on, not when you’re flinging your arms around him in overwhelming joy when he officially asks you to be his girlfriend.

Kuroo pats himself on the back for his patience and feigned kindness when you nervously tell him you want to take the physical aspect of your relationship slowly, shyly reminding him that you’re a virgin and that he’s your first significant other.

Oh sweetheart, you don’t know how much self-control it takes not to burst out laughing at how wrong you are about half of that statement and he just nods along as his mind drifts away remembering that night, remembering the feeling of your body underneath his.

But he keeps his promise. It’s not his fault that you’re such a needy little thing. And he laughs when you pout and whine about him not holding your hand enough, not cuddling as close to you as you want, not kissing you the way you like. Smug satisfaction races through him when you’re the one who crawls into his lap, when you’re the one chasing his lips after he presses a chaste sweet kiss to your forehead, when you’re the one lightly tugging at his sleeve before he can leave your apartment, meekly asking him to stay the night with you.

You swear there’s something strangely familiar about the way Kuroo’s cock splits you in half the first time you fully give yourself up to him, a faint echo of remembrance in your mind as he drags against your walls, setting a smooth and slow pace that has you deliriously feeling every little movement. But you don’t have time to dwell on it, not when you’re writhing and moaning underneath his toned body, screaming for more, more, more, sounding more like a desperate slut than a shy virgin, not even denying Kuroo’s degrading comments as his demeanor shifts.

“My, my, you’re quite the whore even though this is your ‘first time’, kitten. Maybe you were born to take my cock, be my little cock slave.”

You wail as his pace quickens, the new angle as he throws one leg over his shoulder making your mind go blank.

“Fuck, you’re tightening up so much. Only a slut would feel this good her first time. Come on, cum all over this cock, show me how much you love it.”

And as if his words are direct triggers for your body, something inside of you snaps at the growled command and you scream as your back arches, pussy shuddering and clenching around the length inside of it, eyes rolling back in your head and jaw going slack as he continues fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

But you whimper when Kuroo abruptly pulls out of you, drool pooling in your mouth when he moves until his cock is positioned over your face, lewd moans escaping you as he mockingly slaps his length against your face, smearing pre-cum and your own fluids all over you.

“Stick your tongue out. I’m going to paint this pretty face and you’re going to thank me, okay? Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get to taste some.”

It’s embarrassing how quick you are to obey, tongue sloppily lolling out as thick strands of drool begin to trail down your face. But you don’t care, too entranced by the sight, smell, and feeling of Kuroo’s cock so close to you, mesmerized by the motion of his hand rapidly pumping the hard length. And you moan as sticky hot fluid splatters across your face, tongue wagging in the air in a desperate attempt to catch as much of the liquid as you can, a litany of thank you, thank you, thank you streaming from your mouth.

Kuroo’s always found you irresistible, but now that you’re completely his, putty in his hands to shape and mold to his liking? You’re absolutely addicting. It’s endearing how obedient and eager to please him you are, never even questioning any of the obscene training and sessions he puts you through as he corrupts every part of your body.

The slightest things turn you on now and he cruelly laughs as you cum from just your nipples, just your ass, just from sucking his cock, teasing you as you come undone from just his voice, his humiliating words, the sight of his cock.

It doesn’t take long for him to turn you into his little cum dumpster and he wonders if you had any pride as a human being, as a female, as you let him bring you to the clinic and just nervously hold his hand as the doctor inserts an IUD into you. And he smirks down at you as you practically jump him as soon as the two of you are back in your shared apartment, lewdly shaking your ass at him and presenting like an animal in heat, a desperate whine in your voice as you beg him to finally cum inside of you.

But he refrains, reprimanding you for being such a desperate, demanding slut and reminding you that you need to wait at least 24 hours before he could do that, before the little contraption inside of you fully takes effect. You pout, but he snorts at how quick you are to brighten up again as he untucks his cock out as he leans back in his armchair as you crawl between his legs.

“If you want my cum that badly, use your other holes for now.”

Needless to say, you are a cum covered and filled mess by the time 24 hours is up and Kuroo whistles as he examines the debauched sight you are, swiping a finger through the hardening white clumps on your face, your breasts, and your stomach, pulling apart your ass cheeks and watching in amusement as globs of sticky fluids leak from your puckered hole.

“You really do look like a cum dumpster now. I think you need to be demoted from kitten. Still want me to fill up your pussy?”

His trademark grin spreads across his face as you eagerly hook your arms behind your knees and pull your bent legs up to your shoulders, putting your messy lower region on full display for him, a pleading look on your face.

“Of course you do. You really are just a cum slut now, aren’t you?”

And who is Kuroo to deny his love what she wants? What he wants?

He swears he’ll never get tired of the way your walls squeeze and tighten around him, the way you scream his name, and as he splatters thick white stripes inside of your tight heat and pulls out, he swears he’ll never get tired of the way your fluttering hole looks as his seed begins to trickle out of you, already feeling his cock twitch in interest again at the mesmerizing sight.

And as he bends you in half, slamming his erect cock inside of you yet again, he wonders if he could breed you enough, stuff you full of so much semen that even your IUD fails to prevent an unplanned pregnancy. His grip on you tightens and his pace only increases at the thought of your stomach bloating from the amount of cum he wants to fill you with, the thought of you waddling around with a stomach round with his seed and children, tits expanding and leaking with milk, the thought of you always being filled to the brim and smelling like sex, like cum, like sin.

But all of that can wait for now. He’ll have a volleyball team worth of kids with you one day soon, already looking forward to a future where you’re nothing but his good slutty housewife whose only purpose is to pleasure him and bear his children, whose only place is in his bed. But for now, for the next few years, he wants to push your body and mind to its absolute limits, completely break you in ways he can’t do if you’re pregnant.

After all, he won’t be an irresponsible husband or father. He knows he can’t be too rough with a pregnant woman, even if you’re more like a fuck doll than a human now.

So he takes out his darkest desires on you now. But maybe he had spoiled you too much, turned you into a pleasure slut. And he scowls as you cry and whine about how mean he’s being, how you don’t like him hitting you as he tests out a new paddle and a new flogger he had bought in pretty pink just for you.

Ungrateful brat.

He tries to calm you down and persuade you with gentle words, asking where his sweet little girl who always listens and trusts him is. Doesn’t he always make you feel good? But you wear away at his patience as you throw a temper tantrum, physically shoving him away from you as you shout and scream.

“Tetsurou, it hurts! Stop it!”

How dare you defy him? How dare you lay a hand on him? How dare you think you have any right to tell him what to do?

Clearly you need a reminder of who’s in charge, who owns you.

You squeal in surprise when you’re suddenly being manhandled into an embarrassing position, unable to put up much of a fight against Kuroo’s much stronger and larger body as he shoves your face into the mattress and forces your ass even higher into the air, pulling back both of your arms and swiftly cuffing your wrists to your ankles. You struggle, pulling at your restraints and moving as much as you can, but your face heats up at the mocking laugh you hear from behind you.

“Keep on resisting, kitten. The view is great from back here.”

You immediately still when you realize that all you can do is wiggle your ass in the position he’s locked you in and tears bubble in your eyes as you plead with him to release you, to just fuck you and make you feel good like he usually does.

“Tetsurou, please fuck me? Make me feel good? I don’t like any of this! I don’t want to be tied up or hurt-”

Your words get lost in the scream forced out of you as Kuroo roughly swats your thighs and ass with the paddle, repeating the motion over and over again until you’re unable to form words, until your entire bottom aches, until the sheets under your face are soaked through with tears and drool. And even then he doesn’t stop, not until your pained sobs turn into quiet hiccuped cries and you stop trying to wiggle away from him, only flinching a bit instinctively with every smack.

You slump in relief when there’s finally a pause, a lull in the rhythmic torture.

“Tetsu-”

You whimper when that earns you another swift hit to your sore and abused ass.

“Bad girls don’t deserve to say my name. Little girls like you need to learn their place. Now tell daddy how sorry you are for being a disobedient brat.”

You hesitate, unsure how you feel about being belittled and treated like a misbehaved child, testing your lover’s new title in your head, but any doubt flies out the window when the flogger is being slapped against your vulnerable pussy and clit.

“Daddy, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for being a bad girl. Daddy can do whatever he wants to me.”

Kuroo watches in satisfaction as your resistance crumbles to pieces in front of him as you alternate between brokenly crying out “daddy” and “sorry” over and over again, unconsciously shaking your hips in both an attempt to escape the stinging pain of the flogger and an attempt to gain more stimulation on your erect clit.

“For all your earlier complaining, babygirl, you sure are soaking wet. Does it feel good? Answer me!”

You wail as the flogger sharply hits your clit.

“Yes, daddy!! Feels so good!”

“See? Daddy knows best. Now be a good girl and cum from having your pussy and clit smacked around like a naughty little pain slut.”

Kuroo is relentless as he continuously flicks his wrist, expertly hitting your throbbing clit with every motion. And wound up, overwhelmed, and desperate for release, you don’t take long to fall apart under his encouraging words and stimulation, panting for breath as relieved tears and drool smear your face as pleasure washes over you.

But your dismayed sobs begin anew when you realize your lover doesn’t intend to stop, shoving a vibrator inside of your still quivering hole as he alternates between slapping your clit and your ass, pain and pleasure mixing together into an entangled mess you can’t separate.

“I’m nowhere done with you yet, sweetheart. We’re not stopping until you can’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure, until your pussy becomes sopping wet from anything I do to you. Would you like that? To be my slutty little girl who cums no matter what horrible things I do to her? Of course you do. Now be good for me and be grateful that I’m even letting you cum as much as you want. Next time you decide to act out, I’ll take away that privilege.”

All you can do is weakly nod your head as your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth hangs loose, unable to do anything else except take everything Kuroo gives you. And maybe Kuroo is right. Maybe he always does know what’s best. Because despite your earlier hesitation and rejection of his cruel actions, it’s like something inside of you has snapped and you can’t stop cumming, breaking apart over and over again despite the lancing pain that constantly tinges the surface of your delirious pleasure. It feels so good, almost too good, and now you’re crying for a different reason as you drown in the unending pleasure, but not daring to lift a hand or open your mouth because you’re not sure you ever want it to end, terrified of Kuroo following through with his threat and denying you of the enslaving pleasure.

But just when your body threatens to collapse, trembling in exhaustion, your heavy eyelids fluttering open and shut as black spots enter your peripheral, it all stops and you take long shaky breaths as warm hands unbind you, melting into the reassuring touch as calloused fingers massage your aching limbs and gently lay you fully down on the bed.

It’s so hard to remember why you had been so scared, so hurt, so angry at Kuroo earlier when he smiles at you like that, when all you see is love in his eyes as he cradles your body. And you curl up into his chest, jolting in pain and murmuring “daddy, it hurts” as he tenderly massages a healing ointment into the smarting welts and marks he’s left all over your body, meekly nodding your head when he coos down at you.

“Daddy knows it hurts, but this will make it feel better soon. Keep on being a good girl for me, okay?”

And you fall asleep like that, lulled to slumber by the soothing patterns he draws on your skin as he continues applying the medicine onto you, unaware of the way he admires how beautiful and broken you look, something dark gleaming in his eyes as he takes a mental note of how you’re still calling him by his new title instead of his given name as you instinctively tuck yourself closer to his body for comfort despite him being the reason you need comfort in the first place.

You really are his sweet and stupid little girl, aren’t you? But that’s okay. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: drugging #tw: manipulation #tw: rape

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butgilinsky · 4 years

Text

there are answers in your silence // mb

warning; language, asshole (kinda toxic ngl) barzy, a sprinkle of asshole tito too, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, angst- the whole thing is angst, carter hart

summary; where you and mat are falling apart faster than you can try to fix it.

word count; 8.3k+

a/n: hi guys! this is a rewrite/continuation of this blurb i wrote. the main pairing is mat x reader but there are a lot of carter x reader themes throughout. there won’t be a part two seeing as i don’t normally write for carter, and i like where it left off. if you have any questions i’d be happy to answer any(: enjoy!

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

You loved your job, truly. You loved photography, and you loved the opportunities you’d been given by joining the islanders organization, but you managed to make things messy for yourself. It wasn’t written into your contract that you couldn’t date the players, but it was assumed that you would distance yourself from them.

Mathew Barzal, however, threw caution to the wind when it came to that unspoken rule.

You were knee deep in it by the time you realized it was a bad idea. Most days were fine, the two of you were professional in the walls of the rink and you knew how to keep it under control. On any other day, you were capable of keeping it all under control just fine, but going to the rink and smiling at Mat from across the halls was not the same as coming to the rink when the two of you were neck deep in an argument. An argument that had been oncoming for a long time now.

You couldn’t focus on anything when you were arguing with Mat. You had fallen behind on editing this entire week, and now you were tiptoeing around the rink that you worked at because Mat was everywhere you turned, it seemed.

You kept your post at the glass throughout the entirety of the game against the Devils, trying to get yourself out of your head when Mat was in your camera’s line of sight. You took pictures of the whole team, you had to, it was your job, but it was hard to do that when Mat was smiling like an idiot after Tito scored, and you had to take a picture of their shared celly.

Even when he turned towards you and you sent him a gentle smile, the sight of his falling from his lips was heartbreaking. You knew he was mad at you, but the ache in your chest wasn’t able to recognize the fact that the two of you weren’t on the best terms.

Truth be told, this was anything but out of the blue. Mat had been on edge for a while now, and while you knew it had everything to do with hockey and how he was playing, it wasn’t easy to accept everything he had been continuously throwing at you. You had a lot going on, just like he did, and you didn’t have the time nor energy to exude on this week-long argument. A week long argument that had eventually shifted into radio silence from your boyfriend.

The next few days proved to be harder than you initially expected, no conclusion being found between the two of you. It was getting out of hand, if you were being honest, and now you had to fly to Philadelphia with the team for two games. You didn’t think all that much about the ride over to Philly until you were faced with your boyfriend happily sitting beside his best friend, not a seat for you in sight.

You sat at the front of the plane, shoulder bumping against Marty’s while you kept your head low and hopefully out of sight.

“What’s up with you and Barzy?” you huffed, shrugging gently and telling Matt that he could tell you as soon as he figured it out because at this point, you weren’t entirely sure what the two of you were arguing about either. All you knew was that Mat was mad at you and had been ignoring your calls and texts for the past three days.

It was confusing to most, given that when you and Mat were on good terms, it was impossible to not see the two of you together. You were both all smiles and giggles when you were around each other, but not recently. You were worried that your spark had died out, that whatever you had built over the last year was fading away with every passing moment, and you were out of solutions.

You had been lost in the Wells Fargo Center for upwards of thirty minutes when you ran into a boy who seemed like he could be your saving grace. He had a granola bar hanging out of his mouth and his eyes were glued to his phone screen while he walked down the hall in your direction. You weren’t sure who he was, but the Flyers shirt on his torso paired with the backwards hat on led you to believe he was a player and would therefore know the layout of the rink quite well.

“Hey!” you called out, just loud enough to have him looking up from his phone and over to you. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I have no idea where i’m going.”

He laughed gently and slid his phone into his back pocket, not overlooking the Islanders logo on your shirt or your name tag that hung around your neck. His eyes were soft and his smile was endearing in a time where you barely had anyone else look at you over the last few days.

“No worries, though i’m not sure i should be helping the enemy.” you laughed gently, about to make a remark about the Flyers not being your favorite team either, but he spoke again before you had the chance. “Where do you need to be?”

Some time later after you learned that the boy’s name was Carter and he was the Flyers’ goalie, he showed you everywhere you’d need to be over the next few hours. He pointed out different rooms and halls that would be of great use to you and now the two of you were sitting in the middle of the empty seats, looking down on the empty ice.

