#unwelcome visitors are trespassers

[stupidlittlespirit]

Claustrophobia

Rating: NSFW, mdni Type: Longform, smut Tags: Trapped in a closet, Dubious consent, premature ejaculation, dry humping, fingering, no pronouns but female body described, slight gaslighting, Reigen being a disgusting pervert, female body described and skirt/stockings but no pronouns. Word count: 9,140 (sorry it's so long) My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

Reader and Reigen get locked in a closet during a job gone wrong, and Reigen doesn't know how to behave. (inspired loosely by @vasiktomis's fic)

Reigen isn’t in the habit of taking solo jobs he can't handle alone. Not anymore, anyway,

He's learned that, quite understandably, no one can be reasonably expected to just drop what they’re doing to serve his whim when he finds himself facing a threat bigger than the boots that he places himself in sometimes. Nowadays, he sticks to what he knows and picks the work that's least likely to result in an untimely death. Without any psychic abilities of his own, Reigen tends to go for the less spiritually-inclined call outs.

When he'd taken this job, he had assumed it to be one of those times.

The client, Kawasaki, had bemoaned a supposed ghostly presence lingering in a rundown property of his, causing damage and defacing the place, and stopping him from renovating the house for new tenants. As loath as Reigen had been to help a landlord, the price of the job had been decent enough to convince him otherwise and so he had taken it on.

Kawasaki’s description during his consultation had sounded like nothing more than squatters or trespassing teenagers looking for somewhere quiet to make out. Serizawa had agreed; broken locks, leftover beer cans and abandoned trash aren’t common signs of spirits and so Reigen had thought little of attending without any psychic backup. If he can manage without Mob or Serizawa, he will. They’re both busy enough, it wouldn’t do to drag them away from their studies or their friends for no reason. Besides, Reigen is confident enough in his own ability to handle things, for better or worse.

Still, he isn’t dense enough to wander into an abandoned den filled with potentially unfriendly squatters and disgusting creepy-crawlies all on his lonesome. Reigen can be stupid, but he’s not dumb. Instead, he had requested (see: demanded) the help of the only other person in the office he knows rarely has anywhere else to be: You.

He’s well aware that you don’t have much going on outside of working hours and you’re usually moderately willing to stretch your legs a bit when the day has been slow. A person can only stand to look at paperwork for so many hours a day, he supposes.

When you’d asked why, exactly, he needed you of all people to join him, Reigen had been blunt: “I’d rather not get stabbed over a property dispute, if that’s alright with you. Plus, I need someone to keep an eye out for roaches.”

According to his expert assessment, the work would be simple: Get in, sweet talk the people inside into moving along, and collect the fee.

Except, as is often the case, nothing Reigen ever does is simple.

When the two of you arrive, the building is empty. There isn’t a single sign of life nor death inside the entire house and he isn't really that surprised. The place is absolutely rotten. Dirty wallpaper peels from place, the once rich-looking wooden fixtures are soft and stained a gross green colour, their usual glossy surfaces dull and sickly, and the interior is so degraded that he's not sure how the landlord intends to salvage the place, regardless of damage done by potential unwelcome visitors.

Sleeping on the street would be preferable to staying here.

“So much for squatters,” he hears you mutter, the beam of your flashlight swinging around the room. It skims from tattered floorboards to broken down shelving, circuiting the room as you turn on the spot in search of the client’s woes.

“Maybe they left,” Reigen says, peering into a side room. “Makes our job easier anyway.”

“I wouldn’t hang around here, I know that much,” you sigh.

“Why?” Reigen smirks. “Not scared, are you?” He can never pass up on an opportunity to provoke you. You’re always a breeze to wind up and Reigen would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching your hackles rise. He’s proficient in the art of being a dick, especially when it comes to you.

You roll your eyes at his attempt. “You wish. We should check upstairs at least, just to be sure.”

Reigen agrees, though in his ever chivalrous nature, he invites you to be the first one to brave the weak looking staircase. Each step you take up the rickety stairs is cautious, ensuring you won’t fall straight through the rotted wood and accidentally impale yourself on an exposed nail, and Reigen follows your footsteps perfectly.

It’s even darker up here. The windows are shuttered, boarded up tight beyond a few ripped out panels, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone hiding in the rooms; they’re equally as dilapidated as the ones downstairs. There are remnants of life in the house, though, besides the leftover trash: discarded boxes filled with long-abandoned books and menial belongings, old furniture and forgotten blankets, but they all appear to be as old as the home.

They’re covered in grime and clearly haven’t been touched much. The squatter theory looks weak without fresh signs of habitation, but there’s always the chance people are breaking in to snoop around.

Dust particles catch in the light beams of your torches as he takes you deeper inside, glittering and wispy, passing through the air like tiny little fairies uprooted from their hiding spots. Reigen swallows a sneeze and turns away from you, covering his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

Dimly, he supposes he should have gotten masks for you both; the last thing he wants is a health and safety insurance claim on his hands if you inhale something gross. “If you see any asbestos, keep your distance,” he warns. “I’m not paying your hospital bill.”

“Thanks,” you reply, tone so dry it’s practically parched. “What does it look like?”

“No idea,” says Reigen, shrugging. “But don’t breathe it in.”

“Asshole.” He can almost hear you roll your eyes and he bites down on a grin.

The air is much cooler upstairs, icy enough to permeate Reigen’s suit and he suppresses a shiver as you follow his lead down a long hallway.

Despite his confidence in the office that the presence of a spirit here would be unlikely, he can’t help but feel nervous. Downstairs had been gross, but upstairs feels decidedly…. Unwelcoming in comparison. Like something is waiting for you both, hidden in the darkness and waiting to strike.

He knows it’s probably his imagination. This isn’t his first rodeo and usually a spirit makes itself known the moment he pokes around a bit. You’re just paranoid, Reigen thinks to himself, get a grip.

Your voice breaks through the silent air: “Can you feel that?” You whisper, coming up close behind him.

Anxiety rolls off of you in waves and Reigen can sense how tense you are even at a distance. He really ought to be a decent boss and offer some reassurance to the least experienced member of his team. You’re not usually the one who’s dragged into spooky places like this with little to no preparation; your expertise extends to paperwork and filing cabinets, and with no Esper abilities to speak of you’re completely exposed to danger. Reigen is too, he supposes, but he’s used to charging into unfriendly dens of danger without much care for his wellbeing.

He should be considerate and give you some warm words of comfort, offer to protect you if all hell breaks loose, yet he knows you’re not the type to cling to him like a frightened fawn and he’d only insult you if he suggested anything of the sort. Instead, he decides he’ll break the tension in a way that only he knows how.

He pauses at your front and you almost walk into the back of him, too busy looking behind you to pay attention. Reigen puts a hand out to keep you steady. “What do you mean?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I’m not sure,” you say, flicking your flashlight around in the darkness. “The air…. It feels heavy, don’t you think?”

Reigen hums and comes to stand behind you, swapping places and standing close enough that his chest bumps your back. “Actually, now that you mention it….”

Without a word, he reaches past you and motions for you to raise the flashlight a little, and you do as you’re asked, pointing it towards an empty room just off of the corridor. The beam is too weak to fully penetrate the darkness as you point it inside however, and the light barely makes a difference.

“What is it?” You whisper, craning your head around to see if you can spot whatever has caught his attention. The light is swallowed by the black expanse and it makes it seem as though the building is ten times as big as the distance you’ve just walked.

Reigen doesn’t answer your question.

The silence is deafening.

Reigen is so close to you that he can see the hairs rise on your arms in his own torchlight and he’s quite pleased when you lean away from where you’re pointing the light, pressing back against him unconsciously in order to distance yourself from whatever might lurk in the shadows. You might not be the sort of person that needs protecting, but he can’t deny that something stirs inside himself at the thought of you seeking him out for support anyway.

Nothing moves in the dark.

No one speaks a word.

It’s the most perfect set-up Reigen could imagine.

“Boo!”

His hands grab at your sides as he shouts right down your ear, as loud as he can manage. The scream you let loose is close to inhuman and in a pure panic, you lurch away from the source, scrambling aside until your shoulder collides hard against the wall. You swing your torch out violently in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from the unseen threat and Reigen dodges the heavy lump of metal, laughing his head off at his wonderfully successful prank.

The watery light lands on his doubled over form, collapsed against the opposing wall in a fit of ugly giggles, his body shaking with the force of it. He cackles at the terrified sight of you, hands still outstretched from where he’d seized your waist. “Your face!” Reigen gasps, struggling to breathe through his fits. “Man, you’re too easy!”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re very admirably restraining yourself from throwing the torch at his head. You look like you’ve had the fear of God put in you, face paling and eyes wide, clutching at the ruined walls like a cartoon cat on the ceiling. The big grin that splits Reigen’s smug face suggests he’s overjoyed that he’s gotten such a reaction from you; he always is.

Furious, you lash out with one foot to kick at his shin. “Fuck off!” you hiss, breathless with fright. “Fucking asshole!”

Still laughing, Reigen nimbly avoids your attempted assault again. He looks far too pleased with himself and as soon as you can breathe again, you flounce off down the hallway and make your way back towards the staircase, leaving him pitched against the doorframe whilst he tries to get his breath back.

The darkness clearly doesn’t seem as frightening to you now that it’s clear the biggest threat in here is your jerk of a boss and you stride back the way you came, ignoring Reigen’s half-hearted shouts for you to wait. He won’t let you get too far without him. Although the house is empty, it’s still run down and dodgy as fuck. The last thing he wants is for you to be so angry with him that you fall down the stairs or cut yourself escaping his mean spirited jokes.

“Wait a second!” Reigen shouts, still struggling to sound completely serious. He scrambles after you, following the sound of your heavy footsteps as you stomp back the way you’d come.

“It’s not funny,” you snap over your shoulder. “Get lost. You can go-!” Your sentences halts halfway through, cut off almost comically, and Reigen is mildly disappointed that you’re not throwing rabid insults his way.

“C’mon,” Reigen cajoles, pushing his luck as he rounds the corner to the landing. “Don’t be like that, I thought you could take a joke!” He’s still got a stupid grin on his face as he comes closer and he takes a breath to say something else when abruptly he realises you’re standing stock still in place.

You look even more terrified than you had moments earlier and briefly, Reigen worries he might have caused permanent trauma “What is it?” Reigen asks, suddenly sounding a lot less jovial. “I didn’t scare you that badly, did I?”

At the foot of the staircase, the floorboards squeak and a foreign voice speaks aloud into the damp air: “I thought it was funny.”

He freezes mid-step, one foot suspended in the air. The voice doesn’t belong to anyone he recognises and judging by the look on your face, it doesn’t belong to anyone you know either. A cold and unpleasant sensation slides down the back of his neck, like a fat droplet of ice water trickling along his skin. The heavy, dense atmosphere is back, even worse than it had been when you’d first come up here.

Cautiously, like he’s afraid the room might explode, Reigen edges toward where you’re standing. You don’t look at him at all, eyes fixed on whatever has spoken at the foot of the staircase, and it makes Reigen’s blood run cold again. Very slowly, he ekes his flashlight up from where it points at the floor to join yours and shines it’s weak beam towards the source of the sound. It illuminates the bottom most stair and as he raises it higher and higher, the form of an impossibly black figure reveals itself.

It’s vaguely human shaped, except the limbs are longer than they should be and they’re bent at uncomfortable angles, like it’s stuffed into the space it crouches in. The thing is big enough that it takes up the entire doorway at the foot of the stairs and it seems to almost absorb the light of the torch, watching the two of you closely with a featureless face. No, not quite totally featureless. Rather than have eyes or a nose, or any other defining characteristic, It has a big, horrible smile, made up of crooked teeth that peek out from behind non-existent lips.

Reigen hears your breathing hitch in fear and this time, his responsible boss attitude does take over. He curls a hand around your wrist and inches in front of you, sheltering your body with his. The spirit is big. Bigger than the usual ones he faces off against. With only a bag of salt in his pocket and a hopeful prayer in his heart, Reigen knows he’s limited in options on how to deal with this. There’s no Mob and no Serizawa to back him up. He’s on his own for this one and he really doesn’t want to give you the impression that he can’t handle things by himself.

Maybe he can use the only trusty weapon he has in his arsenal: His mouth. Reigen holds his free hand up in an innocent gesture. “Sorry,” he says, plastering on a fake smile. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. We were just, uh, exploring….”

The spirit makes a sound of disgust, like two rusty metal sheets rubbing together, and it begins to crawl up the stairs, inch by inch. “Exploring each other, more like. Why is it always my house you kids come to fuck in?”

Reigen chokes on his tongue, his face burning. “Hey, come on, it’s not like that!”

“Of course you are, you’re all the same.” The spirit’s mouth draws back into an impossibly wider grin. “Why can’t you just get handsy in the car like everyone else?”

“Fuck off,” you snap, though your voice is weak. “No one’s coming to this shit hole to have sex.”

The spirit’s grin turns downward into a furious scowl and Reigen barely predicts what’s about to happen in enough time to yank you away from harm. The grotesque creature launches itself upward, its long limbs allowing it the capacity to make short work of the remaining stairs, and it lunges straight for the both of you with a snarling shout of indignance at your insult of its home.

Reigen manages a shout of warning before he yanks you aside, grabbing your hand in a bruising grip, and he pulls you out of the thing’s path with all the strength he can muster. You have the good sense to let him manhandle you across the landing, abandoning your torch in favour of hanging onto him, and you stagger alongside towards the hallway again.

The creature crashes against the wall at the top of the stairs, the force of its strike knocking over the old furniture that’s been discarded there to grow mouldy and old. The wood crunches horribly on impact and Reigen is always impressed by the way spirits, for such non-corporeal beings, manage incredible ways of destroying their far more material environments with ease. Right now, however, he’d rather not go the same way as that chest of drawers. He doesn’t plan on dying in a place like this and there’s no way he’s about to let you meet a grisly end either. He’s far too fond of you for that.

The spirit has the stairs cornered, which leaves little else in the way of an escape route. Reigen has no choice but to take you deeper into the house and hope to lead the thing around in a circle to free up the stairway. Barrelling down the corridor, Reigen is running blind. He realises he must have dropped his flashlight in the chaos, too, because everything in the house is so incredibly dark that he feels like there’s a bag over his head. It’s almost impossible for him to see where he’s going, there’s no way he’ll be able to get his bearings well enough to loop the property like this.