“It’s weird, seeing it like this.” Carter whispered softly, more to himself than to you, but it caught your ear nonetheless.

“Not used to seeing it completely empty?” he shook his head, telling you that there’s usually always someone down there. Whether they’re cleaning or moving things around, there’s almost always somebody down there.

“Why are you here all alone, by the way?” you hummed softly, letting out a deep sigh with a smile that Carter was easily able to identify as forced. “Don’t you have a hot shot boyfriend that could show you around?”

“And how would you know that?” your voice was light, playful, and it showed in your smile that Carter easily matched.

“I’m not sure there’s a single person that doesn’t know what Mathew Barzal’s girlfriend looks like.” he tore his eyes away from the rink, looking over at you with a look that had your stomach turning, a lump starting to form in the pit of your throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” your voice was soft but the silence across the rest of the rink was enough to lift your words up to his ears, the far corner of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly as he registered them.

“Y/n!” you jumped, startled by the outburst from the top of the section, craning your neck around to lock eyes with your boyfriend. “Where have you been?”

You groaned, one that resided in the back of your throat and was only heard by Carter due to his close proximity. He sensed the agitation in your body language and the way your eyes fluttered shut while you took a deep breath to compose yourself.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” you yelled back, muttering a small ‘jesus’ under your breath before pushing yourself onto your feet. “Well, Mr. Hart, thank you for showing me around. I’d be lost without you, literally.”

He laughed at your joke, though corny he thought it was cute. He shook your hand playfully and watched you climb the stairs to your boyfriend who was glaring at Carter even from his place all the way at the top of the section.

“What are you doing down here?”

“So you’re talking to me now?” His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he soaked in your question. He had almost forgotten the two of you were arguing currently, too focused on getting you away from Carter to assess the situation properly.

“What am i supposed to do? Watch you cozy up beside the goalie I'm about to score a hatty on?” in any other scenario, you’d be laughing, chirping him for claiming that he was going to score a hatty tonight, but you couldn’t do that right now. All you could do was laugh bitterly, focused on the fact that the only reason he was speaking to you for the first time in three days was rooted in jealousy.

“I wasn't cozying up next to anybody, Mat. I was lost and he had time to spare so he showed me around the rink. That’s all-”

"That’s not exactly how it looked to me just now.” you rolled your eyes and walked past him, ducking around his shoulder and walking in the direction of the room Carter pointed out for you a few minutes earlier. “Y/n! We’re talking!”

“I’m busy! We’ll talk later!”

It felt like you were running across the arena during the game, opting to tie your hair back halfway through the first period when you realized you wouldn’t have your own post like you normally would. You were doing your best to get the best shots you could possibly get, but that unfortunately had you breathing heavily and worn out by the time the second intermission rolled around.

Mat hadn’t scored once yet, and you could tell he was getting aggravated. He was playing rougher than he normally would, and you could see chirps being thrown around the ice, almost always directed towards your boyfriend. He took them in stride most times, only opting for a clenched jaw or maybe a hard hit against the boards.

When the second intermission began, you were given the okay to take a breather from your job while your boss flipped through the photos on your camera, laughing when you opted to lean back in one of the stadium seats with your limbs spread out around you haphazardly.

When you were switching sides for the nth time of the night, you ran into Carter again, decked out in his gear void of his helmet, the same charming smile shining in your direction once he saw you.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he joked, earning a few questioning glances from the few teammates gathered around him, all turning towards you with soft smirks and knowing eyes. They knew who you were, a lot of guys in the league knew who you were.

Everyone knew who Mathew Barzal was, and his need to show you off to the entire world once the two of you began dating was loud and in everyone’s face. Everyone who followed Mat on instagram or opened up a gossip article every now and again knew your face, knew how you looked tucked under Mat’s arm. It also didn’t help that the boys surrounding Carter had heard about his adventure with you around the rink earlier today.

“Well if it isn’t Mrs. Barzal.” You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the insult tickling the tip of your tongue and deciding to focus on Carter nudging him in the ribs.

“Ignore him, he’s not even sure what the word filter means.” One of the taller ones, hair down to his shoulders and bright blue eyes sending you a gentle look, tried to assure you that his friend was anything but thoughtful in moments like these.

“I guess that’s why they call him the team rat, huh?” Travis, who had no idea you even knew who he was, narrowed his eyes at you just before a small smile stretched across his lips.

“How’s the game?” Carter’s smile practically hung off of his lips, confidence bursting at the seams as he silently referred to the fact that Mat had threatened him with a hatty not too long ago, and the Islanders had only scored once all night long, and it wasn’t even Mat’s.

Going into the third period, the Flyers were up 4-1.

“I plead the fifth.” you said gently, hearing a few laughs erupt all around you.

“Looks like your hubby’s not getting his hatty tonight.” One of the boys who you didn’t know the name of sent you a gentle elbow into your arm, offering up a smile with his chirp.

“Looks like he’s not getting a lot of things tonight.” your eyes found Carter, who was already looking at you with a wide smile. You took a deep breath, prying your eyes away from the boy and looking around the small circle that formed in the hall. “Well, boys, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Y/n!” you sighed then, unable to suppress a physical reaction to having your name yelled across the hall for the second time today. You were annoyed, given that this was only the second time Mat was speaking to you today and it had all of the same intentions as his last attempt.

“Yes?” you turned over your shoulder to see not only Mat but Tito as well, both looking at you as if you’d grown two extra heads. Tito looked to Mat, expecting him to answer your questioning eyes, but he never did. He just stared at you, lips parted but never speaking.

Truth be told, you needed him to say something. You needed him to say something because he was the one that had left you in the dark this week. He was the one that was going through a time so tough he took it out on you. You did your part, but Mat had yet to do his part, and it was killing you on the inside.

“I have to go.” you took off in the direction you were originally walking, searching for your next post in the stands.

You tried to distract yourself, but it didn’t seem to be working. Your hands were shaky while you tried to snap shots as much as you could, and when Mat had a breakdown on the ice, it all went even further downhill.

Carter didn’t take the brute of it, which surprised you in all honesty, but you weren’t all that surprised when your number 13 was going hit for hit with their 11. Gloves were dropped in the last three minutes of the game, both of them walking away with sore knuckles and five minute majors.

You weren’t even sure what started it, seeing as you were trying to snap a picture of Tito taking a shot on goal, the other two dropping their gloves on a different part of the ice and out of your view. You couldn’t watch it, instead dug your chin into your chest and tugged on the roots of your hair in frustration. You knew that the Flyers were going to win, given their four goal lead and the Islanders’ inability to get their shit together it seemed. You knew Mat was going to hit a rough practice tomorrow, and it somehow made you more excited to have a hotel room to yourself and the morning off.

You didn’t see Mat until you got back to your room, shoulders slumped and exhaustion raking through your body. You pushed the door to your room open and jumped a foot in the air at the sight of your boyfriend sitting at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and head hung low. He was anxious, you could tell by his posture and the fact that he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

A sick feeling resided in your stomach when a minute passed and neither of you spoke up, both waiting for the other to take the leap. Mat tried to collect his thoughts, despite having plenty of time to do so while he waited for you. He wasn’t even sure how he made it back before you, if he was honest.

“Where have you been?” it was a bad lead in retrospect, given that he showed no real care as to where you were at any other point in the week. That on top of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place made for a bad start to a hard conversation.

“Working, Mat. I do more than snap pictures of the team at games and run back home.” he knew that. He knew because he’d been the one that woke up in the middle of the night to you relentlessly editing things and piecing things together for a deadline. He was the one that woke up to an empty bed, finding you posted up at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee beside you and your head burning from the strain on your eyes.

You didn’t, however, tell him exactly what you were doing. You were working, yes, but you kept specifics to yourself. He didn’t deserve specifics when he was acting like this. You deserved an apology, an explanation, quite literally anything more than you currently had before you had to give out your whereabouts.

“I’m sorry this week’s been the way it has. I just- there’s a lot going on right now and I can’t get it all under control.” you sighed, setting your camera bag down on the desk before standing in front of Mat

“It’s fine if you don’t have things under control all the time.” you set your hands on his shoulders and waited for him to look up at you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite map out. “It’s not fine that you take things out on me when I didn’t cause you this distress.”

“I know.” he spoke softly, understanding that he was doing something wrong but not entirely providing a solution for it, nor figuring out a way to fix it. “I’m going to figure it out. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, accepting the soft kiss he silently asked for. You let him stay the night, though you couldn’t fall asleep. You leaned back into his chest, held his arm that was wrapped around you close to your chest, but you couldn’t sleep. You didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two before Mat’s alarm went off and he left for practice.

You were able to sleep after Mat left, only logging about three hours before your own alarm went off and you had to make it to the rink. The day seemed to be uneventful for a while, but when you finished all of the things you had to do for the day and found a seemingly decent restaurant to stop in on your way back to the hotel, you were met with four smiling faces that you recognized easily.

“Y/n!” Carter’s voice caught your ear easily, making you spin around in line, seeing the smiling boy give you a gentle wave from the table he was sitting at with the others, all who offered you a similar expression.

You held up one of your fingers, seeing four boys nod at you in response as they waited for you to order your food. By the time you ordered and paid, grabbing the number that the cashier slid across the counter to you and spinning around, there was a chair at the end of the table that Travis was sitting in, leaving the spot in the booth beside Carter vacant. All four of the boys were pointing at the seat, ushering you into it with wide smiles.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise.” you smiled warmly at the boys as you approached their table, sliding into the seat they vacated for you.

“You’re telling us.” Carter offered, his smile cutting through you just like it did every other time it was given to you.

Carter was cute, that much you could admit to. You hadn’t spent much time with him other than the other day when showed you around the rink, but you’d talked to him more than your own boyfriend in the past week so that was saying something. You were grateful for his hospitality, and even if you knew there was something else brewing beneath the surface, it wasn’t anything you were going to acknowledge and you certainly weren’t going to act on it.

The rest of the boys were nice. Travis was a bit of a pest, but Nolan was able to keep him under control most of the time. They balanced each other out and you were aware of that from the very beginning. Joel was a nice kid, not the loudest in the room but certainly not the quietest either. Overall you had a good time sitting with and talking to them, appreciating the good company in a time where you had felt pretty isolated.

They showed you a few places around Philly, sticking things within walking distance of the restaurant the five of you came from. It was fun, being able to forget about the chaos going on in your life for once. They even walked you back to your hotel, leaving you with each of their phone numbers to assist you in the rest of your time in Philly, and warm smiles.

Just as they were leaving, Carter hung back for a bit to offer you a softer smile than the one he was giving you throughout the day, his eyes telling you that there was something brewing in his mind, something he had been holding back about all day.

“I just wanted to say that you’re doing great. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, that much is obvious, but you deserve better.” he gave you one last smile and told you to call him if you needed anything at all before turning to catch up with his teammates.

Carter’s words hung in your mind longer than you would’ve expected. They made you rethink everything that had occurred in your life over the last few months, every up and down, every bridge you built both by yourself and with others. You wondered if you were where you were supposed to be, if this is where you were meant to be in life and how long you were meant to be there.

You loved Mat. You loved him completely, but there were things missing. You weren’t sure what it was, and part of you wanted to believe that you were just in the middle of a rough patch, but a greater part of you knew better. You knew that Mat was going through the thick of it, and your mind couldn’t help but wander over the chance that the time for you and Mat had run its course.

You went another night without sleep, the stress from overthinking yourself into oblivion making it impossible to get any consistent sleep throughout the night. It showed in the way that your bags were deeper, darker than normal and the way you yawned every few minutes. However, instead of dozing off in your seat or complaining about your lack of sleep, you grabbed a coffee with two extra shots of espresso on your way to the rink and threw yourself into your work.

You were neck deep in assignments, legs tucked under you and headphones stuck in your ears when a flash of blue entered your sight, prying your eyes away from your laptop and casting them up to the blue eyed boy from Quebec. He was looking at you like you’d done something wrong, like the world was on fire around you and you were holding a match.

You and Tito were good friends, especially after you started dating Mat. with the two of them being inseparable and Mat making a special place for you in his life, you and Tito naturally spent a lot of time together. You were good friends, honestly, but there was never a time when Tito took your side over Mat’s. Sometimes he passed judgment without hearing every side of every story, but you understood. You knew that Mat needed people to lean on when the two of you were in the thick of it, you just wished it didn’t morph Tito’s opinion on you.

“What can I do for you, Beau?” he hummed, a noise of disapproval that you had heard from him too many times to count. He sat beside you, not surprised to see you shut your laptop and turn your attention towards him.

“The two of you need to figure this out soon. You need to figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it, and by god you need to get him out of his head.” You could tell his intentions were genuine, that he just wanted his friends to be happy, but he wanted the two of you to be happy together, and you weren’t sure there was any more room for that.

“I’ve tried, Beau-”

“No, you haven’t. You haven’t tried, because when the two of you try, things get resolved.”

“You’re right. When the two of us try, we fix things. When the two of us work through things together, we come out of it alive. But you’re missing the big picture, Tito. the two of us aren’t trying. I’m trying. I’ve been trying. I try so hard, and he gives me absolutely nothing. He ignores me for days, only speaks to me when we fly out to a different city and he sees me interacting with somebody who isn’t him. It’s not my fault, Tito, and I know that’s hard for you to see because you’re so far up his ass that you can’t see the bigger picture but here I am. I’m here telling you how to see things for once and I’m begging you that you just hear me out.”

He was speechless, but nodded. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he wanted to hear you out because the crack in your voice and the exhaustion that was bringing tears to our eyes was breaking his heart right in front of you.

“I’m trying, whole heartedly. I ask what’s wrong and I offer solutions, and he takes none of it. He comes into my hotel room with a key, that I'm not even sure how he got, and he tells me he’s sorry but then nothing changes. He stopped coming over after practices, and gets annoyed when I have deadlines I can’t miss. I try and he doesn’t, and if that makes us fall apart then so be it, Tito, because I can’t fucking do it anymore.” your eyes burned, filled to the brim with tears you tried to suppress as Tito looked at you like you were fragile. He looked at you like you were the broken one, like if he even touched you on the shoulder you’d break into a million pieces.

“Y/n-”

“I have to go.” you stood up, grabbing your things that sat around your seat and took off in any direction that looked safe enough for you to escape the headspace you were slipping into.

You’d made it down one hall and around a few corners before you ran into somebody, the impact shaking you enough to have you distracted from the intrusive thoughts you were having. You looked up, met with soft eyes and a look of concern that had your heart sinking further into your stomach than it already had been. His hands reached out, brushing hair out of your face and holding your head back long enough for him to try to piece together what could be wrong.

“What happened?” your lip wobbled then, enough for your chin to twitch and have you bite down roughly on your bottom lip.

Carter grabbed your hand, the one that wasn’t gripping onto your laptop, and pulled you into a room not too far from your place in the hall. It was a small room, only met for equipment that had no other home, but it was enough to get you out of the wide open hallway where anyone would be able to see the breakdown you were about to endure.

He pried the items out of your arms, set them on the shelf beside you so your mind would be at ease with their safety, and wrapped his arms around you. He didn’t know you very well, but he saw the way you reacted to physical touch. He saw the way you leaned into hugs or shook people’s hands for a second longer than most. He made a judgment call within seconds, but he knew he did the right things when you pressed your face into his chest and let out sobs that you’d been holding back for weeks.

He didn’t pester you nor rush you, just held you in the room that could be classified as a closet and let you get everything out. You clung to him, and he held you softly, hands running up and down your back in a soothing manner while he waited for you to catch your breath.

When you did, he pulled back, soft smile still as heavy as it always had been. He waited for your cue, something to tell him it was okay to pry. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries, and he had no idea where the lines were drawn so it was a dangerous game.

“It’s too much.” you whispered softly, closing your eyes gently while Carter hummed, not entirely understanding your words.

“What’s too much?”

“Everything. Everyone’s expectations, everyone’s thoughts and opinions. The fact that i’m trying to fix a relationship all on my own and still getting the heat for it not working out. Having a full time job where I can’t run away from problems in my personal life. I wish I was still in college, wish I wasn’t surrounded by these people who are staring at me like I’ve burned down the entire planet when I’m the only one that’s trying to save it.”

He listened the whole way through, not interrupting nor giving his unwarranted thoughts and while it was just a common courtesy, it was groundbreaking for you. To be able to pour out everything you’re feeling and thinking without someone trying to pick your brain on the subject was refreshing. You couldn’t remember the last time you put everything out on the table like that without seeing it knocked off right after.

“Hey” you looked up at him, sniffling softly and watching his lips turn up in a smile at the sound. “You’re okay. It’ll all be okay. If you feel invalidated or uncomfortable in the situation you’re in, there’s always an out. Even if it feels like there’s not, even if it feels impossible to claw your way to the exit, there’s always a way out. And if you need help getting there, I know a guy or two who’d be willing to help.”

Carter had a way of knocking you off of your feet with a simple sentence. His words cut through you like a song you’d never heard before, like lyrics that dig so deep you feel like it was written just for you. Carter was picking your brain in the gentlest way possible, and you were eating up every single second of it.

You thanked him for his comfort, for his ear and his wisdom. You were sure that there were things you would have to do in the coming days that would be harder than you could’ve ever imagined, but you were sure that they were necessary in order to better your life for yourself.

You were going to get through this.

All was said and one until the door swung open and you stepped out of the equipment room, locking eyes with the one person on the Flyers bench that didn’t know the meaning of the word silence. Travis meant well most of the time, truly, but that didn’t mean you’d spill all of your secrets to him.

But he smiled at you softly, noticing your red rimmed eyes and tear tracks on your cheek. He saw the look that Carter gave him from behind you and so he simply put his fingers up to his lips as if locking them shut and tossed the key over his shoulder. It was simple, but effective, and he truly had every intention of keeping the knowledge to himself, until he was standing on the ice face to face with the centerman that dropped his gloves opposite him the other night and well, Tk found an opening.

You weren’t sure what was said, nor who started it, but you were sure that in the middle of the second period with a tied game, tensions were not high enough for there to be multiple scrums on the ice.

No other fight mattered until your eyes locked in on Mat saying something, neck vein popping out and spit flying. Whatever he said must have struck a chord with Travis because in an instant, you saw Travis’s lips moving and Mat’s fist flying. It was his second fight in two games and it was highly unlike him to fight this often, but it seemed that he was on edge.

The tension didn’t boil down for the rest of the game, chirps only growing more intense and penalties being called more often than not. It was a head banger, a nail biter, and you were almost distracted from your work to watch it.

Mat was enraged by the time you got to him. His body picked up a couple more cuts and bruises, one that landed on his right cheek bone from a high stick in the beginning of the third. His knuckles were bruised from punching Tk and his eyes were darker than the bright blue color you adored.

You knew it had everything to do with you when the rest of the team sent you careful looks, both of disapproval and warning. You knew something was wrong, something had happened and you were unintentionally standing in the middle of it. When Tito passed you, a scoff dropping from his lips and his shoulder knocking yours gently, you knew it was bad.

“Beau?”

“Oh I'm not helping you out of this one.” he said softly, a careful look thrown over his shoulder at Mat who was glaring at you from his place against the wall. “You have to go fix that one by yourself.”

You wanted to shove him away from you, wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous and unfair, but you didn’t. Instead, you let him grab his back and walk out towards the bus that would take you all to the airport.

“Mat-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” his voice was low and dark, an animosity dripping from his tongue that you’d never heard him use before. He walked past you, leaving the rest of the guys to let out low whistles and shoot you apologetic looks because in retrospect, they witnessed what happened on the ice. You still had no idea.

“It’s bad, y/n.” You looked over at Marty who stood a few feet away from you, throwing his bag over his shoulder and shooting you a careful look. “I’ve never seen him so mad.”

You sighed and thanked him, giving him one more thanks when he said he’d save you a seat on the plane and took off after Mat. he wasn’t too far ahead, but his angry strides took him far enough to send you into a jog through the facility.

“Mat, wait! Mat! Jesus, Mat just talk to me!” he paused in stride, turned on the balls of his feet and glared into you from his place across the hall.

“Frankly, I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to be round you. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.” he went to turn again, hoping that that was good enough to get you off of his back for now.

“So we’re just going to ignore it until it blows over? That’s not going to fix anything Mathew!” he dropped his bag, loud and harsh against the tile beneath his feet. He spun around and strode up to, face to face with mere inches between you.

“There’s nothing to fix. You made your point, you chose your side, and you chose to throw me out to the wolves like I never meant anything to you. So yes, we’re going to ignore it for now but no, it won’t blow over. If you wanted to fix things you shouldn’t be shacking up with goalies in closets.”

“I wasn’t shacking up with anybody in a closet you douche. I was crying in that closet because you’re too stubborn to talk to me. I’m trying so hard, and you’re giving me absolutely nothing to work with. You send Beau to convince me to fix things but you’re not even trying, Mat! You’re the one ignoring me and I’m supposed to fix things?”

“You’re not supposed to cheat on me!” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the emotions bubbling over currently. You were trying to get through this conversation but it was defeating, and having him yell at you in front of his entire team was not helping.

“I didn’t ch-”

“That’s bullshit! You expect me to believe you were just hanging out in there for fun?”

“She was crying, dude.” Mat looked over your shoulder at the same time you let out a string of profanities under your breath. Why he was here right now, you had no idea, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to help any.

“You’ve got some nerve to be here right now.” Carter shrugged, showing no intimidation towards Mat at all. He wasn’t scared, wasn’t backing down, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and watch Mat scream at you for something you didn’t even do.

“You’ve got some nerve to scream at her like that.” When Mat moved you pressed both of your hands into his chest, steady and hard enough to keep him in his place, not even taking a step towards Carter.

A silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable like polluted air that clogged your lungs. Everyone could feel it but nobody made a move. Nobody stood up or down, not weighing in to the conversation with a viewpoint on either side. Everyone simply watched, waiting for you or Mat to say something to the other one, or maybe for you to say something to Carter.

Mat looked down at you, eyes still dark as they were earlier, jaw clenched and breathing fairly regular. He looked angry, angrier than he ever was off the ice. You wanted him to know you didn’t do anything with Carter, nothing more than crying into his chest about problems like the one you were currently stuck in. But then he spoke, he spoke and you felt everything around you wither away.

“Get on the bus right now, or we’re through.” he picked up his bag and gave both you and Carter one final glance before taking a few steps backwards. He was waiting for you to move, waiting for you to choose your side right here, right now.

“Y/n.” Carter’s voice was much more gentle than Mat’s, giving you a break from the screaming and crying. It broke his heart when you glanced over your shoulder and showcased red rimmed eyes and wet cheks just like you had earlier. He knew you were hurting, knew you were in a sticky situation that you couldn’t find your way out of, and all he wanted to do was help.

“Now, y/n.” you looked back at Mat, who had stopped walking by now and was raising his eyebrows in your direction.

It was harder than it should’ve been. You’d known Carter for just over 48 hours and while you appreciated everything he had done for you in the short amount of time, Mat was your boyfriend. Mat was there in times you thought you’d never make it out of. He knew you, knew how you operated. He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself, and he held a piece of your heart in his hands, even if he didn’t protect it the way he used to.

You couldn’t walk away from Mat, but there was a hesitation in your movements. Your slow movements as you wiped your cheeks and walked towards him, head hung low and accepting the arm that was thrown around your shoulders.

You didn’t turn to see Carter’s face, didn’t even look up to see Mat’s. You didn’t want to see either of them, didn’t want to talk to them or hear what they had to say. All you wanted right now was to crawl into your bed at home and cast out the world around you.

“You made the right choice, baby.” The kiss that dug into the side of your head was anything but comforting, if anything it was degrading. It was his way of showing you that choosing him was the easier path, that he would’ve flipped the world completely upside down if you had turned on your heels moments ago.

You and Mat didn’t come to a conclusion that night. You didn’t resolve anything nor did you truly talk about anything. Instead, you let him into your bed and you let him drive away the pain that he caused over the course of the last few weeks. You let him convince you he’d be better, that he loved you and he’d do anything to be there for you. You let him convince you that he was the one for you, that nobody could make you feel the things that he did and while you believe all of this at one point, you weren’t sure you still did.

You added another night to the count of sleepless ones, basking in your thoughts and the ache in your chest after Mat dozed off. Having him just behind you was oddly comforting despite the fact that thoughts in your head were too loud for sleep.

Another week went by before anyone said anything, despite the few Flyers that were blowing your phone up with messages to check if you were okay and ask why you went with Mat when he clearly didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention. You explained that you loved him, that he was your boyfriend and you owed him a clean break if that’s what ended up happening. You also worked with the Islanders, and you couldn’t just stay in Philly with no way to get back home and hours away from work.

Carter had been receptive and understanding, though you weren’t sure you expected much else from him. He didn’t expect you to stay, didn’t even expect you to choose him over Mat, but he expected you to do better for yourself. He expected you to be strong for yourself, to offer yourself a better future than the one you were seemingly drawing up for yourself.

It wasn’t until you got a peculiar phone call that you were even thrown out of the routine of clawing your way through the night and chasing it down with a large coffee and one too many espresso shots.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/l/n?”

“This is she.”

“Hi Ms. Y/l/n, this is Chuck Fletcher with the Philadelphia Flyers. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”

You did a 180 after that phone call, pressed with another decision to make and seemingly no time to make it. You didn’t have many people to turn to about the decision, seeing as most all of your friends were biased in their decision making. Your friends loved Mat. They loved Mat and they loved going to Islanders games.

You called Carter after you hung up the phone, anger bubbling over to the point of tears by the time he answered the phone just to let you rip into him. You accused him of getting you the job as the Flyers’ photographer just to have you closer to him, just to pry you away from Mat and New York as a whole. You accused him of not even knowing your skill level, just using this as a ploy to ask you on a date if you showed up.

He listened the whole time, waited for a break in your words to ask if you were serious, to tell you that he’d seen your portfolio because his GM brought it over when he noticed Carter had spoken to you. He told you that he had no say in you getting this job offer other than him telling his GM about the sincere interactions he’d had with you. He put in a good word for your personality, but he never made a comment about your skill level.

Now, you had a decision to make. A decision that would lead to many other decisions, so you thought. You thought you’d have to make a yes or no decision that would snowball into so many decisions you’d be left to suffocate in unanswered questions. Little did you know that by making one decision, the rest were made for you.

“You’re doing what?” you sighed, trying to find the point in this conversation where you’d be left with a new job and a happy relationship, but it seemed as though that wasn’t in the cards for you.

“I’m moving to Philly-”

“It’s because of him isn’t it?” you shook your head gently, feeling the weight of the world trying to shove you beneath the surface. It was weighing you down, pushing you further and further until you reached the core of it all.

“It’s because it’s a better job for me, Mat.”

“How in the hell is a better job for you?” he didn’t believe you. Not after everything that happened. He didn’t think there were possibly any other explanations for your move.

“It pays more, the cost of living is cheaper in Philadelphia, I get more benefits with the Flyers and I get-”

“A new boyfriend.” you paused, took a deep breath. You tried to breathe through the panic coursing through your body, tried to assure yourself that you must have heard him wrong.

“A what?”

“If you move to Philly, you get a new boyfriend. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You don’t want me anymore, you want him. So he gets you a big new fancy job and you get to leave New York, right? Because you didn’t want to live in New York your whole life so this is the time to get out. This is the time for you to leave your life behind, to start fresh and meet new people. It’s time for you to start looking for studios, right? For you to start booking freelance shit.”

He comes to the realization too late, when he’s already said enough things to hurt you for a lifetime. He realizes that you moving makes more sense than he wants it to. You never wanted to stay in New York for your whole life. Sure, if things with Mat ended up better than they did, you would’ve stayed for him in a heartbeat. You would’ve gone wherever his career took him because yours can truly be done anywhere, but he knew New York wasn’t your preferred state to live in.

The Mat you fell in love with, the one that took you on dates to your favorite restaurants and brought you home flowers just because, was finally coming back to the surface. The one that offered you his heart on a platter without asking for it, and treated yours with the gentlest touch. You were seeing him again, for the first time in a long time. You wanted to hold onto him, to open up your heart and make room for him again but the truth was there was no more room. You’d vacated a space for him a long time ago and he threw it away. It was too late for that Mat to come back.

“It’s giving you room to grow right? But the growth is different this time. The growth is away from me, apart from me. The growth is individual now, all on your own, but that’s good. That’s good because you need to grow and I- I’m not right for you anymore.” he started shaking his head, letting the dam of tears that he had kept in for so long finally burst.

You were there to catch him, to hold him tightly and kiss his damp cheeks. You were there to assure him that he deserves the world, that you tried to give that to him but truthfully, maybe you just weren’t trying the right things. You assured him that he wasn’t a bad person, that he wasn’t good for you but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be good for somebody else.

You were there to catch Mat when he fell, and you helped him stand back up again.

Now you were walking away, your head held high and a smile finally living on your lips as you assured him that this was good for both of you in more ways than one. You were going to be okay, and you were sure that Mat was going to be okay too.

So you moved to Philly. You moved into an apartment not too far from the rink, one with a cheese steak place right around the corner. You started working with the Flyers and seemingly fell right into place with them. You made friends and found your footing, feeling like everything leading up to now was exactly for this. All of the pain and hardships you endured was for this, for you to feel like you had finally done the right thing for yourself rather than for everyone else.

You made the right decision.

italics mean it wouldn’t let me tag you!

barzy taglist; @extratragic @babytkachuks @heybarzy @teenagekook @stfukie @smit41 @kiedhara @sidscrosbyy @golfergirl810 @baby-cat-nol-pat @c-hartsy @storiesbymads @aasimarr @bucky-ish

and the himbos, as always; @barzysthighs @damndunner @anxietyandtacos @dmonchld @sortagaysortahigh @bricksatlandyswindow

#mathew barzal #mat barzal #mathew x reader #mathew barzal imagine #barzy #new york islanders #islanders #isles #carter hart #carter hart x reader #mathew barzal x reader #carter x reader #philadelphia flyers #flyers #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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wonunuu · 3 years

Text

iris beauty ❀

40: getting closer

✎ synopsis: falling for a guy is never easy, especially when your best friend of many years basically claimed him; you and mina have been friends for as long as you can remember, but your loyalty and trust are tested when she asks you to pretend to be her in meeting a guy she had been talking to online and you unintentionally start to develop feelings for him.

✎ genre: romance, angst, comedy

✎ pairing: reader x yoon jeonghan

✎ word count: 1.6k+

✎ warnings: suggestive

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add your @ here!

a/n: i gotta question.. do you think pet names between couples is cute? cos like me, no lol i mean like the only one i'd accept is "my love" but idk i just don't know (this has nothing to do with the au lmaoo just a thought in pj's little brain)

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2:41

After your overtime shift at the café, you head back to your apartment to grab your textbooks. Finals were approaching, and there is no doubt that you were stressed. You need to, not only pass in your exams, but also excel in all of them to get at least a 3.8 GPA, and this is the only acceptable grade for you if you wanted to get accepted into a medical school.

So, studying has been your number one priority for the past couple of days. You and Vernon, your study buddy, have been in and out of the campus library to do nothing else but study. And that’s where you’re heading again.