That is, until a sliver of light from another room catches his eye. Reigen pivots on his heel at breakneck speed and heaves you sideways with him through the open doorway, ever the nimble little weasel. He slams the door shut behind you and scans the room for a hiding place, breathing hard and keeping a tight, sweaty hold of your hand.

“What do we do?!” You gasp, out of breath from both the running and the fear. “We can’t get out, what do we-!”

“In there!” Reigen points across the dim room. On the far side past a broken down bed and several piles of boxes and filthy duvets, there’s a slim little closet. It’s the only thing in here that seems to still be whole and mercifully preserved from the rot that’s infected the rest of the building. It’s the best bet either of you will have at staying hidden.

Reigen doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he lugs you towards it and wrenches open the doors, tumbling inside. Reigen’s back hits the wall as he flattens himself against the interior, his body folding awkwardly in order to fit into the cramped, tight space, and he hauls you in after him. You’re all elbows and knees as you land on him, scrabbling for purchase in a panic, and your body shoves at his while you try and find your balance in the darkness.

He pushes you against the opposing side, his hands clutching your waist to stop you from wobbling and falling right back out into the open, and his legs tangle up between both of yours. By some stroke of good fortune, you have the presence of mind to snatch the doors shut after yourself. They close with a mercifully quiet click! and then it’s just the two of you, panting hard and fast into the dimness as you listen for signs of your undead pursuer.

Several somethings clatter around in the hallway, followed by the sound of breaking glass and a frustrated growl, and Reigen strains to hear if the sounds are moving any closer to the bedroom you’re sheltering in.

After a few long moments, however, nothing comes.

Reigen breathes a silent sigh of relief and then feels you shift in place. You’re virtually painted onto his front, your chest squashed against his own and your face not even half an inch away from his. It dawns on him that this is quite the intimate position to be in with a person he’s supposed to be in charge of, and he feels the cool sweat of adrenaline turn into lukewarm awkwardness.

You tilt your head a fraction to give yourself a bit of room to speak and your lips brush up against his cheek. “What were you thinking?!” you scold him in barely a whisper.

“Huh?” Reigen murmurs back, trying to ignore the sensation.

“We’re sitting ducks in here,” you breathe. “If that fucking thing finds us, we’re dead!”

He hadn’t really considered that. The closet is tiny and dark, only a tiny filtering of pale light from a broken window board across the room reaches through the thin slats sitting just above your heads. It smells like dank old oak and probably a few different cultures of microorganisms. The only thing there’s room for in here is mould and dust. Neither he nor you will be able to escape if the spirit figures out where you’re hiding.

“Just shut up,” Reigen mutters, flexing his hands on your waist. “Stay quiet until it gets bored and then we can sneak out.” It’s a weak plan, but it’s all he has right now.

A few rooms over, something crashes against a wall and you flinch against him.

Reigen can feel the warmth of your body seeping into his own through your clothes, your breasts brushing the front of his shirt, your hips locked with his own. Your arms are forced almost around one another, both of you clinging to the other’s sides. Perhaps it’s the excitement of the chase, or maybe the thrill of escaping yet another near-death situation, but Reigen’s blood feels like it’s catching alight. He’s warming up all over, perspiration beading at his temples, and he isn’t quite sure how to stop it. Were he to purse his lips, he might even accidentally kiss you.

Reigen is technically in charge of you. It’s well known in the office that all of you work side-by-side, however on the paperwork side of things, he is legally your superior. He’s supposed to uphold a certain air of respectability around his colleagues yet when it comes to you, he finds that responsibility getting more difficult by the day. You argue back and forth with him, always ready to challenge his overpowering confidence when it starts to get out of hand, and he can tell you enjoy the verbal sparring as much as he does.

There’s something unsaid between you both, something heavy that’s only been building over time, but Reigen is too afraid to drop his façade of being The Boss Of You to investigate it further in case he’s read the entire situation wrong. If you were to refuse him, to laugh in his face, he'd never live it down. He couldn't handle such a dent in his ego and he'd rather die than admit it aloud.

He does his best to hide it when he chances little looks at you and so far he’s only been caught out on his less-than-professional observations once, by Ekubo. Horrible little fiend that the ghost is, he’d caught Reigen sneaking a peek at your ass as you’d cleaned a cupboard in the staffroom, chatting away to him and none the wiser of his perverseness; you’d been on your hands and knees, half disappeared into the space under the sink, and Reigen had seized the opportunity to drink in a spectacular view of you from behind.

Your skirt had risen ever so slightly too high, revealing the top of your stockings and the thin sliver of the clips that held the fabric in place, and Reigen had lurked silently in the doorway, watching closely and committing the sight to memory.

Until, of course, Ekubo had materialised out of thin air, as he is so often wont to do, grinning lasciviously, and scared the shit out of Reigen so badly that he’d almost tumbled backwards out of the room. Despite the rude interruption, he’s never forgotten the sight.

Reigen knows it's wrong, that it's fucked up that he'd view a staff member, a friend, like that, and yet he's never had the willpower to put a stop to it. Images of you in raunchy positions just like on that day have haunted his mind on late, lonely nights whilst his hand has wandered into the waistband of his underwear of its own accord.

He’s fully aware that he shouldn’t be jerking himself off every night thinking of you stuck under the sink, unable to get away from his curious hands, but he can’t ever feel guilty enough to think of anything else.

Right now, he wishes he'd at least tried. The memories of those imagined scenarios are stirred up by your closeness and he thinks, distantly, that if he'd tried to be a good person for once and made an effort to ignore them then he might not be struggling as much as he is currently. He’s never intended for you to find out about his fantasies and getting caught short like this is probably not going to go down well. He needs to stop thinking about all of this before it gets out of hand.

The sound of floorboards groaning out in the hallway outside makes you startle and you squirm between his legs, straining to look through the slats of the door. One of your thighs rubs up into his crotch, sleek material gliding against his suit, and he’s reminded that you’re wearing another skirt today; the smoothness of your legs means you’re more than likely in stockings again and the memory rears its head. Reigen grunts softly, gritting his teeth. “Stop it,” he grinds out quietly. “Quit moving.”

Much to his distress, you don't. Rather than obey his command, you use his body to push yourself further up to peek out of the slats and Reigen is forced to tighten his hold around your middle, dragging you back down. If you won't stop, he's going to have to make you. He digs his fingers into your side, bunching them up in the fabric of your shirt and pulling it downward to still you.

“Let go of me, you idiot,” you hiss, attempting to pry off his grip and straighten up. “I can't see!”

Reigen is sure you don’t intend to do it but the motion of your movement forces your hips to rock forward into his and he bites down on his lip so hard that he thinks he's drawn blood. He attempts to move away again, only to bump his knees against the wall under you. Reigen sucks in a sharp breath, ready to snap at you again to force you to back off, until the door to the room you're in bursts open like a group of police officers exercising a warrant. It slams against the wall loudly, the whole thing vibrating with the force. Nose to nose with him, you share a look of panic.

Something lets out a rattle of breath outside.

Reigen leans his head aside to press his mouth against your ear. “Don’t fucking move,” he says, barely audible, and he does his best not to notice the way you tilt your own head to let him fit in closer. His breath is hot against your skin and if he isn’t mistaken, you might even shiver a little.

The creature outside prowls into the bedroom, grunting and growling to itself as it searches between littered furniture for the two stowaways. Its nails scrape on the floorboards, the sound getting louder and louder until it pauses, right outside the closet. There’s a chittering noise that reverberates in Reigen’s chest and just beyond the wood, barely a hands-width away from your heads, the spirit sniffs up and down the seam of the closet. It sounds like there’s something wet caught in its throat, each draw of breath a phlegm filled rattle, and it scratches its claws on the door, seeking out any living forms within.

The spirit smells foul. Its scent is somewhere between death and rancid meat, and Reigen swallows against the saliva that rises and swims in his mouth, trying not to gag. The freezing air on its dead breath ruffles the hair at the tops of your heads and washes you both with the scent.

A swaying cobra, its form moves across the light that filters into the cupboard, turning it murky and dark but not quite removing it entirely, almost as though it’s trying to peer inside despite its lack of eyes. After a few minutes of unbearably intense silence, the spirit seems to give up on sniffing you out. It lashes out at the closet doors with its talons, tearing into the surface of the wood, before turning tail and lurching out of the room to continue its search elsewhere.

The aggressive swipe it takes at the closet makes the whole thing rattle loudly, bouncing the doors inward with force, and you jolt as though you’ve been hit. Instinctively, Reigen turns his head to check that you’re not hurt and at the same time, you turn yourself into him even more, afraid of the thing lurking outside. In the tight space, with barely even enough room to breathe, the motion forces your mouths to slot together. It can hardly be called a kiss; you’re doing little more than exchanging oxygen with one another, yet it’s so close to one that Reigen’s body betrays him almost instantly.

On your breath, he can smell the sugary strawberries you’d eaten on the way over here and again his mind conjures images, unbidden, of your lips wrapped around the fruit’s soft flesh as you’d eaten them in the passenger seat of the hire car, of the smile on your face when he handed them over; a bribe from a stopover at a gas station to stop your complaints about the long drive and an entirely selfish gesture on his part, purely for the reward of your attention (and perhaps, too, for the guilty pleasure of watching you lick your fingers clean when you’d finished).

The thought reignites the heat in his body and almost instantly, all of the blood in his brain sinks to his crotch. Reigen gets hard so quickly that he almost passes out. He isn’t sure where he finds the resolve, but somehow he manages to hold back the tiny little groan that threatens to spill from his throat, instead breathing in sharply through his nose at the sensation. Reigen’s eyes flutter shut momentarily, both in pleasure and in anticipatory fear of the look on your face.

He knows you must have noticed; his suit fabric is cheap and thin, barely a barrier to hide behind, and with your own legs exposed by your skirt there’s no way you could miss it. The weak light allows him to make out that you glance down and then back up to him.

Embarrassment burns on his face.

“It’s my cell phone,” Reigen lies without hesitation, defending his pride before you can even begin to question it. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He knows better than to throw out an insult to protect his own decency, however he’s starting to panic a little more than a seasoned sleuth should be and it has nothing to do with a ghostly presence.

You clear your throat softly and nod, looking away. The smirk on your face only makes his cheeks burn more; you’ll never let this go if he doesn’t act fast and distract you. “Look, we need to make a run for it while we still have the chance,” Reigen says quietly, trying to will away his arousal as best he can. “We open the doors and sneak back to the stairs. Don’t say a word and follow my lead, got it?” He’s being stricter than he usually is, partially to conceal his humiliation and partially because he needs to put his mind to something that doesn’t involve his dick.

“Sure thing, boss,” you whisper back, and Reigen can hear the amusement in your tone. He chooses to ignore it. When you get back to the office though, he’s going to make you clean that damn sink again in penance and he won’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for watching you do it. Maybe this time, he’ll even take a picture for his private collection….

Lower down in the closet, the light is completely swallowed again by darkness and Reigen has to blindly take one hand off of your waist to slide it along the door until his fingers bump against the knob. He takes hold of it and twists, attempting to push the door outward slowly. Except, the door doesn’t move. It doesn’t even budge. Confused, Reigen twists the metal further in case he hasn’t moved it around far enough and tries again. Still, nothing happens.

“What are you waiting for?” you say, frustrated.

“It won’t open,” Reigen grunts, rattling the doorknob as hard as he dares. He can’t afford to make too much noise and draw the spirit back towards you both, but he can’t risk losing the chance to run for it, either.

“Please tell me you’re fucking kidding,” you say in a strained whisper. “Reigen, stop messing aroun-”

“I’m not!” Reigen growls, jiggling it again. “I can’t get it- it won’t open!” He applies a little more pressure, wrenching it back and forth a few more times until, after one particularly frustrated yank, there’s a sickening crunch of dead wood and more light pools into the closet via a new, small hole.

He’s ripped the entire thing off.

“Oh,” says Reigen quietly.

You stare at him in utter disbelief.

“This place is falling apart,” Reigen says, immediately protective of his screw up. “It isn’t my fault-”

“You pulled the fucking handle off, Reigen!” Your voice rises momentarily before you wrestle it back under control at Reigen’s rather brusque shhh! “You pulled it off,” you repeat, far quieter this time but still distressed. “We’ll be trapped in here for hours, you idiot!”

You’re right. The only two people who know you’re both here are Mob and Serizawa. Mob is busy with friends and it’ll take Serizawa a little while to catch on that something is wrong. The job is about forty minutes from the office; allowing for travel and the time it takes to complete the work, Reigen can safely estimate that it’ll be a while before your absence is questioned. That means he’s going to be stuck in this stupid little closet, half hard and totally distracted, with you glued to him for a long time.

He tips his head back against the closet wall and sighs, closing his eyes as he tries to wrack his brain for potential options.

Reigen wonders if he should just try throwing himself at the door and facing off with a hungry spirit. It might be more preferable than his current situation, at least.

It’s uncharacteristic of you to be so mute when Reigen fucks up, and after a few minutes of miserable silence he opens his eyes again to check that you’re still there. You are, of course, but there’s a look on your face that Reigen rarely sees you wear. Despite the shitty light, he can just about make out that your eyes are becoming wide, gaze darting around the closet, and he can feel your chest beginning to rise and fall far quicker than normal, just like it had when he’d made you jump. Your breath is coming in fast, short pants and your hands grasp at the front of his shirt.

You’re starting to panic.

Abruptly, Reigen remembers you confiding in him a while ago whilst the two of you had watched some terrible horror movie together, lounging around in his apartment one evening, about how much you disliked the thought of being trapped.

The protagonist had been buried alive and you’d barely been able to finish the rest of the movie, too caught up in the anxiety of the scenario to remember how unlikely it would be for a similar fate to befall you. You’d clutched his arm so tightly that he’d found a small bruise the next morning in the shower and he can still recall how excited he had felt to have a souvenir of your presence….

Focus! Reigen warns himself, straightening up as best he can to force himself back into the moment. Now isn’t the time!

He squeezes your waist gently, a reassuring reminder that he’s right here with you. “Calm down, I’ve got it all under control,” Reigen lies through his teeth, slipping back into his false bluster the moment he knows he’s fucking things up. “We can wait until the spirit goes back to sleep and then-”

“Spirits don’t sleep!” You snap. “I’m not waiting-”

“They totally do!” Reigen replies, annoyed that you’re questioning his ever profound knowledge. “Look, I’m the professional here, you don’t even come out on jobs so why don’t you just-”

“You got us stuck in here in the first place, mister professional,” you say angrily. Both of your voices are stage whispers now, caught between concealing your presence and yelling at one another. “There has to be a safety release in here!” Your body twists viciously as you squirm around, hands flitting across the inside of the closet in an urgent attempt to free yourself from its confines.

Somehow, despite the tiny space, the ferocity of your search manages to turn you around until your back is flat against his chest instead, your body ramming his.

Reigen is torn between biting his own tongue off in frustration at the feeling of you writhing against him and yanking you closer to seek more contact. He drops the doorknob onto his foot, praying the sound will be muffled enough that it won’t draw attention and freeing up his other hand to grab a hold of you before anything more mortifying occurs. He needs to distract you, for his sake and yours.

“Hey, stop!” He attempts to prevent you from going any further, wrapping his arms around your waist and anchoring you down. “Easy, just stay still-”

“Get off of me!” you snap, tilting your head toward him and wriggling against his grip even harder. With every move, your ass bounces off of his lap and Reigen prays to whatever god is listening that he doesn’t make any more of a fool of himself than he already has today. The sensation is sinful, like he’s fucking you with your clothes on, and Reigen isn’t sure that he can hold out like this.

“Wait,” you pant, halting your search in the darkness to reach behind yourself for his slacks’ pocket. “Your cell phone, you said you brought it in, right?” You slide your hand down behind your back, right past his midriff, and grope around for the lifeline, palming at whatever you can reach. “Call Serizawa, he can exorcise that thing and let us out!”

Those gods must be laughing at him.

Abruptly, Reigen lurches his body aside, feebly trying to avoid your intrusive touch and acutely aware that his lie is about to be found out. “Stop,” he begs you softly, starting to panic himself. “Please. You gotta stop touching me or I’m gonna-” He drops his hands from your waist to grab yours where they rest, halfway into his pockets and you wrestle with him for a second to try and move him away. Reigen swears under his breath.

The proximity and your wriggling make a horrible, delicious concoction and his body reacts accordingly: Reigen is hard again. He can’t fight it anymore, not with your hands so close to his cock and your breath so hot against his cheek.

What happens next is a complete accident, an automatic move he makes before his brain catches up: Hands clamping down around your waist, Reigen purposefully rolls his hips into the soft curve of your ass, hard enough to gain the exact, exquisite friction that he’s been denying himself the entire time he’s been in here with you. Everything occurs so fast that he just about has time to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle a pathetic little sob as he cums, hard, in his pants. He squeezes his eyes shut, stars blooming behind his eyelids, and pants desperately as he tries to catch his breath.

At his front, you’ve gone very still.

For a few minutes, no one speaks. Only Reigen’s ragged breathing and the sounds of birds somewhere way off beyond the confines of the house fill the silence, until you finally find your voice again: "Seriously?”

Reigen isn’t a stranger to making an idiot of himself, but this is definitely a new low for him. He knows how much trouble he’s going to be in when the two of you get out of here and he can practically smell the oncoming harassment lawsuit wafting through the stale air. Although, maybe that’s just the scent of his sweaty embarrassment….

Ever keen to save face though, Reigen does his best to play stupid. “What?” He asks, voice frayed at the edges.

“Did you just blow your fucking load-”

“Absolutely not-!”

“My ass is wet, Reigen,” you hiss. “I can feel it through my skirt!”

The thin material around the front of his slacks is soaked through, he knows you can. “No, it isn’t,” he scoffs, denying it without hesitation. “You’re imagining things.”

“Liar.” You tilt your hips back minutely, just enough to rub up on his spent erection, and Reigen breathes in sharply. “I didn’t realise you were so into ghouls and near death experiences,” you whisper, sounding amused in spite of your annoyance.

“It’s not a ghoul,” Reigen corrects automatically, mouth moving independently of his brain. He swallows thickly and shifts in place. “And even if something like that did happen,” he says, trying to sound dismissive. “It’s because you won’t stop moving, it’s only natural.”

“That’s… A pathetic excuse,” you admonish, head tipped back toward him. “Even for you.” Your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, however in such close quarters, the motion effectively wets the corner of his, too. Hot spit brushes against his lip and Reigen’s mouth parts almost of its own accord, an automatic reaction to the stimulus. The angle is awkward but your mouths slide together, the slickness of the skin unbelievably arousing.

“S’not an excuse, it’s your fault.” Reigen protests weakly, lips catching against your own as you nudge your nose along his cheek. He knows he should really apologise for his indecency, that he should try to find a way out of this situation as quickly as possible, and yet…. That heavy, unspoken feeling that so often follows him around when he’s with you is filling up the interior of the closet like thick cotton wool. Your words are sharp and stinging, but you don’t seem to be as disgusted as you sound. It makes his head swim and his legs feel weak, and in some kind of unfortunate miracle, Reigen can feel his cock stir with interest again already.

“You’re really blaming it all on me? You’re the one who dragged me along to this and you’re the one who got us locked in this closet.” You laugh quietly under your breath at him, disbelieving and more than a little entertained. “God, you’re insufferable.” You press backward again and Reigen chokes back a whimper.

“I told you to stop-”

“Stop what, boss?” you ask, feigning innocence, and fuck does he hate how much you’re able to get under his skin. No one else toys with him like this, teases him. No one else dares to question his leadership or to wind him up until he explodes. No one else except you.

Reigen grits his teeth so hard he swears he feels them creak under the pressure. “If you don’t quit moving around like that, I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do next,” he grinds out. He knows you’re provoking him on purpose and he shouldn’t fall for it so easily, but he’s powerless like this and if there’s one thing Reigen hates; it’s feeling fucking powerless.

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” You ask, words heavy with ridicule. “Cum in your pants again?”

Reigen has had enough of your attitude.

“Fine,” he snaps. “You want to play dirty? Let’s see how you like it.” He’s been aching to touch you for so long; if this is the only chance he’s going to get, he’ll take it. Reigen isn’t one to watch opportunities pass him by. He wants to grope and grab and feel his way all over you, and he just doesn’t have the willpower in himself to resist it anymore, especially when you’re winding him up like this.

Reigen’s hands drop from where they hold your waist, inching to your hips and down to grope at your ass. It’s just like every wet dream he’s ever had about you; you’re stuck with nowhere to go, at his mercy as he touches and grabs whatever he can reach.

You breathe in sharply at his touch and your back arches, silently seeking his attention. “That’s so inappropriate,” you whisper, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. You don’t mean a word you’re saying. “I should report you.”

“Oh yeah? So do it,” he challenges, pawing at the curve of your backside greedily. “I’m sure they’d love to hear all about how you started it.” It feels like a dam has broken inside him, a flood that he’s held at bay for so long that it’s too overpowering to put a stop to now that it’s begun to overflow, and without your outright refusal, Reigen feels justified in his act. His hips rock forward again and he shudders, his own arousal not forgotten.

At his front, you snicker to yourself at his neediness to chase the feeling and he feels one of your arms snake upward to loop around his neck, your hand clutching at the back of his hair. The action prickles goosebumps along his skin.

“Fuck,” Reigen gasps as he moves, words tumbling out in soft pants. “You couldn’t just stay still, could you? Moving your ass like that, in your stupid fucking skirt and your stupid fucking stockings.” As his hips roll into you, his fingers travel to your skirt to find the tops of said lingerie and he runs his touch up the nearest strap of your garter belt.

You make a soft sound of surprise. “Stockings? How do you know I wear stock-”

Reigen pings the elastic, cutting off your words and making you gasp at the sensation, your fingers tugging at the strands of his hair. Reigen smirks, pleased to finally get the upper hand even if only for a moment. “I’ve seen them before, in the office- drives me fuckin’ crazy, ” he pants into your parted mouth. “Every time you bend over, your skirt is too short.”

“It is? I had no idea….” You pout, lower lip touching his. The words are faker than Reigen’s confidence and it makes him grin.

“I knew it,” he says, ego emboldened. “Tease.”

“Pervert,” you fire back with a smirk, legs opening a little wider as his curious hand trails up from the band of the lingerie toward your inner thigh.

“D’you wear them every day?”

“Only when I know we’ll be alone together,” you confess.

Something about your admission turns Reigen on even more. The thought that you’re only wearing them for him, for his attention, is mind blowing. He can imagine you slipping them on in the morning, thinking of him as you study yourself in the mirror before you leave for work. Reigen squeezes your ass again and uses the leverage to his advantage as he continues to work himself against you, head filled with the intimate images.

His fingers slip up your leg until they brush against the crotch of your underwear, the curve of your pussy hidden underneath. Much to his pleasant surprise, he notices that he’s not alone in his needy desire. He can feel that you’re similarly affected by the closeness, enough wetness seeping through the lacey fabric that he suspects you might have been aroused for just as long as he has. “Look at that,” Reigen teases softly, a smug grin spreading on his face. “Acting so high and mighty when you’re just as desperate for it.” He can’t deny the swell of narcissistic pride that rises in his chest; he’s making you wet. You. The object of his obsession, the person he’s only ever dreamt of having like this. It’s his touch that has you keening and sighing, even if you won’t admit it.

You scoff, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Am not-!” Your protests are smothered in favour of a hushed groan as Reigen’s thick finger nudges past your underwear and slides easily up into your cunt, your wetness offering no resistance at all.

“You were saying?” Reigen smirks, slowly inching his finger in and out, bit by bit. You’re so warm and tight around him, hips grinding down, back and forth in time with his motions. Every movement has your ass rubbing on him and Reigen lets out a shaky sigh as he presses up to meet you.

His dick strains against the fabric and silently, he wishes he had the room to free himself and fuck you silly. Now that he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything but the perverted mess that he is, Reigen ruts against your ass like a dog in heat. The enclosed space feels stifling with both of your bodies heating it up, sweat pooling at the back of his collar as he works himself up all over again. He knows he'll look a mess by the time you both manage to escape this place.

You’ve begun to make pretty little sounds against his mouth, hushed moans mixing with his desperate pants as he works his finger inside you and it’s so obscene that Reigen almost finishes on the spot. You’re both making too much noise and at this rate, you’re at risk of getting killed if the spirit returns to find you both doing exactly what it had accused you of breaking in for. Reigen knows he needs to quieten down and find a way to shut you up, too. In the fraction of free space between you, he nuzzles his mouth to yours. Although what you’re engaged in is amorous enough, the gesture is so intimate in comparison that it makes his heart flutter. “Can I kiss you?” Reigen asks, surprisingly timid considering how vigorously he’s fucking your ass.

Debauched as you are, you roll your eyes. “Finally,” you murmur. “He asks.” You sound almost relieved by his request, as though you’ve been hoping he might offer such a thing, and Reigen grins to himself.

When he kisses you, it’s sloppy; messy, unskilled and full of spit. He licks his way into your mouth enthusiastically and sighs at the touch, a trembling breath that whistles through his nose and dampens the skin of your cheek. You grunt at the force but you allow him to continue, coaxing his tongue with your own in an attempt to slow him down. Reigen doesn’t listen. He’s too confident in his own ability to take advice from you and far too excited to calm himself down anymore.

Between your legs, he presses a second finger into you, relishing in your gasp of pleasure. You’re so wet that his palm is quickly becoming slick with your arousal as he pumps his fingers and Reigen relinquishes your mouth with a lewd smack. “Fuck, you’re really into this aren’t you?” He says, bumping noses with you. “So wet and-!” Reigen’s words end in a choked off moan as you let go of his hair and drop your hand to reach behind you, cupping his cock mid-thrust.

You grasp him firmly through his damp slacks and let him grind into your grip. “You’ve got a big mouth, Reigen,” you pant, teasing. “Someone ought to teach you how to use it.”

Your hand is all he needs. Reigen is too greedy to stop himself when he knows his end is near and even if he wanted to, he’s helpless to stop it. He ought to at least try and hold on, to make up for his earlier premature finale and prove that he’s good at this kind of thing so you’ll think he’s somewhat of a decent fuck and maybe even ask for it again, but he just can’t.

A tension builds in his lower stomach, red hot and carnal, and then he’s cumming all over again, spilling into his already-filthy underwear. Reigen shudders violently, seizing you in another clumsy kiss. He almost bangs heads with you as he attempts to cover the pathetic little moans that bubble up out of him by smothering them into your mouth. Reigen’s knees feel weak again and he slumps against the closet wall behind him, breathing hard and totally spent.

You tip back the short distance with him and laugh . “So soon? I was just starting to enjoy myself….”

The back of Reigen’s neck heats up and he curls his fingers. “Sounded like you were enjoying yourself plenty,” he snipes, out of breath but still able to find a sharp-tongued reply.

You choke on a moan and wiggle your ass to encourage him. “I could stand to enjoy myself a little bit more,” you say, cheeky.

Reigen grins. He might be selfish when it comes to his own pleasure, but he won’t leave you high and dry (or wet, as the case may be). “Relax,” he whispers against your ear, cocky now that he can have you at his mercy instead. “We’ve got plenty of time, you said so yourself, right?...”

•••••

In the end, it takes Serizawa three hours to come to your rescue. He exorcises the spirit and frees you both in under five minutes, and when you finally return back to the office, Reigen still has you clean under the sink before he lets you go home for the day.

reader during this fic like

[petrichorium]

BAM: Empty Beds

in which king gojo satoru returns from a diplomatic mission to find his bed empty, and has qualms with it

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 3k reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) tags: kinda hurt/comfort but mostly fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers, gojo picks up the reader, the end is a little bit intense emotionally but not super bad the reader just has intimacy issues and gojo confronts her abt it

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. it’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). he kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. when he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “embrace me, wife.”

“talk to me, husband,” you retort. “your sulking is bad for my health. i was terrified.”

against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “you’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

Someone has slipped into your room.

You’re asleep. You have been for hours, yet Satoru’s borderline paranoid insistence on you learning to defend yourself even while resting have led to a far less deep manner of slumber, and so you’re roused by the simple sound of the door opening and are made aware of this unwelcome visitor the moment they enter.

It’s all you can do to keep still, even out your breath. Your mind conjures thoughts of your guards slaughtered just beyond your door, your maids and your ladies-in-waiting massacred in your vast array of rooms meant to be a sanctuary, your king returning home from his diplomatic trip east to find your own body not even in your shared bed but in the lonely one occupying the queen’s bedchamber, yours in name but so rarely used.