“I’m almost there,” you manage to say, panting, while jogging towards the library where an impatient Vernon was waiting. For what felt like three weeks of jogging, the familiar building finally came in sight. There were countless students, some whose faces you’ve seen before, were making their way in--probably has the same reason as you. With this many students going there to study, you knew there would be competition in getting the tables and booths first, and you mentally scold yourself for arriving late.

“Can you be any slower?” Vernon rolls his eyes teasingly, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from you. The two of you head in and look for available spots. You checked the first floor, but they were all packed. As well as the second, third and fourth floor. Your legs felt like they were about to fall off, tired and numb from climbing an endless amount of stairs. Not to mention, you were also carrying textbooks that’s equivalent to the weight of three elephants stacked together in your bag, and you say that with no exaggeration.

“There’s one,” he points to an empty desk just by the window. As you are walking, from the side of your eye, you see another group of students pointing at it and making their way. You increase your speed, dragging Vernon behind you, so that you could get there first before they could. Fortunately, just before they got there, you slapped your hand on the table.

“Scram, freshmans,” you growled and Vernon crosses his arms, smirks. The group of friends roll their eyes before they walk away, and you smile in victory. Some would say your actions were a little immature, especially that comment you made, but you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Afterwards, you and Vernon take your seats, and start your hours of studying.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

9:28

Opening the door to the apartment, you were surprised to see Jeonghan sitting on your couch, watching the television. You walk behind him and snake your hands around his shoulders, wrapping him in a warm hug, and nuzzle your head between his neck.

“Another long day at the library?” He caresses your hands and you nod in response. “Have you eaten?” he asks. You remove your hands and walk around the couch. You lay down and place your head on his lap. “I can make you something if you want,” he offers.

“Will you?” you look at him, smiling. You’ve never really imagined Jeonghan cooking before. You don’t even know if he knows how to. But you weren’t going to turn down his generous offer to cook for you, whatever the result may be.

Jeonghan stands up and heads to the kitchen, and you watch him from the couch. He opens the cupboards, takes out the pan and places it on the stove. He then opens the fridge, looking for anything he can cook. To your surprise, he takes out a bag with a logo of your favourite restaurant.

You cock your head to the side as your eyebrows meet. “I thought you were going to cook for me. That’s take out.” You stated, pointing at the bag he was holding. “I am going to cook. I’m gonna heat it up. That counts,” Jeonghan looks at you and gives you a smile that displays his teeth. Disbelief is all you feel. You scoff at his reply, and feeling too tired to argue, you lay back down.

Jeonghan has been nothing but supportive these past couple of days. When you and Vernon were at the library, he would drop by to give you two snacks and drinks. Sometimes, like today, he would use the spare keys you gave him to enter your apartment to clean up so you wouldn’t do it when you get home. Embarrassed, you told him to stop cleaning your mess, but he said it wasn’t a big deal and that he didn’t want you to come home to such an unkempt apartment--the unorganized sight causes more stress, he adds.

You were grateful for everything Jeonghan has done, yes. But you can’t help but think of one specific person who used to do the same. Who used to tell you to eat before you go to bed, who reminded you to drink water, who reassured you that you would pass your exams, and who comforted you when things didn’t turn out the way you hoped for. Joshua has never left your mind since he went away. Often, you wondered what he might be doing and where he might be. You’ve had multiple urges to send him a text or ring his phone to check up on him, but you thought he might want some space. You knew he would come back when he’s ready, and you were willing to move on from the past and start anew with him. Gosh, you miss him.

“Mind telling me what’s in that pretty head of yours?” Jeonghan disrupts your thoughts as he walks towards you, holding a plate. He sits down and offers his free hand to help you up. You grab his hand and use your abdominal muscle to sit up.

He hands you the plate and you take it from him, and immediately, the aroma makes your mouth salivate. “Mhmm,” you murmured, “this looks delicious. Thank you, Han.”

Your boyfriend nods and urges you to take a bite. So you did.

“What about you,” you ask after swallowing your first bite.

“I’m okay, babe. Just eat, hmm?” Jeonghan smiles while reaching his hand to your face to tuck your hair behind your ear. You felt bad that you were the only one eating, so you feed him. At first he refused, but quickly cave in when you pouted.

The two of you sat on your couch, taking turns to feed each other. Sometimes, he would follow up a bite with a soft peck or two--he called it a quick served dessert. You rolled your eyes at his corny remark, but you couldn’t hide the rosy tint on your cheeks as the blood rushes through them.

Jeonghan absolutely loved spending these little moments with you. No words can ever explain the feelings he gets when he hears your laughter--your smile alone is enough to make his heart melt as if it was ice cream under a fifty degree celsius summer day. He would not exchange this moment for anything else. There is nothing he wants more than to spend time with the person he loves most.

After your meal, you head to the kitchen and quickly wash the dishes before going back to sit with Jeonghan. You plop yourself beside him and he takes his arm and wraps it around your shoulder. You do the same as you snake both your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest, where the sound of his heartbeat is clear and audible. You don’t know if you just really love to hear his heart beat because you love him, or if it’s because of your longing profession of becoming a doctor. You think it’s a combination of both.

“What should we watch?” Jeonghan asks as he flips through shows and movies available on netflix. You shrugged your shoulders and told him you were okay with any. Soon, the two of you settled with Grey’s Anatomy--a show you absolutely loved. Jeonghan was never a fan of medical shows or whatsoever, but if his girl was going to be a doctor, he’ll have to get familiar with some terminologies, right?

Three episodes have passed and the two of you were still in the same position as before, cuddled on the couch. You were still watching intently, but you were not so sure about Jeonghan though. Not seeing his face, you guess that he probably fell asleep when you guys were just halfway through the first episode. You didn’t mind though. He deserved to rest.

However, your guess was proven wrong when you suddenly feel his kiss at the top of your head, causing you to giggle. He did it again, and again, and again, each lasting longer than the previous one, and moving lower and lower. Kissing as a form of affection has become a normal thing between the two of you now. But this time, Jeonghan’s kisses feel more than just affection.

Images in your head started popping in, making your heart rate increase and your breathing pattern to change.

“Yn,” Jeonghan softly whispers to your ears, making your insides churn, “are you okay?”

Fuck it.

You unwrap your arms from his body and take your hands straight to cup his face, taking him by surprise. You close your eyes and lean in to kiss his lips. He freezes for ma second but quickly melts right into the kiss. He uses his hands to take hold of your waist and pulls you in front of him. You oblige and place your knees on either side of his lap.

You detach yourself to catch your breath, but your eyes remained closed as you relinquished the taste of his lips. He did the same, but eager to taste your lips once again, he leans in and kisses you, quite roughly this time. He takes his right hand and places it at the back of your neck, guiding you as the two of you made out on your couch.

“You still have extra clothes here, right?” You ask between your kisses. Jeonghan doesn't respond, and instead kisses you harder. Soon, he trails kisses from your lips to the side if your neck. Whispers escape you lips as you cock your head to the side to give him more room.

This night is going to be long.

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tags:

@yyxyzti @acciofirewhiskey @doiewonu @shuajeong @wooziverse @boogyuu @rjsmochii @haniehae @twentysixofmays @suhfluffy @dancingddays @lovingyu04 @sydneyy-jade @itsdnguyenxoxo @fluffyhyeju @haoraecane @dy-mglzz @1800zuho @t-secretpot @floweryjeons @yaebbinnie @t-secretpot @not-sojoyuus @xcalicoups @ryuyalana @bubblywonu @youbloominsideofme @lavenonie @wonwoonlight @yoonzinow @mariecoura @juji-han @strawbinnie-shortcake @isa499 @pseudoyop @serenadesvt @glouraeswei @glowingjaehyun @sunflowergyeomie @kunmaid @apricottulips @hao-ling @cheolright @pancakeandfrogs @yanniezx @jeonjungkaka @sunflower-euphro @monstathedisco

unable to tag: @tyongs @jeongjungkaka @jammyjamjamss @hauntedprincessarbiter @scoffingscully

#caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen texts #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt au #seventeen social media au #svt #svt texts #svt scenarios

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fandom-scatteredthoughtsonpaper · 4 years

Note

This is gonna sound messed up (I understand if you don’t wanna do it, you don’t have to) but I’d love to request head cannons of the Brothers reacting to an MC that’s just over everything. They keep a blank expression, not even phased by the monsters and magic in the Devildom, doesn’t care about the threats they get from demons around them (Brothers included), and even encourages them to kill them since they don’t really have anything to look forward to in life. When asked why they’re like this, MC would shrug and say “Not like anyone’s gonna care or miss me. I’m still not safe here 😐 *recalls how often they were threatened/nearly killed by the brothers*”

Other examples are like:

Lucifer: That could’ve killed you! *was pissed*

MC: I know, why did you think I did it? 😶

Belphagor:*is mad at MC*

MC: Go ahead and kill me again. Make sure I stay dead this time ☺️

Firstly, I wanna say sorry for taking so long with your request. Secondly, I hope I did justice to what you were wanting!

GN MC THAT'S DONE WITH EVERYTHING SCENARIOS WITH BROTHERS

Trigger warning: Suicide idealization, death cravings

Usual expectations would have been a bigger emotional response, a predictable reaction in astonishment and disbelief, or a suddenly broadened mindset that could range from stupefaction to incredulity to consternation based on the revelations that there actually was a heaven and hell, or close enough to what human concepts have conjured up in equivalent terms to the Celestial Realm and Devildom, but you were just an exhausted human that got unapologetically pulled into this transfer student program thing.

Maybe living with demons could have some benefits though.

Mammon:

-Mammon had left you alone outside in the courtyard of the school while he ran back inside, promising to be back in a few minutes, claiming to have forgotten something or another.

-That was fifteen minutes ago.

-It's not like you had any plans for anything special, but the long wait was gradually chipping away at your patience. You glanced at the time on your D.D.D. before pocketing the device. You were giving him a few more minutes, but then you were going home on your own

-As you loitered next to the doorway you lackadaisically watched the passing demons as they came and went, some grouping together to chat around the entrance

-You weren't paying attention to anything in particular as you absentmindedly looked around, but you noticed suspicious glances when you would turn your eyes to the doorway for Mammon

-A nearby group of demons that had clustered together were talking in hushed tones with harsh cackles

-You had a suspicion that you might be a topic, but you chose to ignore them and their pitched laughter that fell just as quickly as it erupted. It wasn't a concern to you what they were discussing.

-Patience finally expired, you moved away from your waiting spot against the wall to leave when you saw a trio of demons separate from the group that had been stealing looks at you earlier

-They encircled you and blocked your way. The courtyard seemed to quickly fall quiet as the demons smiled nastily and began making jeers

-"Where's your whipped bodyguard, human?"

-"Mammon probably bounced, because there's no incentive for him to stick around if there's no money involved."

-Something about that quip was funny to the demons, but it didn't strike a cord with you, so you remained mute as they laughed

-Something about your indifference or lack of reaction to their intimidation must have annoyed the one to your left a bit too much, because he moved towards you aggressively, his smile a snarling frown. A sudden blur behind him caught his arm that had begun the motions of a punch and jerked him backwards, causing him to stagger and fall

-Mammon immediately placed himself between you and the other two demons. His presence emitted a threat more awe-inspiring than these chump change demons could have hoped to muster, and they quickly retreated to their clique that dispersed in a hurry

-Mammon, after watching the demons scurry away, turned to you and started mother-henning and making comments about how you should have called him and chastising you for letting yourself get into that mess.

-You shrugged off his hands and began your way to the courtyard's exit, leaving a perturbed Mammon to trail after you, fussing at you to care a bit more about the situation.

-"You're actin' like you're totally unphased! Are ya wantin' a death wish or something?"

-"I was just doing what you told me about dying if you couldn't save me."

Beelzebub (and Asmo):

-You had developed a mean habit when you hung around Beel.

-You would pick food off of his plate when he would sit next to you, teasing him that a little missing wouldn't hurt him. You would also freely browse through his bag of favorite sweets and eat them in full view of him.

-It was fun tempting him to try something against the puny human that kept stealing his food, and you could see the growing frustration. It was apparent in his eyes, in the way he watched you when you came around if food was in his presence.

-You knew at some point Beel would finally reach his limits and go off, considering what had happened when Mammon had eaten his custard, but you hadn't expected it to be on an occasion you hadn't prompted anything.

-It was during afternoon when you had entered the kitchen you saw Asmo leaning against the counter, eating from a container that looked suspiciously familiar. It was a pudding cup that had Madame Scream's logo on the lid. You noticed on the side a warning was written: "You touch it, you die."

-That was definitely a snack Beel had purchased, and Asmo was eating it without any awareness

-Beel came into the kitchen shortly after you, making a beeline for the refrigerator. He began rummaging through the contents on the shelves and in the drawers

-Asmo and you quietly watched Beel as he searched through the fridge and freezer before Asmo asked what he was looking for.

-"A pudding I bought from Madame Scream's. It was from a batch that they're not selling anymore for a while. It was the last one."

-You saw Asmo's face go through a series of emotions as he connected the dots, dreaded uncertainty to fearful realization to a timorous epiphany. He shot you a nervous look before he quietly shuffled to the nearby trash can

-You glanced at the mostly empty cup as Asmo tried to escape the kitchen, but he froze in his steps when Beel slammed the fridge door closed, resulting in you both jumping in surprise. You were impressed that you didn't hear a loud clatter of stuff breaking from the force.

-"It's not in there."

-You could hear the gears turning in Asmo's head as he tried to think of an excuse while looking like a deer in headlights. It was painfully obvious that Asmo was guilty.

-Beel turned away from the fridge and his gaze shifted between Asmo, the culprit, and you, the heckling human. Beel inevitably decided to question Asmo first, taking his focus off you. Your eyes flicked to the trash can and you swiped up the pudding container.

-You could hear Asmo as he began to desperately stutter out incomplete excuses as Beel heatedly interrogated him.

-"Beel!"

-Asmo and Beel turned their attention to you as you held up the cup. You unapologetically admitted you ate it. You also confessed you knew it had been Beel's because of the warning, but you still ate it regardless.

-Beel's face darkened, so much rage emanating from him that you swear you coulda seen vapors wafting around his body. Asmo had backed away from Beel. You clutched the pudding cup hard enough to crumple it as you anticipated for the outburst, eager and fearful.

-Except nothing like that happened. Beel let out a deep sigh that seemed to release the growing emotions, and he deflated, his shoulders drooping and an almost hurt expression visible.

-Beel mumbled something that you couldn't quite catch, maybe an apology to Asmo, and then left the kitchen, hungry and disheartened.

-Asmo blinked in amazement at the doorway before he was at you side, happily enveloping you into a too tight hug. He began gushing his gratitude and praising you in compliments for your selflessness, but you felt a disappointed void in your chest.

-"That's not what I had been hoping for."

-Asmo, misunderstanding your statement, eagerly dropped an invitation to his room later so he could thank you properly, but you'd rather he just eat your heart instead.

Belphegor:

-There was something in the atmosphere that would always change if Belphie was around

-You could feel the curious sensation when you passed in the hallways and the stairs or if the only people left in a room were you two

-The air would shift to an awkward strained feeling or something would be just on the brink of uneasy

-Personal boundaries were stiffly maintained, glances were ungraciously hidden, any exchange of words were short and tense, like something would fracture if the wrong action was done or if there was hidden offense just a syllable away

-The uncomfortable undertones were logically sensible, considering your past circumstances with Belphie

-Except...

-This behavior was only demonstrated from Belphie. You were perfectly neutral to the outcome of what he had done to you, maybe a little bummed if you had to silently confess.

-Since his murderous outburst, Belphie had made a few attempts at making amendments with you

-You didn't see a fault that needed to be forgiven, so you ignored them. If anything, Belphie should be apologizing for accomplishing to kill you but failing at keeping you deceased.

-Whenever you thought back to that dead version of yourself, broken and limp, cradled in Mammon's lap, you felt a tingle of jealousy, like you had been cheated of something.

-You had been lost in an immersion with a book you had borrowed from Satan when a weight on the other side of the couch brought you back to cognizance. You saw from your peripheral vision that it was Belphie, clutching his pillow that he always carried around

-He fiddled with the tassel, his stare unfocused as he seemed to be thinking of how to begin yet another discussion that you weren't interested in, mainly because you assumed he would try to slip another apology in at some point

-You sighed, closed your book, and shifted your focus to Belphie, who was staring at you with his usual lazy stare but with an uncertain curiosity. Normally, he was the first to initiate conversations, but you were over this monotonous exchange.

-You were going to put an end to it.

-You leaned forward, invading the space bubble that Belphie had been careful to keep around you, and he pushed himself into the cushion of the couch, uncomfortable by your sudden approach.

-"If you feel so bad for your attempt at murdering me, you should skip the apologies and just kill me again. This time make sure I stay dead."

Leviathan:

-Levi was grumbling as he was sorting his prized possessions into piles of keep, trade in, sell, or give away, while you toiled away in the background just organizing, wondering why you had to be involved in helping clean his room

-Levi had stormed up to you, agitated and sniffling, and started a rant about how Lucifer just doesn't understand how hard it is for him to choose between his precious cherishables.

-Lucifer had apparently made an ultimatum with Levi that it was time to sort through his collection of games, manga, collectible figures, and anything else that he had, or he would come in and do it himself

-He had begged you to let him store some of his items in your room, just for a little while, just until Lucifer got off his case, but you immediately shot him down. You weren't going to be pulled into whatever trouble waited for Levi down the road.

-That had been your intentions in the beginning, anyway. Levi just wouldn't stop pestering and pleading with you, so you offered to help him sort through his stuff to put an end to it.

-You were just listening to him complain about how no one understands the hardships of being an otaku and the commitments that came with the lifestyle. You mindlessly muttered an "Mhmm" or "Yeah" on occasion to avoid assumptions you were ignoring him and let him prattle on.

-Your legs had gone numb from your sitting position, so you stretched them out, which resulted in an urge to stretch your whole body. You leaned back and let yourself drop backwards, bored because Levi was only placing things in the keep pile.

-You had thought your back was going to make contact with the cool floor, except it hadn't. Instead you felt a sharp stab and something uncomfortable shortening your fall. The sudden and unexpected loud crinkling noises that caused your instincts to shoot you back up and Levi to snap his head around in your direction were good indicators that you had accidentally reclined on the pile you had accumulated behind you that Levi handed to you to reconsider later.

-Some boxes were very noticeably bent and crumpled, the plastic display windows creased and wrinkled from enduring your full weight and being crushed. The dolls inside the boxes were alright for the most part, the top ones being the most disturbed.

-As you were trying to separate the damaged boxes and the boxes that made it out unscathed from your carelessness, you felt an intimidating presence approach from behind.

-The dark energy emitted was spine-chilling, threatening, and familiar. You peeked over your shoulder to see Levi, silent but radiating an aura of anger that could drown you. He towered over you in his demon form, his tail lashing from side to side.

-Levi snatched the box of a Seraphina figurine out of your hand and began inspecting it. The plastic window was beyond savable and the box frame was squished and torn around the corners. The figurine was a little skewered from her original spot, held in place by twist ties, but was otherwise just fine.

-"This was the limited edition of Seraphina in an actual seraphim-inspired outfit! The box was even designed to match her, so it was like a set! It's completely ruined now!"

-Levi grabbed another dented package with a Ruri-chan figurine inside and ranted about how it was another limited edition and very rare exclusive item because it had been based off a failed spinoff of The Magical Ruri Hanai: Demon Girl.

-You had practically been shoved aside as Levi rummaged through the pile, angrily talking to himself about how he shouldn't have trusted a normie with his precious possessions, lamenting at the loss in value (if he had decided to part with them), and apologizing to the figurines.

-"They're just dolls. There's no reason to be so upset, Levi."

-His hand abruptly snapped out and sharply jerked you forward. An electrifying sensation shot down your spine as Levi pierced his eyes into yours. A fury was burning hot in them.

-You were forcibly pulled to your feet as Levi stood, tugging you unceremoniously to his bedroom door. He shoved you out and his door cracked with a loud slam.

-You stood in the hallway, dazed and dumbfounded. The jarring rise of emotions settled flatly in your stomach. After a moment, you hummed disappointedly. You had thought for sure Levi would have done something different.

Lucifer (and Satan):

-"What did you expect to gain from your actions?"

-You opened your mouth to answer, but Lucifer held his hand up to silence you.

-"He would have killed you. Did you even think of what the outcome could have done to Diavolo or the entire transfer student program? You are completely irresponsible."

-You tried to voice your opinion, but Lucifer shot a glance that shut your mouth permanently. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

-You reclined back on the sofa and watched Lucifer as he collected himself to continue on.

-You should have known better, and you did, but the temptations to provoke Satan were too much to ignore. Insulting him, taking Belphie's suggestions to annoy Satan to the next level, "borrowing" books from his room, leaving the library table a disorganized mess, comparing him to Lucifer when you saw openings.

-It was that last one that finally broke Satan enough. He had tried to make you put away the books you had gotten out, you said you didn't have to listen to him, he mentioned something about learning manners and your place, you commented he sounded like Lucifer and egged him on after he warned you to stop.

-Satan had exploded into a fit. To be honest, you underestimated the severity of his anger.

-You had blinked and Satan had transformed, you had inhaled and Satan had cut off your air flow. The grip on your throat had been tight and excruciating to the point of numbness. You tried to pry his hands away on reflex, but he had simply applied more strength to his hold.

-You remember feeling deprived of sensation throughout your body as blackness creeped into your vision.

-A distant, heavy thud, muted voices behind a thick veil, and the perception of falling were the last remnants you could recall before waking up in Lucifer's room

"You obviously don't care about your own well-being. I didn't think it was necessary to employ a babysitter to you at home as well, but I don't think any of my brothers will be inclined to watch over you. Why can't you just behave and follow the rules set in place to keep you safe?"

-You locked your eyes with Lucifer and casually shrugged. "I have a death wish."

If you have any headcanons that you want me to write, please send them my way! I enjoy writing them out. NSFW is okay, but please know I might not do it. ❤️

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me requests #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #jess writes #idobvibing #things from the inbox

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years

Text

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone.

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind.

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?"

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins.

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-"

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it.

***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm.

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!"

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before.

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place.

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?"

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me."

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?"

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation."

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order.

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once.

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test.

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in?

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer.

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether.

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides.

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics.

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that.

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence."

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!"

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming.

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go.

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits.

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows.

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place).

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm.

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why.

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes.

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head.

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her.

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building.

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant.

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know.

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be.

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place."

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection.

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’."

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is.

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper.

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n."

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own.

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear.

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink.

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his.

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?"

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words.

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss.

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans.

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right."

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?"

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek.

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead.

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties."

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra. Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach.

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips.

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment.

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways.

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good."

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough."

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths.

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness.

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?"

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering.

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly.

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind.

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell.

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused.

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was."

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference.

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry fic #enemies to lovers #angst #so much angst #smut #I didn't think I could be this filthy lol #uni au #artstudent!harry #art #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #reader insert #harry styles au

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britishassistant · 3 years

Note

hahahaha, lol how about the town having a shipping war?, lol the MalleYuu stans are happy they now have canonical proof their ship is sailing, while the rest are trying to set up their favorite villain with yuu. so which one of them would rise to villain levels of insane just to be a match maker for their ship? hahaha lol match making and wingmanning instead of being scared is funny

I don’t think the town would have a shipping war among the civilians, per say, but there’d definitely be a few debates, and tv channels and magicam accounts would profit off of the scandal for a few days. Yuu is shipped with everyone they’ve ever interacted with, regardless of compatibility or length of interaction, much to their dismay.

They’re mostly pretty tame arguments, something you bicker about with your friends that may cause a fight for a few days, but nothing that anyone’s going to throw any punches or break up a relationship over.

The closest people ever come to “war” like behavior is the conflict between Yuu x Hero and Yuu x Villain fans. The Yuu x Hero fans say the villains are too “dangerous” or “unstable” to be in a healthy relationship with Yuu, while the Yuu x Villain fans point out that some of the heroes are kind of the same, when it comes down to it. At least Yuu looks like they’re enjoying themselves when they’re with the villains, rather than running away from the heroes.

The minions at least know better than to get involved, as their bosses become unpredictable and vindictive when jealous or flustered (as they often are by this kind of talk) and some of them are also in the running. It’s quickly understood that it makes for a better work environment to leave that stuff at the door.

Yuu has to hide their face when they go out, just to avoid the swarms of people pestering them over who they’re attracted to. It’s basically Magicam Monsters on a very personal scale. Yuuken tries to help out as much as he can, but he’s just one guy. The RSA are no help, making token protests, but not actually doing anything to stop it.

Jamil works out first that the best way to get into Yuu’s good books is to avoid talking about it unless they want to bring it up, and Snake Whisper’ing anyone who tries to harass them during his kidnapping attempts. When Yuu sees him rolling his eyes at the news and scoffing that don’t people have anything better to do with their lives, it gets him a smile and a chuckle at least, though they still have that hunted look in their eye.

So he tries to pull off his biggest, most bombastic scheme yet: stealing the entire office building of the Asim business after clearing out the workers, and replacing all of the company logos with his Supervillain symbol and decor, claiming it as an extension of his evil lair. All the discarded logos get dumped outside the RSA headquarters.

That gets people abuzz for a few days, but then the talk begins to die down—

Leona somehow alters everything that the Kingscholar Incorporated name appears on in the city so it now reads “Long Live The King” and steals Farena’s super suit.

Royal Flush tries to steal the victory for the Botanical Center’s “Best Rose” award by infesting the city with roses as large as houses that eat the competition (the other roses, I mean, not the people growing them).

Poison Queen kidnaps and holds all the manufacturers and promoters of shoddy makeup and clothing lines hostage, with the aim of keeping them captive until they learn how to make better products and stop profiting off a certain scandal.

Octo Dealer makes enough deals with people that are violated by talking or hearing talk about shipping Yuu that Leviathan can afford a whole host of unwilling volunteers to help him rob the city’s highest priced restaurants and galleries.

Charon just hacks into people’s phones to brainwash them into loving Zombie Girl Saga over Love Live! The fact that his hacking causes anything mentioning shipping to get deleted/freeze up/release malware is just an unexpected side effect.

Tsunotaro almost manages to trap entire RSA legion of heroes in their headquarters by surrounding the building with thorns that force people to take a nap every time they’re pricked by them. It’s only thanks to a few heroes that were outside at the time receiving the aid of the Prefect that the city wasn’t deprived of its defenders.

And so, the city moves on to the next big scandal.

And while what happened to Yuu doesn’t ever completely go away, they can at least walk around outside now and cover other news stories without getting stopped and questioned every five steps.

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years

Text

[ flu season in E minor ]

pairing: fyodor dostoevsky x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: uni!au, sigma and nikolai as your bff’s, gn!reader, music student!fyodor, fyodor being a bit of a brat while he’s sick, slight pining/crushing, idk just fluffy shit

summary: you and fyodor are both in the university theater club but you rarely ever see him except for when you’re picking up the musical compositions he makes for the play. this time, however, you come over to his apartment to find him sick with the flu

a/n: uhhh this is kind of a trainwreck cause i was literally just ‘omg uni!au fyodor sickfic’ and then went with it :P

“don’t forget to drink your vitamin c guys! flu season is already here and if you’re down with the flu please don’t come in and spread your germs everywhere,” sigma instructed at the ending of the cast meeting. even though he sounded snappy while saying it, you could tell he meant well. two of your actors in the theatre club had already come down with the flu and with showtime coming up soon, everyone was understandably extra careful.

“y/n, one last thing,” sigma called you over as everyone prepared to leave.

“in case you were going to ask, yes, i took my vitamins already,” you teased skipping over to where he was.

“not funny,” sigma rolled his eyes. “i was wondering if you could follow up with fyodor on the music for the next scene? he doesn’t respond at all to any non-physical communication, i already left him ten messages.”

“ooh, another visit to the phantom of the opera’s apartment,” nikolai popped up right at your shoulder.

“seriously? you guys call him that?” sigma raised a disappointed eyebrow at you two.

“well he’s mysterious and makes music in a theatre.”

“i feel like you should actually watch phantom of the opera before making that claim,” you told him. “also sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly to hide your obvious excitement. “i have time to drop by.”

even though he’s a part of the theatre club, fyodor dostoevsky was pretty much an enigma to the rest of the members. his contributions to the club activities were mainly in the form of the musical compositions he created for the plays. however, because he was always busy practicing for upcoming recitals apart from his music classes, fyodor rarely ever attended rehearsals.

but on the off-chance that he did drop by in a rehearsal to discuss with sigma or attend a cast meeting, you’d spend the entire time just... admiring him. everything from the calm and articulate way he spoke to messy way his hair framed his face. and on that day when fyodor decided to demonstrate the music by playing it himself on his cello, you realized you were head over heels for this man.

and so you, practically jumped at every chance you got to pick up sheet music or recordings from fyodor’s apartment. you already set the expectation that you wouldn’t be around for long. and you were right about that... usually.

...

“fyodor? hello?” you knocked on the door for what was probably the fifth time already. it was freezing cold outside and you were desperate to get in. pressing your ear against the door, you heard a weak voice say ‘come in. door’s open’ and then tentatively, you unlocked the door.

whenever you saw fyodor, he was always wearing a clean, button-up shirt and slacks since he was also at orchestra practice. so of course, it was a complete shock to you to come into his apartment to find fyodor dressed in bright red pajamas with a mickey mouse logo on the center of his shirt with a colorful patchwork quilt thrown across his shoulders. not to mention, he was seated in his couch with sheet music and tissues strewn around him.

upon closer look, you could tell from his sunken eyes and slightly red nose that flu season had struck fyodor.

“oh, y/n, it’s you,” he sniffled as you hesitated near the door. “come in. it’s cold out.”

“are you alright?” you asked, approaching fyodor. because you had gotten the flu a bit earlier that month, you weren’t too concerned about catching it again. “you look, well, sick.”

“just a cold,” fyodor waved his hand. “anyway, did sigma send you for something?”

“he’s asking for a follow-up with the music for the new scene,” you remembered.

“oh, that...” fyodor nodded, frowning as he searched the sheet music scattered around him. “i’m sure it’s around here somewhere and... i forgot to do it.” fyodor sighed at the realization. “don’t worry. i’ll just whip something up real quick,” he sniffed before picking up a blank piece of sheet music.

“well you don’t have to right now. fyodor, you’re sick. you should get some rest before working,” you sat down on the couch as fyodor bent over the coffee table with a pencil ready. “i mean, no offense but i doubt you can come up with anything in your current state.”

“nonsense, y/n,” fyodor scoffed and began to scribble something on the page. “i am a trained classical musician. composing is merely second-nature to someone like myself. why, i’m sure i have a melody coming along right--”

“fyodor.”

“yes?”

“you just wrote the letter g on the corner of the page and then started drawing random squiggles.”

fyodor looked down at his squiggled-over sheet music with a completely deadpan expression and stared at it for a good ten seconds. “i thought it was a g-clef,” he whispered to himself.

“do you... want me to help you to your room?” you asked softly. fyodor sniffed.

“yes please.”