You hear the figure’s footsteps approach you; they sound large, imposing, though you dare not open your eyes until the ornate dagger beneath your pillow is in hand and the possible assassin close enough that it can do you any good.

Your fingers find the heavy hilt, wrap around it securely just as the mattress beneath you dips with the weight of the trespasser. The motions are ingrained in your body from weeks of practice with your husband; you lash out, knife against the intruder’s throat before they can realize you’re not asleep, aiming to slash at the throat—but then you pause, thankful that you’d opened your eyes to see the face of your attacker before you spilled their blood.

“Satoru?”

Hardly an assassin at all, your visitor is your husband, back far earlier than anticipated. He looms over you in silence, one knee braced on your bed against your side, arms hovering where they’d been prepared to embrace you but frozen by the blade you hold against his neck. His damned blindfold remains tied over his eyes preventing you from knowing where they might be focused or what they might reveal of his thoughts.

“Wh—you’re not expected to return until tomorrow evening.” You remove the knife from his neck. Immediately, those hands are on you, tugging your covers away to pull you to him. “You frightened me, I believed you to be an intruder.”

Still no answer. For a moment, you feel him breathe you in, certainly allowing himself to bask in your presence after weeks without. But then, in one swift motion, wielding that stunning strength which has left armies in ruin, he slings you over his shoulder and starts for the door.

“What are you doing?” you shriek, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down!”

It wasn’t as if you thought he’d do it. But you at least expected a response; your king is nothing if not loquacious (and you hardly say so praisingly) yet he remains stubbornly silent even with your struggling form in hand as he passes through your doorway. Your guards stand alert just beyond your door, averting their gaze regretfully as if unwilling to meet your eye. You can hardly blame them, for it isn’t as if one can refuse a king—in fact, considering moments before you’d thought them dead by your assassin, you’re a little relieved to see them alive and well—yet the gesture feels too little too late.

“My king—husband,” you try, breathless, because reminding Satoru that you are bound to him for the rest of your lives never fails to make him preen, “what on earth has gotten into you?”

No avail. Not even so much as an arrogant laugh at stealing his own queen from her bed. You’re insulted at first; even your desperate attempts to free yourself don’t spark any form of response beyond a tightening of his arm around your waist. Insult gives way to concern the longer it goes, as he leaves your bedchamber and all but sprints through the intricate series of rooms which make up the queen’s chambers. The first time he passes by a room you know to be occupied by one of your ladies-in-waiting you decide that your valiant struggles aren’t worth rousing every maid and courtier you’ve allowed to take up residence with you. You’d rather they not see your husband’s indecent displays. This, at least, has occurred so late in the night that even if one were to open their door they’d likely be too groggy to understand what they might witness, and there is so little in the way of light that they might not even be able to see a thing.

At least your newfound resignation allows you to appreciate certain things your previous efforts had made you miss—you’re so enamored by his strength, his agility, and it’s admittedly thrilling that he’s so capable of manipulating your form with such ease. An inappropriate appreciation, certainly, but you’re coming to terms with how inappropriate everything about him is. And if you cannot allow yourself to enjoy how your usurper husband can steal you from your bed then you’re not altogether certain what the point of marrying him would have been.

He turns down the corridor leading to the door that connects to the king’s chambers and it suddenly seems to make sense: he’s bringing you back to his room, to his bed, where he’s insisted upon you spending your nights despite the absurdity of such a thing (not that you mind entirely, not that you aren’t flattered by his unabashed infatuation with you even all these months after you’ve wed). The room in which you’d slept during his absence had been used as more of a dressing room than one for rest, yet it had felt too odd to be sleeping in your king’s room without him present and had moved there after the first night. And you’d expected to be awake for his return, not for him to show up nearly a day early long before sunrise.

The mirrored halls, labyrinthine as your own, are empty; he hasn’t filled them as you have, not yet, though at times he receives visitors you recognize as his fellow conspirators from his coup. To an extent you appreciate the privacy it allows, and he remains so confident in his own abilities that he doesn’t bother excessively with guards. It’s hardly an undeserved confidence, either. His height is so towering that he’s forced to duck beneath the doorframe to his bedroom in order to ensure you don’t hit your head on the top. Once the threshold is crossed it’s as if his whole body breathes a sigh of relief; tense muscles relaxing, grip on you becoming less fervent and more adoring.

Satoru throws you to the bed with little ceremony. He spares a single moment to rip the blindfold from his face and toss it into some unknown corner of the room and then joins you hastily, hands upon you again in an instant, throwing the covers over the pair of you as he tangles his legs with yours, buries his face into your shoulder, and lets out the first noise you’ve heard from him in weeks—a sigh, sweet and self-satisfied, which rumbles in his chest and somehow reassures you.

The way he cradles you is halfway to suffocating, as if he were attempting to burrow into you simply to be closer, and between the silence and the manhandling you think you might have been terrified if not for how gently he carried you. It’s contradictory, certainly, yet despite snatching you from your bed with little regard for your wishes his hands had been so tender with you, as if you were some delicate thing to be handled with care. Even now you can feel he’s being cautious, deliberate with how much of his weight he puts on you and careful not to give you too much. You find yourself endeared by that, almost compelled to melt into him with the upwell of fondness that rushes through you and dizzies your mind.

Except that you’re still not willing to give him what he wants, not if he’s continuing to be so obstinate. You can’t find a reason for his stalwart lack of speech other than pettiness; it’s normally a trial of perseverance to get the man to silence himself. So you remain still beneath him, denying him his desires and refusing to return the embrace, rather choosing to lie limp as he holds you.

He groans in annoyance, lifting himself up to stare down at you yet still not verbalizing anything. His hair is long enough that it brushes against your face like this, mere inches away, and even in the imposing inky black of the enormous bedchamber beyond his eyes seem to catch on the most fleeting light and almost gleam from within.

One of his hands removes itself from where it was shoved beneath your back to find your wrist and drop your own on the back of his head. You let it fall, raising one eyebrow in simultaneous question and challenge that you can only hope he can see as clearly as you can see the exasperation in his eye—along with something else, something notably more desperate. Feral.

You don’t censor yourself despite that, pushing forward to explain yourself. “You’re grown, my king. You can speak rather than silently demanding things of me.”

Satoru’s eyes are drawn to your moving lips, the ice within them thawing and giving way to easy veneration. His lower lip pouts. His head falls back down and he nuzzles into you as his hold on you tightens.

“Embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. It’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

Your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). He kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. When he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “Embrace me, wife.”

“Talk to me, husband,” you retort. “Your sulking is bad for my health. I was terrified.”

Against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “You’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

“I nearly slit your throat.”

“With the knife I gifted you.” The words are crooned, a bit covetous; you wonder sometimes, when he says such things in such ways, about his sanity. You don’t think the phrase madly in love has applied to anyone more than him, though you might be just as deranged as he for how you adore it. “I wouldn't have let you, though. It’s sweet of you to worry,” his hands tighten swiftly where they rest against your skin, pinching hard enough to make you jump before releasing, “but you’re still no match for me.”

“No?”

“No.” He kisses you without pulling away, lips brushing past your cheek to press passionately against yours. “Though I’d very much like to see you try.”

You speak your response into his mouth, refusing his silent attempts to deepen the kiss. “You haven’t yet apologized for frightening me.”

Huffing at you, he removes his arms from your body and pushes himself up to hover over you again. He stays like that, staring intently as if simply watching you will suffice for what you’re demanding. You let him at first—then as the seconds pass grow tired of waiting, and open your mouth to pester him again only to be silenced by his own.

It’s fast, there and then gone, too quick for you to respond. He so likes those kisses, a perfect way to keep you quiet, but tonight he isn’t satisfied with it; he does it again when you inhale, then once more afterwards though you haven’t even indicated any further intent to speak. And then he moves on, pressing lips to your nose and your cheekbones and your forehead, dotting them across the bridge of your nose and along your jaw, featherlight and relentless.

He refuses to let up, covering your face with kisses as if to make up for each one he’d have given you if he’d been here. You attempt to dodge, out of sheer obstinacy, but he doesn’t allow you to. So you change course, lift your hands to embrace him as he’d begged you before—yet he catches you, using a single grip to pin both above you as his ministrations expand and he presses kisses to your neck, down your throat, along your collarbone.

“Imagine you’re me, hmm?” he murmurs, words barely comprehensible through his affections. “Lamenting after weeks without your company, rushing home faster than my party simply to see you sooner, arriving to my chambers expecting to find my darling wife awaiting my return”—he pulls up suddenly, heedless to your discontented whimper at the loss of his touch which peeters off the moment you see the way he’s looking at you; that feral tinge has returned to his eye, infused into the soft devotion he always regards you with—”only to find my bed empty, my exquisite queen missing. How might you feel, do you suppose?”

He's always been loose with his compliments but something about the way he says them now, so matter-of-factly and laced with a seriousness so uncharacteristic of him rather than a teasing tone, makes your face burn. Still you respond, unwilling to let the question stand unanswered. “Ah… concerned, I’d imagine.”

“Concerned?”

“Distressed. Fearful of misdeed.”

“You frightened me, too, then, did you not?”

“I apologize. You weren’t supposed to be back tonight, I hadn't thought there was any harm in it. But I'm safe, and I'm here with you now.”

He blinks. For a moment you wonder if he’ll really apologize now—a foolish thought, you know your king better than that. Instead he pushes on. “Now consider that you leave your chambers, and you demand to know where she is, only to be told that she has refused to sleep in your bed and has instead insisted upon taking residence in an entirely different room. What then? Tell me, my love, what is so wrong with this bed?”

You swallow thickly, watch his eyes dart down to the bob of your throat before returning. He lifts an eyebrow in expectation, but your mouth is so dry you can’t find it within you to say what he wants to hear. Both wrists still held in his grip, he rubs his thumb against one, quietly contemplative as he scans your face—and this, you decide, is too much. You turn away, hiding your face, unable to take the way he peers at you.

“Why do you still pull away?” It’s barely audible. In fact you wonder if the question is meant for you at all, or if it had been entirely for him. His free hand comes to your face, gentle as it cradles your cheek and turns you towards him, forcing you to meet his stare. This time his words are undoubtedly for you. “Have I… misinterpreted? Is this truly too much? You say it is, call me too bold, but you never insist upon it. You seem happy and yet the moment you have time away from me you run, behind my back. You know I would do anything for you, yes? Even… let you go? If that is what you want.”

You can’t find the words to reply right away, can’t parse it all out within you fast enough. You realize quite suddenly that you’ve been unfair—selfish, even—in your passing acceptance of his pursuits. Simply because that has been easy, simply because it would be difficult to be even a fraction as bold as he. Simply because you do like his boldness, and you do like the way he chases you, and he does it so relentlessly that you’ve never found it necessary for you to return it. You’d have to retrain yourself to speak candidly, to reach out for his touch, and even behind closed doors such things are arduous. Yet now you see it—now he lets you see it, the chip in his armor, the one you’ve caused with your avoidance, the one you have the ability to mend. And you decide that you will.

The time that it takes to think all of that through, however, is too much. Satoru pulls back; his hand releases yours, his head turns away, his eyes no longer visible. It’s panic that makes you move, panic caused by the way his body turns to remove itself from you. In all the time you’ve spent with him since the coup he’s never pulled away like this.

You hook your leg over him, yanking him back down and clumsily swapping your positions. He lays in bed now, eyes wide with surprise as he stares up at you, and you straddle him with hands bracing yourself on his chest. The kiss you give him is an attempt to find peace of mind but it hardly works—too desperate to prove him wrong with your actions, too caught up in the sensations, your mind fogs. At least he kisses back, hands finding home on your thighs and pulling you close as he melts, though that’s perhaps part of the problem.

The words still don’t come when you pull away, and the way he regards you now is even worse than before, pure exaltation in his eyes as he looks up at you. On impulse you lean in again, brushing lips to that white scar bisecting his brow, and though his eyes flutter closed with the motion it doesn’t help the way you’re feeling in the slightest—a little restless, a little undone, far too seen for comfort. You bury your head into his shoulder in an attempt to quell it, feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath yours as he turns his face into you and breathes you in.

“It was too large,” you manage to say, small and quiet.

“Hm?”

“The bed. It’s too large when you’re not here. Cold. Empty.” You squeeze your eyes shut tight. His hand comes up to your head, stroking softly there, and of everything that seems to finally help. shoving your head even further into his neck, you say even quieter, “I miss you, husband, when you’re gone. I miss you so terribly it becomes difficult to bear.”

His laugh rumbles through you. It’s assured, arrogant, just like always—it melts away the lingering remains of that unease you’re still sifting through and allows you to finally relax on top of him, easing your legs down to lay tucked into the crook of his arm while he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Then I’ll just have to remain here for your sake, wife.”

[willowspoems]

amidst the inferno

an original poem by willowspoems

it’s a subtle thing. 

an innocuous flame, maybe,

but one that’s hot, nonetheless.

it courses through my veins,

singes my blood with a foreign type of fire.

my flesh,

my bones,

lit up with some sort of trespassing ember.

a delicate dance, 

with a silent partner,

tightroping carefully,

along the line that stretches thin,

whispering secrets in the language of heat.

each heartbeat a testament to its presence,

each breath an offering to its flame.

it’s innocent at first glance, 

a needle, perhaps. 

but peel away the layers, 

and it’s a dagger, 

a lethal force,

hidden in plain sight; 

a killer at its core. 

a penetrating, all-consuming kind of blade;

creeps up my spine and sinks itself into my shoulder blades, 

to take root in my skull,

an unwelcome visitor,

but one that barges its way in, 

to find its home in the ridges of my brain, 

roads that even i,

the paver, 

had not yet traveled.

grooves that are frightening in their depths; 

enticing in their ambiguity.

so i tread cautiously,

careful where i place my feet.

god forbid i slip, 

fall, 

sink,

and turn to dust

in that engulfed place.

and though im withering away,

writhing as i do so,

you challenge me.

in ways I hadn’t prepared for.

beckon me into those uncharted realms,

test the fibers of my being

unanticipated.

i’ve always buried my anguish,

covered it in dirt,

locked it away

and swallowed the key.

and it petrifies me, 

an inexplicable fear, 

the way my pain trembles on the verge of unveiling itself 

in your presence. 

but for you,

i will rid myself of it all.

the contributors of my displeasure.

i'll strip away the layers of sorrow,

cast aside the burdens that weigh heavy,

offer them to the winds for a change.

but i’m a pathetic thing,

a symphony out of tune.

a rifle turned handgun.

gum used tasteless.

and stubbornly, i cling, 

resolute to hoard this anguish, mine alone,

it blazes fiercely within the fortress of my mind.

a hellish abode, 

forged of iron walls and doors,

where i'm shackled to the scorching metal,

each link of my captivity etched with torment,

too vast,

too weighty

for words to define.

so, i enclose myself

within this iron-clad mind.

where each lick of fire becomes

a sick mantra,

a gruesome metronome, 

conducting my body into nothingness. 

though the flames may rage,

and the chains bind,

you hold me, 

redirect my restless mind, 

curb my enigmatic sorrow.

and when the flames grow, 

and the blade strikes,

unexplainable,

uncontrollable,

you remain,

like you always do, 

lingering by my side. 

a constant presence

in the ebb and flow of my emotions. 

my lifeline amidst the inferno.

futile it seems,

to resist your allure,

for you are too intoxicating,

too relentless,

a soothing balm to my nocturnal wanderings.

an indelible mark etched into my skull,

the tantalizing possibility

of one who can...

sheathe this dagger,

halt this orchestra,

and extinguish 

this fire.