...

when you headed out to his apartment earlier that morning, you didn’t expect to be taking care of a sick fyodor for the rest of the afternoon. for someone who always looked put-together and composed, fyodor was terrible at taking care of himself. even after coming down with the flu a few days ago, he still insisted on practicing the cello in his apartment. and, judging by the empty cans in the sink, you could tell that all he was eating was instant soup.

and, sick fyodor was kind of... whiny. it took a lot of convincing on your part for him to agree not to work on the compositions in bed, or practice his bowing. he complained about his pillows ‘not being plump enough’ and that his socks didn’t match (because he didn’t do the laundry).

“i don’t think i’ll even be able to sleep at this rate, y/n. my head is spinning but i’m not nearly tired enough to sleep. maybe i’ll drift off for just a bit but it won’t be that restful,” fyodor said, laying down on his not-plump pillows before he was out like a light five minutes after.

“drift off for just a bit, huh?” you chuckle slightly to yourself as you watch him. fyodor was curled up on his side, hugging one of the pillows with his blanket wrapped tightly around him.

you were definitely in a strange situation being in your crush’s house while he was sick in bed. there wasn’t really a need for you to stay; you could just leave some medicine on the nightstand and a note with instructions.

“mmm... key needs to be in e minor,” fyodor mumbled in his sleep before turning over on his side. you bit back a laugh for fear of waking him up.

‘what the heck? i’ll stay and make him some actual soup,’ you ultimately decided.

...

fyodor woke up to the smell of something delicious cooking, and that was something he rarely woke up to. aside from the fact that he could actually smell out of his currently unclogged nose, fyodor felt much better than he had been in a while.

‘y/n must still be here,’ was his next thought after waking up. and he must admit, that was very reassuring to know. fyodor didn’t have the best constitution and whenever flu season rolled around, he expected being sick for a length of time.

after wrapping the blanket around himself, fyodor curiously crept into the kitchen to find you standing over at the stove, stirring something in a pot while humming to yourself. there was a bag of groceries on the counter too. ‘did they... buy me food?’

he coughed slightly to get your attention.

“oh, fyodor. you’re up,” you turned around, smiling at him. “how are you feeling?”

“a bit... better,” he confessed, fully aware that he said all those things about not being asleep before embarrassingly falling asleep for two hours.

“great! soup’s going to be ready in a few minutes. if you freeze it you’ll have enough for a few days,” you added. “also bought some oranges. they should be good for you.”

“you... don’t really have to do this you know?” fyodor ended up blurting out, except it sounded a bit harsh. “i mean, i’m sure you went through all the trouble.”

“don’t worry about it,” you waved him off. “you’ve been working really hard so i get that you don’t think of yourself much. let me do this one thing for you as a friend,” you smiled.

“also, i’m genuinely concerned at the amount of canned soup you’ve been consuming.”

“canned soup isn’t that bad for you,” fyodor insisted.

“yeah, and i’m sure you enjoy that metallic aftertaste quite a lot,” you quipped. fyodor opened his mouth to retort something before closing it abruptly. the knowing smirk on your face only made him glance away. instead, he busied himself with retrieving the clean bowls, luckily there were two left, from the dishrack and setting them on the table. you were humming again while you turned off the stove before serving the soup.

“chicken noodle soup, huh?” fyodor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“a classic,” you shrugged with a smile. “it’s a secret family recipe too so it’s bound to get you to feel better.”

“you’re making it up, aren’t you?”

“yeah, i got it off the internet,” you giggled. fyodor chuckled and took a sip of the soup. it was deliciously hot and flavorful and best of all, the soup didn’t have a metallic aftertaste.

“after eating, you can take some of medicine that i bought in case you have a headache or body pain, as long as you didn’t take any four hours before.”

“what?” fyodor blinked at you.

“you know, don’t take the medicine within four hours of each other,” you explained slowly. “also it’s better that you drink some now that you’ve eaten.”

fyodor not-so vaguely recalled all those times he drank medicine on an empty stomach and feeling even more sick after. “i... was not aware of that,” he admitted. you sighed with your eyes closed.

“i’m amazed you’re still alive.”

...

“so, flu season struck the phantom of the opera, huh?” nikolai sighed after you told him about your weekend.

“yeah,” you nodded, remembering the sight of fyodor on the couch dressed in his pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him. that was going to be burned in your mind for a long time. “he’s... kind of terrible at taking care of himself.”

“that’s fyodor for you,” sigma added. the three of you had arrived at the backstage area of the theatre early and were busying yourselves with sorting through the various props that you had. “you know, one time he even went to a recital with a 39-degree fever. practically collapsed when he was off-stage.”

“i’ll one-up that story,” nikolai practically sprang off the box he was sitting on. “okay, so there was this one time i came over to fyodor’s’apartment while he was sick and he was so delirious he--”

“you guys do know that it’s rude to talk about people when they’re not there.”

the three of you practically spun around at the same time to find fyodor leaning against the doorframe of the backstage entrance with his arms crossed. he was looking way better than last time you saw him.

“fyodor,” sigma blinked, clearly stunned. “you’re... you’re here.”

“you’re alive!” nikolai cried dramatically, skipping over to fyodor and flinging his arms around fyodor who showed obvious discomfort.

“of course i am,” he scoffed. “thanks in part to y/n.”

hearing that made your face flush a bit. “i-it was nothing,” you stammered, dodging nikolai’s curious stare.

“anyway, i finished the compositions for the next scene,” fyodor strode forward, handing sigma a folder of sheet music and a flash drive. “let me know if it’s to your liking.”

“thank you. i’ve been having director’s block with that one. this should help,” sigma sighed gratefully. “i’ll give it a listen if you don’t mind.” and before you could say anything else, he scurried out to the stage area.

“and i’m going to leave for some arbitrary reason just so you two would have some alone time,” nikolai snickered at the indignant expression on your face before leaving you and fyodor alone backstage.

“oh, nikolai. always... funny,” you laughed nervously.

“indeed,” fyodor nodded. “i only have the vaguest idea of what’s been going on during rehearsals. i should probably come around more often.”

“oh, we understand that you’re busy and all. but you’ve already been helping a lot with composing the music so don’t sweat it if you feel like you haven’t been active,” you said.

“well, that’s not the only reason i want to come around more often,” fyodor’s eyes flickered up to meet yours and you felt your face heat up again. god, it was so much easier to talk to to him and joke around when he was sick with the flu.

“in any case, i’m glad you feel better now,” you cleared your throat. “i hope the soup helped.”

“it did. i was sad to see it run out,” fyodor chuckled. and before you could even consider what it was you were going to say, you went and blurted out:

“i could make it for you again.”

“oh?” fyodor’s eyebrows flew up and a smirk played on his lips.

“i-if you want to of course,” you stammered.

“i’d like that,” fyodor smiled, much to your surprise. “if you could update me on rehearsals and the play we’re doing, that would be great. how does friday sound?”

“friday sounds great.”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

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#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor #bungou stray dogs fanfic #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs fluff #bsd fluff #bungou stray dogs uni au #bsd uni au #bungou stray dogs one-shot #bsd one-shot #bungou stray dogs writing #bsd writing

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years

Text

All Over Again - Chapter 2

Summary: What was lost can be found.

Warning: 18+ Smut, Language, Violence. This chapter gets a little science nerdy!

Ch. 1

* * * * * *

“How did you do it?”

Looking up from the red glowing gun, your eyebrows pinch together as you look at the man stepping into your lab. His eyes, like always, flick around to take in your equipment. All your weapons lining the walls.

You lay the sword down,“ what did I do exactly?”

Tony leans on the counter across from you,“ Luthor Corp just bought six shares of Stark Industries and sent multiple emails detailing possible partnered projects.” His eyebrows rise,“ I’ve been trying to go into business with Luthor Corp for years now.”

“Congrats?” You narrow your eyes at him,“ still not seeing where I come in at.”

Your hands glow red as you run them along the side of the rifle, effectively removing it’s glow and energy charge.

“Side note, if you could come do your glowy magic thing on my new reactor, that’d be great.” You save your comments on that for later.“ Anyway, Pepper told me that you made quite the impression on Miss Luthor. I have a hunch her new found interest in my company is because of you.”

“Probably not. We never talked about Stark Industries. We talked about a lot but never the company.”

Frowning, he tilts his head to the side,“ it was an investment dinner, the purpose was to-” he sighs,“ nevermind that. You’re going to National City tomorrow correct?”

“I really don’t want to play company rep Tony. We’re just working on a project of hers.”

Which you found out the day after the investment dinner.

You’d contacted Lena about going out there. She confirmed your guess that she wanted to get your take and help on the power core. For the past two days you’ve been getting a few things done, mainly stuff that needs your immediate attention, so you wouldn’t be leaving anything undone.

After some pleading from Tony you tell him you’ll consider giving Stark Industries a little good press with Lena but you make no promises. Then finishing up your work and leaving the lab.

Sighing, you roll your shoulders, feeling how tired you are. Doing almost a week's worth of work in two days isn’t the most healthy thing.

“Hey, you okay?”

E/c finds deep green and you nod,“ fine.” The smile you try to give turns out to be a grimace.

Natasha watches you,“ you sure, you look pretty tired. I know you’ve been-”

“Romanoff, I’m fine.”

The redhead sighs. She quickly pulls a blank expression and moves to stand directly in front of you,“ how long are you going to act like this with me?”

“Like what?”

“Indifferent Y/n. Every time we talk you give me some off handed generic response like we haven’t known each other for nine years. Three of which we dated.”

You narrow your eyes at her,“ all three you spent keeping secrets. And then left me for said secrets immediately after. I’m not indifferent towards you Natasha I’m fucking hurt.” You don’t mean to snap but you can’t help it.

Since your break up Natasha has moved on and has tried to interact with you like everything was fine. Like she hadn’t broken your heart. Better yet, as if she was scared you’d hurt her.

Getting to the end of the hallway, you turn to her,“ you know what’s funny? Had you just told me, beforehand, that there was something between you and Doctor Banner, I would’ve understood. Because the worst part was being blindsided.”

“Y/n I’m sorry.” If you were close enough you could see the regret in her eyes, might’ve been able to hear her heartbreak.

You nod,“ I know. You told me.”

Avoiding the ex-assassin has become a bit of an everyday thing now. So much so that you almost don’t have to put any effort into doing it before you have to leave. You spend a little time training with Sam and Bucky, walking them both through their new supercharged weapons. You coordinate with Steve on the mission you’re being assigned after you get back.

You also take a moment to research Miss Luthor and Luthor Corp. Alongside finding the controversial opinions on the company and the woman running it. You ended up, not surprised, but impressed with her work.

And of course you spend some time with Wanda. Said woman not leaving your side at all, even as you go to bed. She occupies the empty side of your bed through the night and truthfully you’re grateful for the company.

When you wake up, you make quick work of showering, getting dressed, and starting to pack. Wanda doesn’t move a muscle, much more content with reveling in the warmth you’d left behind, while trying to get you to not go.

“I won’t even be gone long, back by tomorrow for sure.” You push a set of shirts in your bag.

Wanda groans loudly and cuddles further into your fluffy blanket,“ but I just got back and you promised to take me to see Harrison.”

You chuckle lowly,“ it’s Hamilton, Wan. And I’m still gonna take you, just a little later. Think of it as an anticipation builder.”

“Don’t you think I have enough anticipation.”

Shaking your head, you zip up your overnight bag, and sit down beside the young woman,“ come on Wan, it’s not like I’m leaving you alone.”

“Basically you are. Steve and Bucky never leave each other’s sides and Sam follows them around always, and Natasha has Bruce!” She exclaims, only to jolt up when she realizes what she’s said.“ I’m sorry.”

You do your best to laugh it off,“ it’s fine really. Natasha does have Bruce.” You quickly change the subject before that familiar ache returns,“ why don’t you take Clint up on his offer to stay with them for a while?”

Wanda looks down, playing with her fingers,“ I’m not ready to do that just yet.” Those eyes then lock with yours,“ besides I can’t leave you.”

“Hey,” you pull her into your side,“ you know I’m always here for you right?” She nods. Deciding not to leave on a somber note, you joke,“ except for tomorrow, so endure Miss Maximoff, and text me.” Standing up, you press a very chaste kiss to her forehead, and then leave out with a wink.

“Headed out Y/Ln?”

You nod to Steve, holding up your bag in emphasis,“ yeah, I’ll only be gone a day you know.” He nods.“ Oh and Rogers, do me a favor and keep an eye on Wanda yeah?”

While she’s doing significantly better after everything, you know she still has her moments. When they hit they hit hard and feeling/being alone doesn’t help. It’s one of the many reasons Clint invited her to go stay with his family for a while. But Wanda has reservations about that for reasons she hadn’t yet told you.

After getting Steve’s agreement to do so, you leave.

To you, the worst part of traveling is all the little stupid stuff in between. You loved driving, hated traffic. Flying was calming and you loved looking at the clouds sail by, you hated TSA, baggage claim, and boarding.

Luckily National City is merely five hours away and the second you land you feel the difference in NYC and NC. While both are skyscraper filled, fast paced, cities. There’s something about National City that seems freer. People are nicer, the sun shines brighter, the air smells cleaner.

Perhaps it’s just being on the West Coast.

Being the woman she is, Lena has a car service for you, the driver waiting with your name on a white board. You confirm your identity and follow the woman out to the car. On the drive to Luthor Corp, you take in the sights of National City.

Lots of skyscrapers but still a surprising amount of greenery. Eventually you approach your destination, the tall glass building branding the large Luthor Corp logo.

“Thank you.” You nod to the driver, slipping a tip her way, and getting out of the car.

Stepping inside the building, your eyes take in the sunlit interior as you approach the front desk. The young receptionist asks what he can help you with and you respond that you’re here for Lena Luthor and he asks for your name.

In the end you’re told to wait as she’s in a meeting, so you pass the time by texting Wanda, replying to the dozen texts Tony had sent. You tell him you’ll do it if he can get you decent Hamilton tickets and he agrees instantly.

“Y/n,” her voice, while still new to your ears, is easily recognizable,“ I’m so sorry for making you wait.”

You’re waving her off in an instant,“ it’s fine, I’m no greater than anyone else, I can wait.”

She chuckles, nodding in understanding, and silently pleased with your humility. A number of people would’ve demanded they go in immediately.

From there she directs you toward the elevator. As you walk the people walking around look to Lena in seeming amazement.

“It seems your employees are also fans, rightfully so.” You tease honestly.

“They’re a part of a small group believe me. I have more opposition than you could imagine.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shrug,“ a powerful woman is intimidating, especially one as brilliant and compassionate as you Miss Luthor.”

A light blush fans her cheeks and her eyes watch you on the elevator,“ if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to flatter me.”

“I’m being honest with you Lena, it just so happens that your truth is pleasing to hear.” The elevator dings, letting you both off to a floor of labs, some walled off by glass and others concrete. You look around, some machines and equipment familiar to you and others you don’t recognize.

Lena guides you down the halls to a room at the very end. It’s dark inside at first and then a purple light rises. Repeatedly it shines and then dims and you walk closer in amazement.

Octagonal, metal, plates surround the rock like material in the center, each plate connected by thick wires. The purple light emits from the rock. Lena flicks the lights on and it powers up the monitors and the core.

Still watching in fascination, you walk around the core, remaining a few decent feet away. A very low hum sounds from it and you can practically feel the power of it.

“Wow.” Lena smiles at your amazement.“ I imagine you had to build a stabilizer before you could move it.” You look up at her.

“I did. It was in a ship when I found it so I reutilized the ship's engine.”

Eyes wide, you smile softly,“ instead of the engine pulling energy from the core-”

She nods,“ it pushed the energy back into it.”

“How did you stop it from overloading?”

“Reworked the wiring to continuously transport the energy so there was never an overwhelming amount in the core at one point in time.”

You look back at the core, noticing that is also how she’s currently keeping it from overloading.“ Remember when I said you’re brilliant?” She nods.“ That was an understatement.”

With another laugh and a bashful blush, she brings you over to her monitoring equipment.

The next few hours pass with the two of you working on it. Lena loved the idea of turning the one power core into multiple ones which would require harvesting pieces of it. But it’s not like they make Alien Rock saws or anything on earth.

You’d have to invent a tool strong enough to cut through it without it disrupting or agitating the energy.

It’s well past the late hours of the night when hunger sets in for both of you. Lena insists you join her for dinner. After locking up her office, the two of you go to a restaurant that she sings praises for.

The maitre’d is quick to seat you both, your waiter bringing water, and asking if you’d like anything else to drink. Lena orders wine and you get an old fashioned like usual.

“So outside of being well versed in science,” Lena starts,“ what other talents do you have?”

“I can make a great cup of coffee.” You joke, the woman laughing.“ No um, I’m a weapons specialist. It goes hand in hand with science and my powers. Mental materialization allows me to create just about any weapon with my mind, of course it doesn’t last forever. For the most part I enhance the weapons the team already has though I’ve invented a weapon or two.”

Brown eyebrows raise,“ invented?” Intrigue enters her eyes and you’ve already become accustomed to it.

You nod,“ at the time my team and I were facing a threat we never had before. It required a special type of weapon and of course it didn’t exist.”

“Alien?”

Before you can reply, the waiter returns. They set down your drinks and take your orders, both of you smiling politely before they walk away.

Looking back at Lena, you sip your drink, and respond,“ yes. It took a lot of trial and error, messing around with their own weapons to finally get it. I ended up using the alien technology to build the weapons.”

“And you say I’m the brilliant one.” A smirk plays at her lips over the rim of her wine glass.

It’s then that you replay your own words in your head being hit with a startling realization!

“Lena!” You exclaim. Green eyes widen slightly, eyebrows raising simultaneously.“ A laser saw. We’ve been trying to come up with a material strong enough to cut through it instead of using its own energy to do so.”

She understands quickly, a disbelieving chuckle leaves her lips,“ oh my god, you’re right. Of course we’d have to neutralize the core before cutting it. That amount of energy against itself could cause a cascade of energy failures or something much worse.”

“You figured out how to stabilize it with it’s own engine and now you’ve got me,” she smiles amusedly,“ I’m sure two scientists of our caliber could work something out.”

Lena agrees. Then insisting you two talk about anything other than the work.

As much as she loves her work, she’s been intrigued by you since your first meeting. With this being a much more casual setting than the investment dinner and her lab, she wants to get to know you.

She’s learned how intelligent you are, even if that’s just the tip of your iceberg, but she’s dying to know more. And she does.

Over dinner you both get to know each other better. Lena’s disdain for her last name but need to clear it is something she, almost subconsciously, divulges. You’re not exactly surprised to hear that she went to MIT, in fact you would’ve been shocked if she went anywhere else.

While she avoids going in depth about her family, she does make mention of being close to her brother when they were younger and loving her father endlessly. Her sincere compassion is a trait she seemed to have always had despite the briefly mentioned opposition she faced over being so.

Her taking over the company after her brother was for a number of reasons the main one being that she wanted to prove herself. Luthor doesn’t mean evil, not always anyway. You’re led to believe that while many don’t agree, there’s proof through Lena’s work that she isn’t a bad person.

In turn you tell her about your time as an Avenger. All of it started back when your father worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. Being the dedicated man that he was, he often brought his work home, and being the daddy’s girl that you were, you lingered around and watched as he worked.

You’d picked up on a lot of things from him involving the weapons. By the time you were 16 you knew most guns inside and out from standard pistols to compact grenade launchers.

After high school you went to Stanford and majored in Mechanical Engineering, getting the opportunity to intern at the one and only Stark industries. Upon graduation you had taken an actual job at the company. Some time later you were approached by Fury to assist Stark in building the Particle Accelerator to save himself and take down Ivan.

Tony took a liking to you during your time working together and afterwards was more than happy to work closer with you, especially since you still worked for Stark Industries. Those connections lead you to being picked up by Fury every once and a while with S.H.I.E.L.D business. Until S.H.I.E.L.D fell, your last mission with them being Sokovia.

Eventually, despite the very late hour, Lena’s phone starts to buzz almost incessantly. With a small,“ excuse me,” she picks it up, reading the messages she received.

“Are you up to a few more drinks?” She asks with a soft smile and you find yourself unable to say no under the gaze of her green eyes.

She settles the check, relenting and letting you leave the tip, before you’re both in her car and driving to a different location. This place is a lot less upscale than the last. Funnily enough you find it a lot more comfortable than the restaurant.

You follow beside Lena, who approaches a table surrounded by a decent sized group of people. They all smile brightly at the CEO, a blonde hugging her excitedly. Then all eyes fall to you. Before Lena can even introduce you, a voice speaks.

“Oooohhhh my god!” A man about your height nearly vibrates with excitement in his seat. Brown eyes widen and he bites his lip.“ You’re Artemis, the Avenger!”

It’s impossible to not chuckle at his enthusiasm.“ I am, but without the getup you can call me Y/n,” you reach a hand out to shake his.

“Y/n, yeah of course.” He shrugs with an understanding nod.

Going around the group of people, you shake hands and learn names. After Winn, sits Kara Danvers(Lena’s best friend as she introduces), Kara’s sister Alex(definitely an agent of some sort), J’onn(also an agent), and James Olsen.

While they all seem fairly nice, you can see Alex’s and J’onn’s studying expressions. They watch you cautiously and you don’t blame them. Winn and Kara are the more open ones, excited to meet you and engaging in a seeming nonstop conversation. And James, well you aren’t sure about him yet but he seems okay.

Alex takes a swig from her beer, elbows leaning on the table top,“ what brings you to National City?”

“Lena actually.” All eyes widen, eyebrows rising as well.“ In a strictly platonic and professional way.”

The CEO beside you chuckles softly, hand resting on your bicep,“ Y/n’s assisting me with a project of mine upon my request.”

“What kind of project?” The auburn haired woman asks.

Something in her tone tells you that she’s skeptical, almost untrusting of the woman at your side. Whatever history is there is a little rocky, you can’t place why but it is. And even though you don’t know anyone here all that well, you’d hate for everyone’s seeming enjoyable night to take a sour turn.

“For now it’s merely a test for a new energy source. If it’s not clean energy or it’s unstable it won’t go further than this.”

The woman seems satisfied with your answer, at least a little, and nods. Lena sending you a smile in thanks.

“So, what kind of drink recommendations can a tourist like me get?”

With your simple, easygoing question, conversations start back up. Each person gives you a drink recommendation and you take it, trying each one. Some you don’t like but most of them are great, and strong.

By the end of the night there isn’t a single person who isn’t laughing. The effects of the alcohol you’ve consumed hit you and while you aren’t wasted, it definitely makes things lighter for you.

“Alright, I think it’s time I get this one back to her hotel so she can get home tomorrow.” Lena lightly pats your shoulder.

“Awe booo!” Kara and Winn say at the same time, the latter much more intoxicated than the former.

You pout, looking at Lena,“ don’t you want to hear about the anti-gravity gun Winn is working on?”

“It’s handheld.” He adds in a whisper.

The brunette chuckles,“ I’m sure Winn would be more than happy to tell you about it some other time.”

Sighing you nod,“ fine. She’s right, I have a flight later.” You rise up, the support of the table a great assistance,“ it was a great pleasure to meet all of you, had a lot of fun.”

Kara’s big blue eyes find yours,“ you’re going to visit again right?”

“Not sure when but I will definitely be coming back.”

With a goodbye to everyone, you and Winn slapping hands and nearly missing, and you and Kara high fiving perfectly, you leave.

For the third time tonight you’re in Lena’s car. She leans back into her seat after telling her driver where to take you. It’s a fairly quiet ride back to the hotel, you drinking from the water Lena gets from the center console, and her occasionally looking over at you.

She took great delight in watching you interact with her friends, especially with the amount of alcohol you’d consumed. Drunk wasn’t the proper state to describe you as but the intake definitely had you a lot more talkative and energetic than Lena has seen, though that’s only been twice.

Telling her driver to keep the car running, she accompanies you up to your room. She’d hate if anything happened to you before a friendship could even begin.

You swipe the card over the door sensor and push it open, turning to lean against the frame and address Lena.“ Thanks for today.”

“The whole day?” She chuckles.

“Yes ma’am. I loved every bit of it. Your friends are awesome and I’m really excited to see how the power core works out.”

A little smile pulls at her lips,“ well I may have started this by myself but you’re definitely a part of it now. So let me know the next time you’re able to come back.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows pinch together. Compared to how much was done when you’d arrived everything you did felt like adding two measly cents.

Honestly speaking, you’d genuinely loved every second of working on the power core with her. As much as you love saving the world as an Avenger, there was a newfound excitement and intrigue in you while you worked on this. It could save lives in a way you can’t as an Avenger.

“Only if you want to.” The CEO says, slight hesitation hidden behind her teasing smirk.

“I’d love to.”

* * * * * *

Taglist: @username23345 @depressed-bi-bitch @fayhar @trikruismybitch @aznblossom

#lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dcu #dcu x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #reader insert #all over again

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taeescript · 3 years

Text

IX. Script of the Angel (m)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. jungkook and jimin primarily.

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> policeman!jimin, author!jungkook, painter!freader, serialkiller!XXX; a classic game of cat and mouse

𝔴/𝔠 >> 4.8k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mature themes depicted. due to the explicit nature of the topic (serial killers, murders, violence, sexual content, infidelity etc.) this is rated 18+. to spare storytelling: please consider yourself warned. chapter warning: mentions of self-harm and infidelity; depictions of blood and murder.

𝔞/𝔫 >> topics discussed in this chapter may be brief, but they are serious. please take the warnings mentioned above seriously. if at any point this makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading.

previous part || series masterlist || next part

Jimin pulls up to the house, and his GPS beeps to tell him that he has arrived at location. He observes the scene from his spot in his car. He then steps out, walks to the door and rings the doorbell.

“Did you forget something?” Liza’s mother opens the door with the question. “Oh!”

Jimin gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but could I ask you a few questions? S.F.P.D.” He flashes his badge.

A few days ago, he had discovered that a vehicle had been rented out under the name Jeon Jungkook. Consequently, he had put in a request to his friends at the station to inform him of any and all movements of this vehicle. His friends had laughed at him, sending him quickly away as they did not have time to do this for him. Jimin thoroughly pleaded his case and had been given a simple tracking program in which he had used to follow Jungkook around today.

Liza’s mother steps out of the house and quickly closes the door behind her. However, she is not fast enough to hide Liza peering out from Jimin’s observant eyes.

“Your daughter?” he asks.

She becomes flustered. “I…You…Yes. Sorry, who did you say you were?”

He holds out his badge again. “S.F.P.D.”

“R-Right. I see your identification.”

The badge is put away.

“It’s just that we don’t usually have policemen coming to our doors and well, I didn’t want to scare Liza, my daughter,” her mother continues.

“It’s not a problem, ma’am, and I’m very sorry to have to interrupt your day like this.”

Shaking her head, she waves his concern away.

“Would you be available to answer a few questions right now? It won’t take much of your time,” he tells her.

She nods.

“Did you have any visitors at your house today?” he starts.

“Visitors? Well…” she rambles off a few names and then stops. He hopefully looks on and exhales only when she speaks again. “There was also a man who stopped by. A few minutes before you actually.”

Finally, he is getting somewhere.

“I see. This man you speak about. Have you seen him before?”

“No. That was my first time. I think he worked for an insurance company? He wasn’t even supposed to be at our house; he was looking for a Mrs. Fallon perhaps down the street,” she tells him. A sudden thought dawns upon and she gasps, horror splashing ugly across her face. “He’s not some criminal, is he? Heavens! He seemed like such a nice man as well!”

He places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. Could you tell me a little more about him? You said he worked for an insurance company?”

The woman is extremely nervous. He can read it off her body language as she continues to tug at the hem of her shirt. His previous words had not been any consolation to her at all. He appeals one more time.

“Truth be told, I’m here investigating claims about a group assuming fake identities to sell illegal goods to occupants in this area.”

“You don’t think….!” she holds a hand over her mouth.

He shrugs. “We’re not too sure yet. However, if you help answer some of these questions, we’d be able to track down this group quicker.”

“O-Of course! The man showed me some papers. I couldn’t get a real good look, but I think I saw a logo on there. That one with the giant “L” and the twigs that stick out on the side. I can’t remember the name of the company, however…” her voice trails off.

She doesn’t need to explain further as Jimin recognizes the logo.

“Not a problem. Well, that’s all for today. Thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” he nods and begins to leave.

“That’s all? I haven’t even given you the name!” she calls after him.

“You’ve been very helpful!” he shouts behind him, “Have a good day and stay safe!”

He enters his car quickly to prevent her from calling out at him again. The logo she had explained is one he is familiar with. It is one he’s seen often at the building two blocks away from the station, and he knows for a fact that Jungkook does not work for that company.

All Jungkook had done was talk to the woman. They had barely exchanged enough words for her to even remember who he was. However, he was also clearly not there to sell any type of insurance.

If so, what had Jeon Jungkook been doing at that house then?

…................

“Excuse me, would you be able to tell me where I can find this gentleman?” she slides the wallet sized photo of herself and said man to the receptionist.

The pretty lady on the other side faintly smiles upon seeing it. “Your husband?” she asks.

Krystal blushes. “Oh no. He’s my boyfriend. I was hoping that maybe you can locate him.”

The lady’s eyebrows furrow upon her words. “Is he missing? I can direct you to the Missing Person’s Unit.”

“No!” Krystal immediately blurts, “Sorry. I mean, he’s not missing. He had told me previously that the station had called him in for an interview? He’s not involved in any crime. They only wanted to ask him some questions.”

Her fingers fly across the keyboard while chewing on her pen. After a few moments, the receptionist looks back up at Krystal for a brief moment. “What did you say his name was?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

More typing. “Ah, yes. He came in quite some time ago. I have him signed in to visit the Homicide Unit with Lieutenant Wang.”

“Ah, would you be able to direct me to the Lieutenant?”

“Well, I can’t just have you going in…” the receptionist bites her lips in thought. She scratches something down on her notepad before her head snaps up again.

…...............

Namjoon and Jimin had returned from their lunch break. Jimin had only been planning to go down for a quick sandwich at the cafeteria but he had been dragged along by Namjoon to go to the nearby Thai restaurant. It all started when Jimin had observed that Namjoon had an unopened lunch bag on his desk.

“Youngji made lunch for me,” Namjoon had said.

Perhaps this is the opportunity to bring up his suspicions on Jungkook; he hadn’t spoken of the matter to Namjoon for a while now. In fact, he hadn’t even told his supervisor about the vehicle tracking he did a few days ago.

“Oh? What did she make you?” Jimin had innocently asked. How he regretted the decision.

The entire time they were out, Namjoon had complained about his wife’s cooking – especially her renewed passion for cooking green foods (for a brief time, Youngji had stopped). His complaints had paused while they were physically partaking in their lunch meal, and Jimin had thought Namjoon forgot about it, but on their walk back to the station, Namjoon began ranting again. He hadn’t even had the chance to bring up Jungkook’s name let alone his recent observations.

“I don’t even like green beans. I try to tell her, but she insists on making them because they’re healthy,” Namjoon groans, “How does one tell their wife to stop cooking for them?”

Jimin sighs. “Maybe simply saying ‘Please stop cooking for me’.”

That causes Namjoon to roll his eyes. “This is why you’ll never get married. You can’t just tell your wife that her food sucks. I have thick skin when it comes to speaking up to anybody else, but her… I’d rather just down it.”