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 11

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Eleven

SWEETS

There’s an open invitation from Steve to run every morning with him around the compound. The most athletic employees, typically ex-military, SHIELD-type individuals joined him a few days a week but never more than an hour per day. The only person who could keep up with Steve’s pace and grueling exercise schedule was Bucky, but even he refused to run everyday. He wouldn’t tell Steve why either. 

You knew better than to bug him - it’s his time after all.

Still, when you wanted to know if Bucky was in the compound, you’d keep an eye on the intersection of Grids 2 and 3, wait for a golden flash to zoom through the path in the morning, and see if that’s followed by dark hair waving wildly in the wind.

And that’s exactly what you did the morning after getting pizza with Bucky. 

You stood by the window next to his old work desk. Coffee in one hand and banana in the other, mentally going through what happened - or because of your overthinking, what did not happen - last night.

You regretted not trying harder to promote your apartment facilities to Bucky last night. You had a functioning coffee maker. A clean shower. A drawer dedicated to KitKats. And if all those things failed, you could have appealed to the gentleman in him and brought up the wobbly shelf - would he be so kind and take a look at it please?

Not that you expected him to make the first move.

And it’s not like you subscribed to a timeline of when you would be ready to try again with him.

You didn’t even need a grand gesture from him.

You just wanted Bucky Barnes in your life.

How could something that was so clear also seem so confusing at the same time?

Sam caught your attention as he sprinted across the field leading to the back of the compound, his shadow crossing with the lines formed by posts that lined the path. If the security manual was to be believed, a 360-degree camera mounted on each post monitored all visitors - official and unwelcome - from the moment they stepped into Grid Five.

Seconds later, Steve, probably finishing his third lap, caught up with Sam. You stood with your back straight, breathing temporarily halted, finger impatiently tapping the cup and willed a third runner to whiz by.

A full minute passed without any sign of Bucky. 

He wasn’t at the hangar either, and the grounds-keeping crew told you it’s unlikely that he’s whacking weeds into submission today because he accomplished all that last week.

“Have you tried texting him?” someone asked pointedly, to which you replied, “No, it’s not urgent,” with what you hoped was a carefree wave. 

As you walked back to your building, you tried to shake off the embarrassment. Of course you could’ve told him you’ve been up all night thinking, and ask him to drop by your floor. Today, if he had time. No big deal.

That text remained in the drafts folder in your head.

Over lunch, you contemplated marching over to the Avenger residence grid and just keep walking until one of Tony’s tiny drones shot you down. You were a little hazy on the security features of the compound’s private area. It’s not like you had a lot of reasons to trespass before.

Your phone dinged and Claire snorted when you practically dived to check who sent you a message.

“Sam says you’ve been stalking me.”

You huffed because Bucky would be correct about that.

“Busy? Need to ask you something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He forwarded a meeting invitation titled “Hangar” - no punctuation, no explanation in the email body.

You huffed again. Were you supposed to guess which hangar in this acre upon acre of a compound he was referring to?

It’s not like you didn’t know what he meant. And you weren’t going to pretend having that knowledge didn’t make you smile ear-to-ear. But if it’s a last-minute invite to a session with R&D or aircraft maintenance, couldn’t he at least add a salutation or something?

Sometimes these 30-minute meetings turned out to be two-hour operational reviews so you wanted to come prepared. Armed with a bag of mini-chocolate bars, you trooped to the hangar section, looking forward to a new project and a Bucky-sighting.  

But it was Steve you found pacing in the room. His sleeves were pushed - not rolled - pushed up his arms, which probably meant he’d been in meetings today. Judging by the starched shirt and tired smile he flashed upon seeing you, it wasn’t just some meeting with four-star generals or state officials who had Nick Fury’s number on speed dial.

“Come in,” he waved you to the only seat with a cushioned back.

“Uh, hi.” You glanced around the empty room. It felt smaller somehow. “How are you?”

He thought about the question. “Old.”

“Mentally or like the arthritis flares up-”

“Bucky and Sam are planning something for my birthday.” His eyes lit up. “Help me find out what they’re up to.”  

“Oh uh-”

“Surely you have strings you can pull around here.” His brows furrowed. “Seriously. They refuse to acknowledge that no fuss means no fuss.”

Before you could reply, the door burst open, revealing Bucky. His eyes met yours for a fleeting second before moving on to Steve. “Good. We can start.” 

The men grabbed the remaining wooden chairs. On your right, Bucky offered a tight smile, which turned into a wince upon taking a seat. That’s when you also noticed the pink cheeks and messy bun.

“Thanks for joining us pal,” Steve drily said, though he eyed Bucky with mild curiosity too.

Bucky shifted his weight slowly. He gestured to the bag of chocolate in the middle of the table. “It’s not an R&D meeting,” he said as if that helped clarify why you’ve been summoned to a tiny windowless room with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. “May I?”

You nodded idly and watched as Bucky fished a bar for himself before tossing one to his best friend.

Steve caught the foil-wrapped candy before it hit him between the forehead. “I take it Natasha took the news well.” 

Bucky grunted as he stretched his neck.

Steve chuckled. “As well as we can hope for at least.”

“Do you know how high the voltage on those things go?” Bucky flicked a mini-bar, hitting Steve’s chin.

The chocolate missile was ignored. “Everybody knows the bracelets have been upgraded.”

Bucky replied in rapid-fire Russian and his frustration, the narrowed eyes, and stubborn tendril on his jaw, it was all sorts of hot but you weren’t sure if it was ok to laugh about Natasha Romanoff setting electroshock charges on Bucky’s plums. 

Your failed attempt at muffling a snicker shifted the focus back to the meeting agenda.

With a rather authoritative sigh, Steve flipped his laptop to show you a blurry image. “You’re familiar?”

It was a rhetorical question. You didn’t even have to lean for a closer look at the 640px by 400px image.

It’s a crime scene photo from a 2017 assassination in Tbilisi, Georgia - the case Natasha asked you to look into. Off the books because the US government didn’t believe it was relevant to its interests in the region. Natasha saved the case files in an air-gapped computer off-base. You didn’t even dare keep back-up copies with you.

It was nearly impossible not to start blabbing when the two looked at you with kind eyes, respecting your loyalty to Natasha.

Steve tilted his head. “We already know you and Nat were looking into these four attacks.” 

“Three,” you muttered without thinking.

“New confirmed attack. Two days ago, we believe,” he showed you another graphic photo.

The hairs on your arm rose but you didn’t look away from the image. “US soil?” You’d bet that’s enough to scare the government into asking Steve Rogers for yet another favor. 

No one spoke. Nobody moved. One could say both men pretended in unison you weren’t asking for classified information.

“Who’s ‘we’?” You tried again, turning toward the string you could pull.

The sound of metal gears humming gave Bucky away. His crossed arms didn’t do much to mask his distress. His signature “anywhere but here” expression appeared. Like he’d rather be at a black tie event shaking hands with strangers who stared at his arm a little too long than be having this conversation with you right now.

Steve began circling the room. “You were on the right track, you know. About looking at the victims’ profiles instead of the cause of death. If we had you on the field-” 

“Steve.”

The soldiers glared at each other. Their twin telepathy always amazed you, although today there were more pressing matters to focus on.

“What does this have to do with Bucky getting the special treatment from Nat?” 

Five more seconds of staring determined who would finally take your question.

“This became an official mission yesterday. Locate and detain. Ideally.” Bucky spoke calmly, as if the alternative involved sending a person to a spa in the alps.

It felt like you were still missing something. “But she supercharged the shockers. For you.”

“Doesn’t matter-“

“Buck’s taking the case from Nat,” Steve clarified, clicking on another icon to show you the mission report.

“Why?” Did that come off a little pitchy? Nat has been working the case on her own time for at least two years before she brought you in months ago. “No offense,” you added with an apologetic shrug. 

Bucky sat up, placing his palms on the table to balance himself. “For the record, I didn’t take anything. The government, who was glad to remind me about being pardoned, assigned the case to me,” he added pointedly.

With broad, squared shoulders, he addressed you the way a tired school principal reasons with a first-time delinquent. “You’ve been working this with Romanoff for months and I completely understand if you prefer to be assigned to her missions.” He maintained a steady tone but it’s always the mechanical twitch - subtle, but you caught the squeak - that gave him away. 

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kicking me out too.” The realization sent your heart pounding, and the disbelief that followed did nothing to calm you down.

Before either man had a chance to reply, you looked at the ceiling and tried to take a deep breath. “Why? Did I miss something in the intel - which isn’t that great to begin with, just wanted to point it out. Did I set off any alarms?”

You were careful. Natasha drilled that into your unconscious.

“No,” Bucky frowned. “What sort of alarms would you even be setting off anyway?” He asked after a beat, the concern saturating the blue in his eyes, thereby weakening your indignation.

“None.” It’s an oversimplification, but you were trying to keep your spot in the project. “So your first decision after taking over was to take me off the op?” You turned to his friend as if to say “Can you believe this BS?”

Steve completed another slow lap around the table. “For the record, I wanted you to stay.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Four professional hits in a span of five years. More violent. Higher up the food chain. Closer to home. You drafted the brief. You know how sticky this is going to get.”

You sat up. “Then don’t put me on a different assignment.”

Steve gave you a helpless shrug. It wasn’t his call. 

Bucky remained quiet. 

You glanced at the door. You could take the candy and walk out. It’s not like staying in the room to glower at Bucky would change his mind. 

Something clicked as you fumed in silence. Was this why he took you out to dinner? Was this why he didn’t want to step inside your apartment?

“Sweets.” His voice remained steady, compared to your escalating mood. “You know why,” Bucky insisted. He craned his neck, imploring eyes trained on you. 

Avoiding his eyes in this small room - which was really more of a large supply closet - was next to impossible. 

You frowned. You may not be able to ignore that look but that didn’t mean you had to say everything was peachy.

He waited for a few more seconds. “I’m politely kicking you out of the room Steve.” Bucky spoke without taking his eyes off you. 

With only three feet separating you, the intensity transmitted clearly. 

Steve was about to protest but Bucky added a “Thank you!” and that was that. He waited for the telltale metallic click of the door shutting before speaking again. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice dropped, even if you already had privacy. He placed an open hand next to your fist. “Are you mad at me?”

Pretending to be late for another meeting would be the easy way out of this. 

Or you could stay and talk to him. Stay - you wondered if it was possible to choke on your own feelings - and just be in the moment. Weren’t you looking forward to one-on-one time with Bucky the entire day?

Bucky seemed worried but also relieved you hadn’t stormed off yet or confiscated all the candy.

“I don’t like this,” you clarified. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying sorry.” You knew he meant it, but letting you work on the case was an entirely different issue.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced at those round blue-gray eyes again. 

Bucky took that as a sign to proceed. “You just turned down an asshole dangling a cushy senior role in D.C. over your head yesterday. Today some better-looking asshole got you reassigned-”

“Hmmm - ‘kicked out’ is more accurate.”

“Reassigned to another op.” He bit his lip to hide a grin because you were letting him get away with the compliment about his looks. 

Being able to make him smile like that was probably the closest thing you’ll have that could count as an enhanced ability. The idea made you giddy as fuck.

Bucky waited for your counter. When you remained silent, he gently prodded your foot with his. “Thought I’m supposed to be the quiet and mysterious one.”

“You think I’m mysterious?”

He laughed. “Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he confessed with a shake of his head. A lock of hair landed on the high point of his cheek. Bucky finished three pieces of chocolate before you spoke again. 

“I’m not used to this. And I don’t want to be difficult Bucky. But part of me doesn’t want to let go. Part of me wants to fake having another meeting to go to so I can run away.”

You hoped honesty would change his mind. With a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “I’d like to stay in this. See this through for Nat.”

He didn’t even blink. “Can’t do that.”

You crossed your arms. “Can’t or won’t?”

When he gave you a measured look, your heart sank. He wasn’t budging. 

“Won’t.” He didn’t look pleased but he wasn’t exactly dripping with remorse either.

Why the hell did Steve think you had a string to pull here again?

“Is it a safety issue or… we share a pizza that I didn’t have to nuke ten times and suddenly we’re not supposed to work together?” Your neck felt warm. “Are you worried about HR policy or - I don’t know. You couldn’t even wait to leave my building last night.”

Realization flashed through his eyes but Bucky didn’t immediately respond. He let you simmer for a few seconds.

“Whoever we are looking for - this asset is a highly-skilled, very unstable maniac. You know this. You wrote the profile.” Bucky retracted his arms when he leaned back on his chair. It squeaked under the weight of the tall super soldier. “I’m not often in a position to make these kinds of calls, but if kicking you out of the op keeps you away from this psychopath, I’m making the same choice every time.”

When a former prisoner of war who was tortured and subjected to mind control for years brings up his ability to choose, there’s no arguing against that. Despite the obvious appeal to your emotion, you couldn’t deny he made a valid point.

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Now I understand why Sam whines when he has to take orders from you.”

He smiled. “Because I make the right calls.”

“But Buck-“

In one fluid motion, Bucky crouched next to you. With his face only inches from yours, you could see the fine lines on an otherwise youthful face, a reminder of all the history Bucky carried on his shoulders. His stubble carved a tense jaw. But his eyes were kind. Even when you were giving him quite the headache right now. 

He took your hand. “I promised you I’ll make things right. I swear to God that’s all I’ve been up to. And if you tell me you don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing, Sweets, that’s going to end me.”