“You didn’t though. You threw it out and we went out for Thai instead.”

Namjoon does not seem to hear what Jimin has said; as they are walking into the station, he harshly jabs Jimin in the ribs.

“Namjoon what – ” Jimin glares at his friend.

Namjoon nods his head in the direction. “Hot girl, alert. Like 10/10.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “You’d better not let Youngji catch you saying that…” his sentence trails off when he notices the girl who stands at the receptionist’s desk.

She is immensely pretty. Her light brown hair hangs in waves down her back and her smooth, long legs are accentuated under the black skirt she is sporting. She is also wearing a body-hugging turtleneck that wraps around her athletic body, naturally drawing attention to her flushed curves.

“Damn,” Namjoon whistles lightly under his breath, “Do you think she’s a good cook?”

This time, Jimin fails and the laughter bursts out. The sudden sound draws both the receptionist and the beautiful woman’s attention towards the two of them.

“Lieutenant!” the receptionist calls over.

The two men shuffle over like shy school boys.

Now that they are standing closer and that they could see her face, they are even more impressed by her natural beauty. Her make up is light and makes her skin appear soft and dewy. Her bright eyes greet theirs and she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious seductive gesture in their minds. When they finally reach her, she beams them a smile of perfectly aligned white teeth.

“Howdy,” Namjoon goofily says. He clears his throat once and tries again. “Um, hello. I’m Lieutenant Kim Namjoon.” He extends a hand.

Krystal shakes it.

“Detective Park Jimin,” Jimin introduces himself sequentially.

She takes his hand as well. He notes how warm yet strong her grip is.

“They’ll be able to help you better,” the receptionist smiles.

“Oh?” Jimin tilts his head at the question.

Krystal opens her mouth to explain the reason she is at the station when Namjoon interrupts before she can speak.

“It’s rude to make a lady wait and stand here. Perhaps I’d be able to invite you to his office so the two of you can talk comfortably there?”

“His office? Are you not the Lieutenant?” Krystal asks, slightly confused.

Namjoon laughs. “Yeah I am. But uh… I just remembered that I, um, have some business to take care of for the other… thing. I mean, case. I have to take care of a meeting to see a case.”

Jimin glares at Namjoon.

“You’ll be left in capable hands though. Detective Park is the best in our unit,” Namjoon says. He gives them a quick wave and the wiggle of his brows towards Jimin before leaving the station despite having just returned to it.

Jimin wants to hit Namjoon, but he really could not leave the mysterious stranger standing by herself. He turns to Krystal again.

She is regarding him with a slight grin. “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?” she comments.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he returns with a roll of his eyes, “This way.” He leads her towards the elevators up to his floor.

“I’m really sorry to be a bother,” she says while they wait. She waits until he has pressed the button before continuing, “It’s really nothing much. I’m just looking for somebody.”

“If you’re looking for somebody, shouldn’t you be speaking to the MPU?”

“MPU?”

“Sorry, slip of the tongue. Missing Person’s Unit.”

She scrunches her nose. “He’s not missing… He’s somewhere here. The last time we spoke he told me he had been called in here, so I thought to try my luck. Perhaps you’ve seen him?”

Her words are confusing to Jimin. They don’t make sense.

The lights above head start to slowly flash as the elevator comes down to meet them.

“I’m sorry, this is probably really bizarre right now; I haven’t even introduced myself formally. I’m Krystal,” she extends her hand again. It awkwardly hangs there for a quick second before she retracts it a second time, remembering that they had already exchanged handshakes.

Jimin gives her a warm smile. She was nervous, for some strange reason. “Not to worry, Krystal. Do you have a name?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” she says.

“No, he isn’t,” Jimin mumbles. “At least for now,” he keeps that part to himself. He turns back to Krystal. “I saw him. He came in to do an interview for me.”

He is not fast enough to conceal his disgust at the mention of the man’s name.

Krystal catches the brief microexpression, however. “Please don’t tell me that he’s in trouble.”

“Oh! So you did see him! Would you be able to tell me where he is staying currently? I tried to call him earlier but he was busy…”

“I could. But first you are his…”

“Girlfriend.”

Ah. So this was the woman Jungkook had mentioned. Again, he is relives the bitter taste in his mouth from when Jungkook had told him that he had been out with another woman. Jimin tightens his fist when a thought crosses his mind.

“Girlfriend, you say?” he repeats. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

She nods, animatedly. Krystal is excited that she had been able to bump into the handsome detective. He seemed to know about Jungkook’s whereabouts in this foreign city.

“He’s staying with a friend of mine. I could give you her address, if you’d like,” Jimin tells her.

She takes his bait. “Her…?” she repeats silently to herself.

“Is something the matter?” Jimin asks.

Krystal looks back up at him with a smile. “Nothing!” she says, “I’d appreciate that a lot, Detective Tuan.”

Jimin nods. He writes out your address on a piece of paper and hands it to her. “I hope you find him,” he encourages her.

The elevator doors before them open and wait for its passengers.

“Mhmm,” Krystal says. The initial excitement her voice held is audibly dampened. She thanks him and walks away.

Jimin enters the elevator alone. There is a knowing smile on his face. Perhaps this lady would finally be able to get Jungkook out of your life once and for all.

…...............

We all have that thing, don’t we? That one thing we know we should not do, yet we succumb into its temptation each and every time because it’s so good. Despite it destroying our body, the thought of not being able to yield torments the passing thoughts in our mind and coaxes us to believe that it is okay.

Let us listen to it this one last time. Just this one last time and we promise ourselves that we will never do it again. Just this one last time and we will then walk away. That is the argument we have and boy.

We’ve lost.

The feeling of absolute bliss washes over your body as you stand in the shower, allowing the hot water to run across every inch of skin. It feels like a large warm hand that massages your shoulders, calves, back – each muscle on your body. You are aware that the temperature is too high but it feels too good for you to turn it down.

After avoiding the studio for so long, you had finally brought yourself around to go back to it. Min had been ecstatic when you walked in. You had not seen each other in a little over two weeks and with you not responding to any of her nor mutual friends’ calls, she had thought something had happened to you.

Min is your best friend. There is no doubt about it. The two of you shared everything so Min had been slightly disappointed when you failed to tell her why you had suddenly disappeared.

You had taken out the large canvas from your bag instead after the initial hug ended. You rolled out the painting and asked Min for her opinion.

“It’s a little… sporadic,” was all Min could say.

“Sporadic… that’s one way to put it,” you grimaced, “I don’t like it. But it’s nearly complete, and I don’t have time to make a new one.”

“Are you making it for a client?”

“No.”

Min was seen biting the inside of her cheek with all of your mysteries. You had felt bad so you told her, “Remember that guy I told you about? It’s for him.”

Her eyes seemed to light up now that you were speaking again. “Oh yeah! Jungkook! You had been working on it for quite a while, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, how about I go out and get us our favourite donuts from the bakery? I know good food always helps me get over artist’s block!” Min had offered. Before you could tell her otherwise, you were looking at the back of your petite friend rushing out the door into the autumn wind.

With not much of a choice, you had settled down at your usual corner. The studio was quiet. There were a few people here and there, but they were mainly minding their own business. They gave you a small smile as you walked around collecting your usual art utensils.

Once you were sitting in front of the painting again, staring at the blacks, navy, bruise-like purples, you started falling into darker thoughts - the same thoughts that are infesting you now that you are alone in the shower again.

You grab the shampoo and start lathering it into your hair.

Baekhyun… How many years has it been since that happened? Why was it that he continued to torment you like this despite the fact that he was gone? The most difficult moment had been the few weeks right after the incident. Every little thing you did, you were reminded of him. You couldn’t even go out without breaking down into tears; going out meant walking on the path to the studio that you had done so many times with him.

It had taken time, but slowly you thought your wounds had or were at least beginning to close. Yet, Jimin had opened them when you discovered he was still searching for Baekhyun. It wasn’t entirely Jimin’s fault. He was only doing what he thought was right. Still, he shouldn’t have hid it from you.

You blamed that for your moment of weakness. Seeing yourself physically wounded made you think of the wound that had been reopened in your heart. It made you think of the safe haven you used to have with the man you loved. They had been so close to saying their vows – till death do us apart – that was only supposed to be the case when they both grew old. It wasn’t supposed to be their truth so early on.

Baekhyun, am I allowed to fall in love again?

Turning the water off, you step out of the shower. The blast of cold air that hits you makes you tremble, and it is like a clear ring of water in your muddled pool of thoughts.

You shake your head, causing droplets of soapy water to fly everywhere.

You are not in love with Jungkook. There is absolutely no way that can be true. You are grateful to him for being there when you needed – and that is quite often lately. However, you could not find another reason for your speeding heart and dizziness you felt whenever he came home. Could he really be the one to blame for all the moments of breathlessness and chest aches?

Is it okay for me to have new feelings after losing you?

The mirror has been fogged up and you wipe away the condensation with a hand. Peering back at you is a tired girl with long, dark hair that is plastered to your cheeks. Your skin is flushed pink because of the heat and pressure of water. Your lips are flattened and slightly downturned. Your eyebrows are unkempt, and a pimple pushes it way at the side of your nose and all along your T-zone. Fingernails are too long because you have forgotten to cut them; still with chipped pink polish coating the pinky.

You let out a low chuckle. Who would love someone as broken as you? Your eyes dart to a pair of tweezers that sit on the shelf. You pick it up and observe how sharp the edge of the metal object is. You press your fingertip on it until they dig in and you feel the familiar lullaby sting of pain run from that sensitive area down your spine.

You didn’t need to actually draw blood to feel it. Your body is already messed up enough that this is where you momentarily pause.

The one person who had always been there as your supporting foundation is long gone. You had not found the strength to admit it, but you had been flailing in quicksand for a while now.

What’s a house without its foundation? It can only sink until it becomes no more.

You press harder, sending another chilling flash over your body. Your breath quickens and you feel that your lips are dry, although you have only stepped out of the shower.

Is this what others have felt? The addiction that comes the moment you start.

You close your eyes, forcing your body to continue when the sound of a door being slammed shut scares you.

The tweezers fall to the floor.

…................

Shit.

Jungkook thinks as he takes off his shoes. There are still dark brown spots on it despite him intensively scrubbing them for five minutes straight in the car with a cloth. He contemplates on throwing his jacket on the ground, but seeing the state of shoes, he needs to be careful. Bending down, he picks them up and decides then that he must burn them.

He is so engrossed in his thoughts he doesn’t notice that he is not the only one home.

Looking around the floor, he finds the closest source of water and strides to it. He lets the water from the kitchen tap run until steam rises from it in which he then proceeds to take off his clothing. He throws in both the jacket and his stained white shirt. He then presses them down until the scalding water hits his own skin.

He hated acting out like this without a plan. He hated it with such a passion, but he hated even more the reason he went out and did it. His kills were always methodically thought out and never without reason. That homeless man in the alleyway shouldn’t have said anything when Jungkook walked by. He should have stayed mute, crammed in that dark corner, and harassed the next person that walked by. Not him. No. That decision only resulted in him lying lifeless in his own bloodied mound of dirt.

How could he have let somebody into his car? How was it even possible that he had allowed someone to monitor him to this extent? To have somebody take this much control of his life.

Each stab, a way to release the frustration he felt to his unknown attacker.

He is reminded of the knife at that moment. He should dispose of that as well. It was likely not possible that they would be able to trace the kill back to him – many people died out in the streets each night – but he needed to be careful, nonetheless.

He drains the water and watches the red-brown liquid swirl down the drain. Lifting his white shirt, he sees that the stain is still there. With a clenched jaw, he throws the heavy cloth against the wall, creating a loud smack.

The kill should have calmed him down. He should be feeling much better, but he doesn’t. Instead, he feels worse than before because now he has lost a perfectly good shirt and a jacket along with his pride.

With one hand braced against the counter of the kitchen, he takes out the bloodied knife from his pocket. He fumbles to flip it open but cannot due to the temporary paralysis on his fingers from drowning them in the hot water. Bracing the bulk of the item against his side, he forcefully digs into it with his fingertips. It slips and nicks his bare skin on the side.

…...............

You had had to sit down on the floor after your scare from Jungkook slamming the door shut. The unused tweezers had lain beside you for a while before you could pick it back up and return it to its spot. You busied yourself with getting dressed and going out to greet him.

As you throw the long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, you let out a bitter laugh. You were too weak to even do something like inflict pain on yourself. Jungkook’s perfect timing of returning home had stopped you.

You are twisting your damp hair into a bun when you hear a loud yell from the kitchen area.

“Fuck,” Jungkook snarls. It is deeper than it should have been. He had been aware how much force he had been trying to use to snap the knife out. The self-inflicted wound above his hip continues to ooze, mocking him red in his anger.

“Jungkook?!” You run towards him. You turn the corner and see him shirtless in the middle of the kitchen, one hand holding his side with a reddish liquid running between his fingers. “Oh my god! What happened?”

He feels the drape of your wet hair against his chest before anything. You are immediately by his side, putting your hand over his to place pressure on the wound. Not bothering to ask why he is standing without a shirt, you look up at him concerned.

“My hands slipped while I was trying to take out the knife,” he explains to you.

Again without questions, you lead him to the couch and order him to sit down. He obeys and you leave momentarily to get the first aid kit. When you return, you start to dress his wound. Everything is starting to resolve until Jungkook suddenly chuckles, wincing when it causes his wound to slightly tear.

“Jeon Jungkook!” You reprimand.

He grips the couch while you pour medical alcohol over it. “How ironic,” he says, voice laced with fatigue.

You had thought your heart had fallen out of your chest when you found him bleeding. All the worst possible scenarios had suddenly flown across your mind, and you thought that you were going to watch him die before you.

Not again, your heart has screamed before you could stop it.

Even now, as you were faced before the relatively small but deep wound, you could not stop the racing sensation you felt both mentally and physically.

“What are you talking about?” you say.

He hears the tremble in your voice. How strange.

Lilacs. That is what he is smelling from your shampoo.

“I’m usually the one to patch you up when you’re hurt. Now it’s the other way around,” he sighs.

“You haven’t even begun to explain what you were doing, trying to take out a knife while standing shirtless in our kitchen.”

“Our…” he laughs again.

You had fully been meaning to smack him for making it harder for you to clean the wound until it registers in your mind what he had said. What you let slip.

“You said ‘our kitchen’. I thought I was only a tenant here,” he says.

“Well you’ve… I mean… Y-You are…” you stutter.

Jungkook rests his head back, feeling an extreme form of tiredness on his body. Everything that had happened that day comes crashing down, knocking his breath out completely. It is as if somebody had thrown consecutive punches and he is now feeling its after effects. His stalker, the random kill, this self-inflicted wound.

You mumble something.

“What was that?” He is knocked out of his thoughts. He looks down at the top of your head. The wound has been covered but your fingers linger on his body, and he feels their coldness on his heated skin.

You mumble again.

He is tired, but you have been kind enough to help him with any questions. He can at least humour this by being patient towards you.

You don’t know what has come over you. You hadn’t meant to say it, but Jungkook’s words had flustered you. You let a single word slip out and it had acted like a key to unlock the next ones that tumble out.

“I like…” you whisper, your voice still buried beneath the veil your hair creates. You don’t even know if you truly mean what you are about to say.

You feel his fingers slip beneath your chin and tilt your head up to him. He stares at you with an unwavering type of patience and attention.

“It won’t help if you keep whispering what it is you want me to hear to my chest. Talk to me like this,” he says slowly, holding your eyes with his. There is an intense fire blazing when you meet them.

Your palms prick as they start to sweat. You gulp and wet your lips.

“I like you!” you blurt, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks immediately after, “I know it doesn’t make sense but – ”

He silences you with his lips.

...................

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 (open): @yoonchrisgull

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