He stroked your tingling skin with a thumb. “And I need you to let me keep doing that. Because…” He exhaled, his warm hand cradling yours. “I hope one day you’ll believe me when I say you’re all I think about.”

It’s definitely possible to choke on your emotions. 

“And looking out for you is a pretty big part of that,” he added.

Bucky watched you closely and he was generous enough not to gloat when your resolve to be stubborn, to make this difficult as payback for being sidelined, to have the last word, crumbled.

When you reached for his cheek, Bucky leaned into your palm immediately like a man under a spell. “I think-“

“Yeah-“ Your lips grazed his forehead and that caring gesture gave way to the hunger you were both suffering from. 

His eyes bored into yours just as Bucky’s lips pressed into yours firmly, seeking to be as close as possible to you. Bucky pulled you up, backing against the table. His weight pushed the slim desk against the wall, dragging a chair with it as it slammed into concrete. 

Bucky’s eyes dazzled below furrowed brows. “Is this - I mean, I thought-“

You were drunk from his kiss. “I’m ok. Are you ok?”

He nodded frantically. 

You let gravity do the work, leaning into Bucky’s space. He didn’t just meet you halfway - his lips crashed into yours this time. 

When you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails gently down his nape, Bucky responded with a groan and nipped at your collarbone before soothing your skin with his tongue. 

A hand warmed the small of your back. Bucky mumbled feverishly onto your temple. You couldn’t make out any of the words but you understood him.

With his arms wrapped around your body, Bucky held you steady. His kisses lingered, like he needed to keep tasting your lips. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky’s mouth claimed yours again. 

He brushed the hair off your face as his eyes took you in, mapping your features with care. 

“Is now a good time for an appeal?” You joked before kissing his throat.

Bucky bared his neck with a low moan. “Sweets,” he begged. 

You couldn’t get enough of his scent. It reminded you of riding his bike with your arms curled around him, his steady breathing bringing you so much comfort.

“Maybe?” You teased right before trailing kisses along his jaw. 

He kneaded your skin, hands locking your hips into him. “I think you should ah, you know, keep trying,” Bucky whispered thickly.

“Ok, I think-“ 

He stole the rest of your words, your stream of thought, with another hungry kiss. 

Part Twelve

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

[randonauticrap]

Unwelcome Guests

Pairing ~ Leon Dompteur x Reader

Event ~ Cozytober

Prompt ~ Exploring a haunted place

Summary ~ Cozytober has a dark side! I hope you enjoy this mild thriller with Leon.

Ps., the photo in the header is my photography!

"What is this place, Leon?" You asked, a shiver running down your spine as a chilly wind swept its way beneath your clothes.

"This is one of the old water mills!" He replied cheerfully, his hands in his pockets as he showed you around. The mill itself was enclosed by four dilapidated walls, bowing inwards, bearing down menacingly on its unwelcome visitors. "It's been abandoned for awhile, obviously. We found better resources over the years, but this place was just left here for nature to reclaim." He seemed so at ease in his surroundings that you thought perhaps you were imagining the tense atmosphere, and decided to ignore your apprehension for the time being.

"Okay, it is pretty cool." You admitted as you neared the large wheel that had long since been forgotten.

"Haha!" Leon laughed triumphantly. "I knew you'd come around." You chuckled and playfully shoved his arm in return. He responded by snaking it around your waist and pulling you close to him. You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks and you nuzzled closer to him. You had finally let your guard down, when

BANG

A loud clanging demanded your attention and you both swiveled around to locate the source of the noise. You sensed Leon's body tense up beside you, and your adrenaline rose in response. The chill you had felt upon arrival had returned and was now dominating the air. It was a distinct cold; the kind that penetrated your skin and wrapped its icy fingers around your bones. You were unable to move; unable to speak. You saw nothing, but the presence of someone - or something - laced with anger was palpable. It drew in on the both of you, and suddenly you were painfully aware that you were the trespassers here. This was its territory, and you were not welcome.

You both stood there staring into the shadows, frozen, as if paralyzed, until a bucket from somewhere in the darkness was hurled at you. Leon leapt in front of you, taking the hit, as well as getting drenched by the bucket's contents.

"Leon, let's go!" You cried, and he nodded in response, unsheathing his sword before urging you outside and back towards the castle. It wasn't long before the two of you were safe within the castle walls once again, taking refuge in the kitchen and munching on a few tarts Yves had left out.

"So someone is living in there after all." You remarked after a few moments of uneasy silence.

"That's impossible." Leon muttered, staring down at his tart with a disconcerted look on his face.

"Why?"

"Because," Leon paused, looking up to meet your eyes. "I sent one of my men out there less than half an hour before we arrived to make sure it was safe. I would never put you in danger like that. My man told me that there were no signs of current squatters or occupation. The place was deserted."

The air hung heavy with Leon's admission, and the unsettled silence returned and fell over you both like a blanket, suffocating all the air from the room. At last, you parted your lips and asked the question that was in both of your heads; the question you were not truly sure you wanted the answer to:

"So, what was it?"

Several more seconds of silence passed before Leon gave his answer; the answer that did nothing to dispel the disquiet within you both.

"...I don't know."

.

.

.

Tags for the lovelies: @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @ikehoe @rhodolitesroseforclavis

[mermazeablaze]

We've been having issues with our landlady lately concerning our furbabies. Two of them are ESAs & there is a third one who (pitbull puppy) is an ESA in training to eventually replace one of the ESAs who is becoming elderly. Puppy is a month too young to have registered. We also had a cat that we weren't allowed to have but she knew we had, it was one of those silently mutual things between us. It wasn't until she saw the puppy it became a problem. She doesn't care about the legitimate reason for the puppy. She stated point blank that she doesn't like pitbulls & they aren't allowed on the property. She even said dobermans & other "fighting dogs" are fine. We fucked her off because we know our legal rights in Oklahoma concerning ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) & FHA (Fair Housing Act). So she sent a letter a week ago stating she's coming by today to inspect our apartment & the cat & puppy better be gone. Even though other neighbors have multiple pets beyond the pet limit & the landlady knows. But one super sweet bully & all bets are off. We intend to move when our lease is up at the end of February, we're just waiting on funds & can't afford to be homeless. So we sent our cat to stay with my dad until we move & we sent the puppy to a dogsitter for a week. Now one of our ESA dogs is experiencing depression at the temporary loss of the cat & puppy. All of us are profoundly sad & angry at the situation. Hekate has been speaking to me during this time, 'Unwelcome visitors are trespassers'. I went to get incense from under our altar to burn & felt an electric shock & heard her say, 'Prominently display us (her & the triple goddess) today.' Because the landlady is doing her inspection today. So I did. Hekate has also been nudging me to use a witch bottle I've been saving as a binding tool against the landlady to mind her business. & bury it next to her office door. I just might if I can do it without being caught.

[gruusha]

walks into the house uninvited to trigger your dialogue

to say they're startled would be an understatement. prior to this very moment, they've either locked their front door unthinkingly or otherwise consciously decided the chance of actual danger to themselves is so minute, locking the door is a secondary concern. fingers curl into a fist, immediate tension born of anxiety's flood visible as knuckles whitened / pressed into their wheelchair's arms as heterochrome eyes, wide, stare unblinking at the "visitor".

toboe's hopped immediately to the top of the couch, fire within blazing / setting alight his own aura as his mane & tail alike fluff out in response to potential threat. the flareon stands statuesque, appearing to be nearly fifty percent larger than normal as he waits for some indication from grusha to take action.

though moderately horrified at the intrusion -- unwelcome, unexpected, definitely trespassing -- the lack of ill intent they're able to discern from the stranger within a few heartbeats tells grusha they must have sought shelter from the blizzard's rage outside.

... there were certainly better ways to do that than breaking & entering.

"c... can i f--" the rarity of a curse dies on their tongue, their offense fizzling out as more characteristic civility seems to win over in this instant, "-- .... can i help you?"

[venomousjorogumo]

The Spider lied in wait in the intricate web she'd weaved. She'd ensnare any trespassers in her silken thread, and do them in. The forest belonged to her kind-- Harumi wasn't about to let a human or some other brute endanger the few Jorōgumo who had returned. Whenever the unwelcome visitor spotted her, she took on her mortal form. "Pray tell me, what are you doing here? You're a long way from home..."

[snailstrailz]

Untapped horror potential in mountains, old growth forests, and caves. something so dread inducing about this part of earth that was there long before you were born and will still stand long after you die.

Like, I went on a cave tour once. And even in the open path that's lit with electricity, I still felt not unwelcome there, but I felt like I was only a visitor there, that this wasn't my place and I was only a step away from being a trespasser in the cave's land.

[chcyna]

rpcdev - trick or treat day 2

She likes her dark little office with its closed door and muted walls and relatively soft carpeting underfoot. She likes the hum of the building's HVAC and her various towers' cooling fans, and the general buzz of electronics. She likes her cluttered desk and little toys and action figures and fuzzy pens. She likes HER space.

This is not her space.

This is not even remotely her space.

This is nothing like her space at all.

This is a nightmare.

"Remind me again why we need MOI out here again? Of all people and of all places? Why am I being....... does that say trespassers will be shot?!" Without waiting for an answer, Penelope Garcia swings herself around and started back up the tiny path that tried to pass itself off as a road or even a trail leading deeper into the dim light of the swamp at dusk. A SWAMP. AT! DUSK! 

"If you think for one second that I am not going to heed that warning sign and vamoose my little butt out of here, you've got another thing coming!" she protests as one arm is caught, gently but firmly halting her progress back up the way they had just come from. "And this isn't even the FIRST warning sign that we've seen! There have been at least three others! Some general no trespassing and private property signs, but this one explicitly states that unwelcome visitors will be shot on sight. And I feel more than a little unwelcome in here! It's a swamp! It's mucky and muddy and slimy and there's literally no signal anywhere so there is nothing that I would be able to do if we ever do reach any sense of dwelling, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to! No, why are you pushing me back towards the yuck... I don't want to do this..."

[labelleperfumery]

Jennifer Coolidge Finds Man Trespassing At Her Los Angeles Home

Jennifer Coolidge told cops she had an unwelcome visitor takin’ a stroll on her property … and we’re told there’s now an investigation for the trespass. Law enforcement sources tell TMZ … JC noticed the unknown man last month while reviewing… from TMZ.com https://www.tmz.com/2023/02/15/jennifer-coolidge-man-trespasses-los-angeles-home-police/

[adviserbabycom]

Best Motorola Baby Monitors [ CONNECT20, 40, 60 vs MBP50-G2 ]

If you're looking for Motorola baby monitors, this article will help. We'll cover the best Motorola baby monitors on the market today, as well as how to choose one that suits your needs. Compare Motorola baby monitors The best baby monitor with a camera and App The best Motorola baby monitor Wi-Fi with handheld and app The Motorola baby monitor with app and screen is the best way to keep an eye on your little one and still get some sleep yourself. First, we're going to go over all of Motorola's products that include a video camera and explain what each product offers so you can decide which features are most important for you. The main difference between models is whether or not they have internet connectivity/smartphones as well as screens. - Motorola connect compatible devices - Motorola smart baby monitor with wifi capabilities includes: - Motorola baby care mobile app available in iTunes store Motorola Baby Monitor FAQs This is one of the most common questions people have when researching Motorola baby monitor options. Luckily there are several key features they all offer which can make it easier to narrow down models that meet your specific criteria. Some of these include  - Two-way talk  - Motorola's Motorola baby monitor app  - Portable Motorola child monitoring unit with rechargeable battery - Night vision A Motorola video monitor typically has a camera that sends signals to the receiver through some type of wireless connection, which can be audio-only or audio and video. They're Motorola baby monitors without screen capabilities, but they do have options for using them on your smartphone as well if you don't mind holding it up to watch what's going on in the room. Many parents end up purchasing both types of Motorola baby monitoring units because they offer different features & uses depending on their situation at any given time. Monitor also has a two-way talk feature which means you can speak directly through the monitor to your child. - The camera can be used as a webcam for online chatting with family members or friends who live far away. - Monitors come equipped with an app that allows you to view the camera feed from any device, including smartphones, laptops, tablets, and more! The Motorola baby monitor system is easy to use and set up. It also has a two-way talk feature which means you can speak directly through the monitor to your child. This option provides peace of mind and reassurance when they're in another room sleeping. Hubble Connected: the best wifi baby monitor video app Hubble Connected The Hubble Connected app gives one systematized area to take care of all your smart prenatal, baby, baby room, and house items with the touch of a button, from anywhere in the globe. - SAFE & SECURE With advanced end-to-end security innovation and also AES 128-bit streaming, you can feel confident recognizing that your video camera stream as well as various other information is entirely personal and also safe and secure. - DOCUMENT, STORE & SHARE. Tape-record videos as well as image photos as well as save them using Hubble Connected's protected cloud storage space. Or quickly share them with family and friends. - DAILY VIDEO CLIP RECAP Get a quick introduction of what took place when you weren't home. Rewind with a time-lapse Daily Video clip Summary of the vital motion-triggered occasions from the past 24 hours. - TWO-WAY TALK. Talk with and also hear your enjoyed ones, customers, or trespassers from anywhere. Sing your kid to copulate a lullaby, chat to the distribution person concerning where to leave your parcel, or scare off unwelcome site visitors in crystal clear audio. - CREATE DIGITAL LIMITS Only get notified regarding the essential things with SmartZone. Select certain areas to receive activity discovery alerts for, such as doors, gates, and home windows. - VOICE AID. Regulate your monitor or various other voice aide compatible items hands-free using Amazon Alexa or Google Assistant. Use your voice while multi-tasking to activate your camera's recording, request the temperature, play a lullaby, as well as much more. -  BABY TRACKER. Hubble Connected's baby tracker allows you to log as well as track your baby's advancement and also regimens over time, from feeding and also resting to growth and also diaper adjustments. And also when your hands are full, simply upgrade the tracker utilizing Amazon.com Alexa. - REST & PARENTING POINTERS Gain access to write-ups and also video clips with rest and also parenting suggestions from leading child care organizations. Hubble for Motorola Baby Monitors App Setup Hubble Connected app for Motorola baby monitors – iOS https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ROY5SidYps Setup Hubble Connected app for Motorola baby monitors – iOS Download now Connected app and follow the onscreen instructions to set up an account or log in to an existing account on the main page. Press on the plus button to add a camera, tap on the baby or home monitoring, depending on the camera model you have from the ad camera page, you will be able to select your camera from the available options. If you do not see your specific model listed then most, probably your camera model is not compatible with this app and you will need to download Hubble for Motorola monitors app. Just click on your model that is not listed above, and you will be directed to a page where you can download the correct app. Enter your WIFI password. Make sure the camera is plugged into a power source. Switch on the camera and wait until the led starts blinking, press and hold the pair button on the camera until you hear ready for pairing voice message, then you should hear a message. Please generate the QR code and place it in front of the camera press. Yes, hold the mobile device. 15 to 30 centimeters in front of the camera to generate the QR code. Hold the phone to scan the QR code. Wait for some time for the camera to complete the setup. Once the camera is set up, name your device and press on continuing the stream to complete the QR code set up. If for some reason using a QR code did not work. You can try setting up the camera with Wi-Fi. Tap on, try with WIFI setup, go to phone settings and the select camera returned to app to resume set up the cameras should be detected. Select your WI-FI network and enter your WIFI password. Wait for some time for the camera to complete the setup, name your device, and press on start viewing the stream. The video from the camera will then appear if you have additional questions or would like to speak to a representative regarding your product. Setup Hubble Connected app for Motorola baby monitors – Android https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyqWyjPyQH4 Setup Hubble Connected app for Motorola baby monitors – Android Download now Connected app as well as follows the onscreen guidelines to establish an account or log in to an existing account on the major web page, continue the plus button to add a video camera, tap on the baby or residence tracking, relying on the video camera version you have from the advertisement electronic camera page, you will certainly have the ability to pick your electronic camera from the readily available choices.If you do not see your specific version detailed then most, probably your video camera model is not suitable with this application and you will require to download and install Hubble for Motorola monitors an application.Just click on your version that is not detailed above, and you will certainly be directed to a page where you can download and install the correct app. Enter your wifi password. See to it the electronic camera is plugged into a power source.Switch on the video camera and wait up until the led beginnings blinking, press as well as hold both switch on the electronic camera until you listen to ready for matching voice message, after that, you must listen to a message.Please produce the QR code as well as location it in front of the cam. Hold the mobile phone, 15 to 30 centimeters before the cam to create the QR code. Sit tight to scan the QR code.Wait a long time for the video camera to finish the arrangement. When the cam is set up, call your tool and press on remain to complete QR code configuration.If for one reason or another making use of QR codes did not function. You can attempt establishing the cam with WiFi. Faucet on, attempt with WiFi arrangement, go to phone setups and select video camera return to the application to resume the session. The video camera must be identified. Select your WiFi network as well as enter your WiFi password.Wait for time for the camera to finish the arrangement, name your tool and continue. Continue. The video clip from the cam will then appear if you have extra questions or would love to talk with a depictive regarding your product. Can I use a monitor and camera without WiFi? Yes, the connection between the camera and the parent unit does not require WiFi as it works based on FHSS technology. Only the camera is WiFi-compatible and this is optional if you wish to make use of it. Can you use the monitor and app both at the same time? Yes, you can use the camera with both the Hubble app and the monitor regardless of one of the order Comparison Motorola baby monitor with 2 cameras Read the full article

[pluviophile-imagines]

BAM: Empty Beds

in which king gojo satoru returns from a diplomatic mission to find his bed empty, and has qualms with it

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 3k genre: kinda hurt/comfort but mostly fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers type: one-shot reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) warnings: gojo picks up the reader, the end is a little bit intense emotionally but not super bad the reader just has intimacy issues and gojo confronts her abt it

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. it’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). he kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. when he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “embrace me, wife.”

“talk to me, husband,” you retort. “your sulking is bad for my health. i was terrified.”

against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “you’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

Someone has slipped into your room.

You’re asleep. You have been for hours, yet Satoru’s borderline paranoid insistence on you learning to defend yourself even while resting have led to a far less deep manner of slumber, and so you’re roused by the simple sound of the door opening and are made aware of this unwelcome visitor the moment they enter.

It’s all you can do to keep still, even out your breath. Your mind conjures thoughts of your guards slaughtered just beyond your door, your maids and your ladies-in-waiting massacred in your vast array of rooms meant to be a sanctuary, your king returning home from his diplomatic trip east to find your own body not even in your shared bed but in the lonely one occupying the queen’s bedchamber, yours in name but so rarely used.

You hear the figure’s footsteps approach you; they sound large, imposing, though you dare not open your eyes until the ornate dagger beneath your pillow is in hand and the possible assassin close enough that it can do you any good.

Your fingers find the heavy hilt, wrap around it securely just as the mattress beneath you dips with the weight of the trespasser. The motions are ingrained in your body from weeks of practice with your husband; you lash out, knife against the intruder’s throat before they can realize you’re not asleep, aiming to slash at the throat—but then you pause, thankful that you’d opened your eyes to see the face of your attacker before you spilled their blood.

“Satoru?”

Hardly an assassin at all, your visitor is your husband, back far earlier than anticipated. He looms over you in silence, one knee braced on your bed against your side, arms hovering where they’d been prepared to embrace you but frozen by the blade you hold against his neck. His damned blindfold remains tied over his eyes preventing you from knowing where they might be focused or what they might reveal of his thoughts.

“Wh—you’re not expected to return until tomorrow evening.” You remove the knife from his neck. Immediately, those hands are on you, tugging your covers away to pull you to him. “You frightened me, I believed you to be an intruder.”

Still no answer. For a moment, you feel him breathe you in, certainly allowing himself to bask in your presence after weeks without. But then, in one swift motion, wielding that stunning strength which has left armies in ruin, he slings you over his shoulder and starts for the door.

“What are you doing?” you shriek, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down!”

It wasn’t as if you thought he’d do it. But you at least expected a response; your king is nothing if not loquacious (and you hardly say so praisingly) yet he remains stubbornly silent even with your struggling form in hand as he passes through your doorway. Your guards stand alert just beyond your door, averting their gaze regretfully as if unwilling to meet your eye. You can hardly blame them, for it isn’t as if one can refuse a king—in fact, considering moments before you’d thought them dead by your assassin, you’re a little relieved to see them alive and well—yet the gesture feels too little too late.

“My king—husband,” you try, breathless, because reminding Satoru that you are bound to him for the rest of your lives never fails to make him preen, “what on earth has gotten into you?”

No avail. Not even so much as an arrogant laugh at stealing his own queen from her bed. You’re insulted at first; even your desperate attempts to free yourself don’t spark any form of response beyond a tightening of his arm around your waist. Insult gives way to concern the longer it goes, as he leaves your bedchamber and all but sprints through the intricate series of rooms which make up the queen’s chambers. The first time he passes by a room you know to be occupied by one of your ladies-in-waiting you decide that your valiant struggles aren’t worth rousing every maid and courtier you’ve allowed to take up residence with you. You’d rather they not see your husband’s indecent displays. This, at least, has occurred so late in the night that even if one were to open their door they’d likely be too groggy to understand what they might witness, and there is so little in the way of light that they might not even be able to see a thing.

At least your newfound resignation allows you to appreciate certain things your previous efforts had made you miss—you’re so enamored by his strength, his agility, and it’s admittedly thrilling that he’s so capable of manipulating your form with such ease. An inappropriate appreciation, certainly, but you’re coming to terms with how inappropriate everything about him is. And if you cannot allow yourself to enjoy how your usurper husband can steal you from your bed then you’re not altogether certain what the point of marrying him would have been.

He turns down the corridor leading to the door that connects to the king’s chambers and it suddenly seems to make sense: he’s bringing you back to his room, to his bed, where he’s insisted upon you spending your nights despite the absurdity of such a thing (not that you mind entirely, not that you aren’t flattered by his unabashed infatuation with you even all these months after you’ve wed). The room in which you’d slept during his absence had been used as more of a dressing room than one for rest, yet it had felt too odd to be sleeping in your king’s room without him present and had moved there after the first night. And you’d expected to be awake for his return, not for him to show up nearly a day early long before sunrise.

The mirrored halls, labyrinthine as your own, are empty; he hasn’t filled them as you have, not yet, though at times he receives visitors you recognize as his fellow conspirators from his coup. To an extent you appreciate the privacy it allows, and he remains so confident in his own abilities that he doesn’t bother excessively with guards. It’s hardly an undeserved confidence, either. His height is so towering that he’s forced to duck beneath the doorframe to his bedroom in order to ensure you don’t hit your head on the top. Once the threshold is crossed it’s as if his whole body breathes a sigh of relief; tense muscles relaxing, grip on you becoming less fervent and more adoring.

Satoru throws you to the bed with little ceremony. He spares a single moment to rip the blindfold from his face and toss it into some unknown corner of the room and then joins you hastily, hands upon you again in an instant, throwing the covers over the pair of you as he tangles his legs with yours, buries his face into your shoulder, and lets out the first noise you’ve heard from him in weeks—a sigh, sweet and self-satisfied, which rumbles in his chest and somehow reassures you.

The way he cradles you is halfway to suffocating, as if he were attempting to burrow into you simply to be closer, and between the silence and the manhandling you think you might have been terrified if not for how gently he carried you. It’s contradictory, certainly, yet despite snatching you from your bed with little regard for your wishes his hands had been so tender with you, as if you were some delicate thing to be handled with care. Even now you can feel he’s being cautious, deliberate with how much of his weight he puts on you and careful not to give you too much. You find yourself endeared by that, almost compelled to melt into him with the upwell of fondness that rushes through you and dizzies your mind.

Except that you’re still not willing to give him what he wants, not if he’s continuing to be so obstinate. You can’t find a reason for his stalwart lack of speech other than pettiness; it’s normally a trial of perseverance to get the man to silence himself. So you remain still beneath him, denying him his desires and refusing to return the embrace, rather choosing to lie limp as he holds you.

He groans in annoyance, lifting himself up to stare down at you yet still not verbalizing anything. His hair is long enough that it brushes against your face like this, mere inches away, and even in the imposing inky black of the enormous bedchamber beyond his eyes seem to catch on the most fleeting light and almost gleam from within.

One of his hands removes itself from where it was shoved beneath your back to find your wrist and drop your own on the back of his head. You let it fall, raising one eyebrow in simultaneous question and challenge that you can only hope he can see as clearly as you can see the exasperation in his eye—along with something else, something notably more desperate. Feral.

You don’t censor yourself despite that, pushing forward to explain yourself. “You’re grown, my king. You can speak rather than silently demanding things of me.”

Satoru’s eyes are drawn to your moving lips, the ice within them thawing and giving way to easy veneration. His lower lip pouts. His head falls back down and he nuzzles into you as his hold on you tightens.

“Embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. It’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

Your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). He kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. When he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “Embrace me, wife.”

“Talk to me, husband,” you retort. “Your sulking is bad for my health. I was terrified.”

Against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “You’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

“I nearly slit your throat.”

“With the knife I gifted you.” The words are crooned, a bit covetous; you wonder sometimes, when he says such things in such ways, about his sanity. You don’t think the phrase madly in love has applied to anyone more than him, though you might be just as deranged as he for how you adore it. “I wouldn't have let you, though. It’s sweet of you to worry,” his hands tighten swiftly where they rest against your skin, pinching hard enough to make you jump before releasing, “but you’re still no match for me.”

“No?”

“No.” He kisses you without pulling away, lips brushing past your cheek to press passionately against yours. “Though I’d very much like to see you try.”

You speak your response into his mouth, refusing his silent attempts to deepen the kiss. “You haven’t yet apologized for frightening me.”

Huffing at you, he removes his arms from your body and pushes himself up to hover over you again. He stays like that, staring intently as if simply watching you will suffice for what you’re demanding. You let him at first—then as the seconds pass grow tired of waiting, and open your mouth to pester him again only to be silenced by his own.

It’s fast, there and then gone, too quick for you to respond. He so likes those kisses, a perfect way to keep you quiet, but tonight he isn’t satisfied with it; he does it again when you inhale, then once more afterwards though you haven’t even indicated any further intent to speak. And then he moves on, pressing lips to your nose and your cheekbones and your forehead, dotting them across the bridge of your nose and along your jaw, featherlight and relentless.

He refuses to let up, covering your face with kisses as if to make up for each one he’d have given you if he’d been here. You attempt to dodge, out of sheer obstinacy, but he doesn’t allow you to. So you change course, lift your hands to embrace him as he’d begged you before—yet he catches you, using a single grip to pin both above you as his ministrations expand and he presses kisses to your neck, down your throat, along your collarbone.

“Imagine you’re me, hmm?” he murmurs, words barely comprehensible through his affections. “Lamenting after weeks without your company, rushing home faster than my party simply to see you sooner, arriving to my chambers expecting to find my darling wife awaiting my return”—he pulls up suddenly, heedless to your discontented whimper at the loss of his touch which peeters off the moment you see the way he’s looking at you; that feral tinge has returned to his eye, infused into the soft devotion he always regards you with—”only to find my bed empty, my exquisite queen missing. How might you feel, do you suppose?”

He's always been loose with his compliments but something about the way he says them now, so matter-of-factly and laced with a seriousness so uncharacteristic of him rather than a teasing tone, makes your face burn. Still you respond, unwilling to let the question stand unanswered. “Ah… concerned, I’d imagine.”

“Concerned?”

“Distressed. Fearful of misdeed.”

“You frightened me, too, then, did you not?”

“I apologize. You weren’t supposed to be back tonight, I hadn't thought there was any harm in it. But I'm safe, and I'm here with you now.”

He blinks. For a moment you wonder if he’ll really apologize now—a foolish thought, you know your king better than that. Instead he pushes on. “Now consider that you leave your chambers, and you demand to know where she is, only to be told that she has refused to sleep in your bed and has instead insisted upon taking residence in an entirely different room. What then? Tell me, my love, what is so wrong with this bed?”

You swallow thickly, watch his eyes dart down to the bob of your throat before returning. He lifts an eyebrow in expectation, but your mouth is so dry you can’t find it within you to say what he wants to hear. Both wrists still held in his grip, he rubs his thumb against one, quietly contemplative as he scans your face—and this, you decide, is too much. You turn away, hiding your face, unable to take the way he peers at you.

“Why do you still pull away?” It’s barely audible. In fact you wonder if the question is meant for you at all, or if it had been entirely for him. His free hand comes to your face, gentle as it cradles your cheek and turns you towards him, forcing you to meet his stare. This time his words are undoubtedly for you. “Have I… misinterpreted? Is this truly too much? You say it is, call me too bold, but you never insist upon it. You seem happy and yet the moment you have time away from me you run, behind my back. You know I would do anything for you, yes? Even… let you go? If that is what you want.”

You can’t find the words to reply right away, can’t parse it all out within you fast enough. You realize quite suddenly that you’ve been unfair—selfish, even—in your passing acceptance of his pursuits. Simply because that has been easy, simply because it would be difficult to be even a fraction as bold as he. Simply because you do like his boldness, and you do like the way he chases you, and he does it so relentlessly that you’ve never found it necessary for you to return it. You’d have to retrain yourself to speak candidly, to reach out for his touch, and even behind closed doors such things are arduous. Yet now you see it—now he lets you see it, the chip in his armor, the one you’ve caused with your avoidance, the one you have the ability to mend. And you decide that you will.

The time that it takes to think all of that through, however, is too much. Satoru pulls back; his hand releases yours, his head turns away, his eyes no longer visible. It’s panic that makes you move, panic caused by the way his body turns to remove itself from you. In all the time you’ve spent with him since the coup he’s never pulled away like this.

You hook your leg over him, yanking him back down and clumsily swapping your positions. He lays in bed now, eyes wide with surprise as he stares up at you, and you straddle him with hands bracing yourself on his chest. The kiss you give him is an attempt to find peace of mind but it hardly works—too desperate to prove him wrong with your actions, too caught up in the sensations, your mind fogs. At least he kisses back, hands finding home on your thighs and pulling you close as he melts, though that’s perhaps part of the problem.

The words still don’t come when you pull away, and the way he regards you now is even worse than before, pure exaltation in his eyes as he looks up at you. On impulse you lean in again, brushing lips to that white scar bisecting his brow, and though his eyes flutter closed with the motion it doesn’t help the way you’re feeling in the slightest—a little restless, a little undone, far too seen for comfort. You bury your head into his shoulder in an attempt to quell it, feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath yours as he turns his face into you and breathes you in.

“It was too large,” you manage to say, small and quiet.

“Hm?”

“The bed. It’s too large when you’re not here. Cold. Empty.” You squeeze your eyes shut tight. His hand comes up to your head, stroking softly there, and of everything that seems to finally help. shoving your head even further into his neck, you say even quieter, “I miss you, husband, when you’re gone. I miss you so terribly it becomes difficult to bear.”

His laugh rumbles through you. It’s assured, arrogant, just like always—it melts away the lingering remains of that unease you’re still sifting through and allows you to finally relax on top of him, easing your legs down to lay tucked into the crook of his arm while he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Then I’ll just have to remain here for your sake, wife.”

[ateezmakemeweep]

line without a hook.

mingi x reader; lovers to strangers au

word count: 13k

angst, fluff (tw: mentions of death)

you could personally never understand one’s desire to run as far away from their hometown as they could.

maybe it’s because you’ve had the privilege of growing up in a beautiful, prosperous place, with cozy winters, amazing festivals and snowfalls on the frozen lake before spring came and melted it away.

maybe it’s because you have fond memories tied back to this picturesque place, shops and restaurants surrounding the lake in a way that almost seemed too magical to really exist.

you’ve met so many different people purely because of that sight, men and women of different cultures and backgrounds always so eager to take in your hometown’s natural beauty.

fortunately for you, the lake ran right through your yard and acted as a place of solace where you could get away from everything in the busy, touristy town.

a place you went when you were feeling happy, sad, angry or when, truthfully, you didn’t know how to feel.

it’s also where you first met your boyfriend, one of the many come and go visitors, who introduced himself as mingi.

except he had walked right through your backyard like he owned the place, a small smile on his handsome face as he took in the sight of the frozen water.

he looked at it with such wonder and fascination, like he’d never seen anything like it before in his life; and you can remember that night, even with how you’re feeling right now, that he looked at you the same way.

it’s the only thing that reminds you, at some point, you two must have really loved each other.

two years ago - december 13th

you were hunched over your desk finishing the last of your final essay, only a page left before you could throw every syllabus away and rejoice at having two months of winter break.

it was a chilly night but you couldn’t help but be outside on the porch, a big warm sweater and fuzzy socks on as you read over your work so far.

you’d gotten used to the sounds of nature, the chirping of birds, pitter patter of animal feet and even the loud, slightly terrifying barks of deer.

but the footsteps crunching on the leaves in your driveway definitely weren’t those of chipmunks or rabbits, your strained neck craning over to see a tall figure walking right past your porch and deep into your backyard.

strangely enough, whether it be the frigid temperatures getting to you or the stress of finishing this paper, you weren’t panicked; the man technically wasn’t even on your property, he was right outside of it along the grass that turned to decking.

so you continued to make revisions and edit your paper silently, your eyes fluttering up ever so often to check on the mysterious, tall figure. his shoulders were broad and his hair was messy, that much you could tell from your spot on the porch.

when five minutes past, then ten, then twenty, and he had still yet to move or realize he was in someone’s yard, you decided to investigate - because one, how long could he really stare at this frozen mass of water and two, your head was pounding from looking at this stupid document.

so without an ounce of fear or hesitation, you wrapped your sweater tighter around your body and made your way down to the man.

your slippers were loose so the last remaining bits of snow were seeping into your socks, a slight grimace on your face when the coldness touched your skin.

the sound of crunching snow caused him to turn around, his lips quirking up into a small smile when you came into view.

it was when you got closer that you saw just how attractive he was, pale skin that glowed, plump lips that were slightly chapped and messy hair that looked even better up close.

he looked different than most locals and tourists around here, many of them pastel wearing men who wouldn’t dare stick an earring in their skin.

but the man in front of you had a completely different vibe, earrings and chains and a gray t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest despite the freezing temperatures tonight.

a few minutes of silence pass, neither him nor you concerned about filling it; it seemed as if he could’ve stared at the lake just as long as you could’ve wondered why the hell he liked it so much.

“aren’t you cold?”

more silence passed and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear your blurted out question.

but then you discover he did when he looked at you with a smirk, the snow crackling underneath him as he shifts to take in your big sweater and pink slippers.

“no.”

it’s a short and simple response but his voice is somehow incredibly warm, looking at you with a twinge of soft light in his eyes before he opens his mouth again.

“why? are you?”

a confused smile pulls at your lips as you shake your head, looking over his bare (muscular) arms conspicuously.

“no. but i’m not wearing a t-shirt in december.”

he sends a smile your way, his large body turning allowing you to fully take in just how big he is. you feel incredibly small next to him and it should probably make you nervous - a large, stranger unwelcomed in your yard and staring down at you.

but there’s a weird sense of tranquility over both of you in this moment, the moon shining off the frozen lake as his gaze meets yours.

“well that’s a good thing,” he hums, your eyebrow quirking up before he continues. “because i don’t have a jacket to give you.”

a surprised chuckle leaves your mouth that has a smile spreading across your face and he feels his own doing the same at the sight of it.

“what makes you think i’d take a jacket from a stranger?”

his eyebrow raises after a few seconds of pondering the rhetorical question, his large hand suddenly coming between your bodies.

“my name’s mingi. i’m staying a few houses over at my aunt’s for the holidays.”

your lips purse together as you wrack your brain for which neighbor it could possibly be, remembering that the woman who brought you left over lasagna for thanksgiving mentioned her nephew was coming for christmas and new years.

she didn’t mention that her nephew looked like this or that he went onto the property of anyone he pleased.

“i’m y/n,” you say, taking your smaller hand in his cold one before a teasing smiles crosses your face. “and we’re actually standing in my backyard. so thank you for trespassing so politely, mingi.”

his eyes widen as an embarrassed look crosses his face, the small hint of pink on his cheeks just as endearing as it is humorous.

“i- i’m so sorry, oh, my god,” he chuckles out, your cold hands still intertwined. “my aunt said i could take the first road i saw to get to the lake. that there was a better view down here than from her house.”

and you can see in his eyes the exact moment his next sentence came into his mind, like he thought it was gonna be the smoothest and coolest thing he’d ever said.

“and it looks like she was right.”

the loud laugh that bubbles out of you is uncontrollable, mingi’s quickly following as his cheeks turn even more pink.

“sorry, i couldn’t help myself,” he mumbles sheepishly, sounding completely unapologetic as he finally pulls his hand away from yours; you try not to think about how much colder your hand feels now, quickly sticking it in the pocket of your sweater to compensate.

“right,” you quip, a tiny giggle leaving you as you crane your neck to meet his gaze. “but really, you should probably get a jacket if you’re gonna be out here a lot. you don’t wanna get sick and it can get pretty cold here.”

“will do,” he hums, his eyes roaming yours and making your heart jump in your chest; he really is the most attractive person you’ve ever seen.

there’s a few beats of silence as he cranes his neck to look out at the lake, eyes roaming what seems like every piece of frozen ice and snowy tree surrounding it.

“my aunt actually told me people sometimes skate on it.”

“yeah,” you confirm with a nod, taking the time to look at the beauty you take for granted every day. “it’s thick enough this year. sometime we’re not allowed.”

“cool,” he says with a smile, a slight shiver running through him that makes you frown. “so... can i come back here to do that?” he asks, his eyes hopeful and soft as he looks at you. “or should i use the real path?”

your eyebrows pull together at his question, confusion covering your face but only meeting his cocky, playful one.

“are you asking if we can skate together?”

he bites down on his lip so he doesn’t smile larger, his tongue peeking out just before his teeth make contact.

“yeah,” he hums lowly, the deep tone of his voice sending butterflies through your stomach. “i guess i am.”

your lips quirk to the side as you weigh out the pros and cons.

you’re on your own a lot and definitely miss talking to someone.

he’s attractive and funny and seemingly nice enough.

you know his aunt and can easily confirm his story, the chances of him being a murderer who moseyed into town considerably low.

the only con you can think of is falling on your ass in front of him and even that it isn’t such a deal breaker.

so you smile at him and nod your head, a melodic “okay,” leaving your mouth that has him smiling back at you just as sweetly.

present day:

you knew going to this dinner with mingi was gonna end in disaster.

you were both too on edge after your fight this morning, past the point of screaming and yelling for hours that, now, you’ll exchange a few harsh words at each other before falling silent.

you’ve learned that the tense silence after a fight is worse than screaming and yelling.

at least with that, it seems as if there’s still some passion there. there’s words being exchanged and feelings coming to the surface that both people feel motivated enough to express.

but with the silence, you’re both bottling it up.

deeming it useless and letting it brew and brew and brew until one of you goes completely over the edge - and more often than not, that person is him.

the car ride over is no better, not even the radio playing to distract you both from the building tension in the air.

your friends know immediately that something is up, yunho eyeing mingi and san eyeing you; yunho, san, seonghwa, and wooyoung had been your friends since elementary school.

you’d been through a lot with them and have seen each other at all your highs and lows.

throughout your two-year relationship with mingi, him and yunho had grown especially close and it was sweet to see; you knew it was important for mingi to have another friend in a place he didn’t grow up in and you were genuinely happy they created a great friendship.

“hey guys!” wooyoung chirped happily, already chowing down on the chips and salsa in the middle of the table. “how is everyone?”

and like he’s almost oblivious to the tension in the room, mingi only mumbles a grumbled “fine,” before he starts happily babbling again. you try a little harder to put up on a happy front, giving wooyoung a small smile as you talk to him about your last semester of school.

as the dinner goes on, appetizers turning to meals and meals turning to alcohol, mingi downs sangria after sangria before he becomes a lot more chatty.

“oh, shit, there he is,” wooyoung smiles happily, a drunken flush to his face as he pokes his arm playfully. “you were scaring me for a hot second. looking all pissed off and shit.”

“that’s because i was pissed off. still am, if i’m being honest, woo,” mingi says, a conniving hint in his tone as he finishes the last of his drink.

your eyes immediately move to him and you’re quick to narrow them, hoping and praying he doesn’t start round two in this public restaurant right now; but apparently, that’s exactly what he plans on doing.

“what’s with the face, y/n?”

mingi spits your name out like it’s the last thing he wants to say, a quietly snapped “nothing,” leaving your mouth.

san and yunho look to each other immediately, concern on both their faces as they feel the tension start creeping back up.

they knew something was wrong the second you both came in, have known things have been off between you two for months, and it was even more obvious when you immediately took the seats a few spots away from each other.

“nothing?” he asks, his voice deep and gravely due to his anger and the alcohol. “because it sure looks like you wanna say something.”

“i don’t have anything to say to you.”

“you never do, do you, babe?” he asks, his humorless laugh and vindictive tone making your skin prickle.

“did you even miss me?”

your eyes meet his from across the table when he finally speaks, your eyebrow raising as you two stare at each other blankly.

he had left two nights ago after telling you he needed space, not hearing a word from him until he came barreling through the door just a few moments ago at seven a.m.

you’d just gotten up to make yourself coffee, plagued with worry and upset over your fight and his lack of communication.

“maybe if you looked at your phone, you’d know.”

because how could he think you wouldn’t miss him? how could he think you’re actually okay with him leaving after every fight? not hearing from him for a day or two while you stay in this apartment and let your mind go off into every worst case scenario.

a humorless laugh can only leave him as he shakes his head.

“of course you’re putting the blame back on me. i just can’t make you happy, can i, y/n?”

“you staying after a fight would make me happy. but of course, you can’t do that for me, can you?”

he doesn’t say anything and instead just clenches his jaw painfully tight.

you watch it tick dangerously and instead of feeling anger or sadness, you just feel utterly defeated; you don’t know how many times you guys have had this exact conversation.

a fight will happen.

he yells, you cry.

you just want him to see your tears and obvious pain and stop the yelling.

hold you and kiss your hair and mumble that you guys are gonna figure this out and get passed it.

he leaves, you stay silent.

he just wants you to fight for him a little.

call him out on his shit and prove to his insecure self that you still love and care for him, even though he’s a dick. ask him to please stay because he wants to figure this out and get passed it.

but then he comes back and you’re both okay for a bit, just for the cycle to repeat itself over and over.

“is that why you leave, mingi?” you speak again, looking at him curiously as you shake your head. 

“make me sit here and worry about you for days, while you purposely ignore me, just so i can tell you i miss you? is that what you want?”

the words are on the tip of his tongue. that yes, that’s exactly what he wants from you.

but the words are also on the tip of your tongue. that you want his first instinct to be to stay. to stay here and talk things out with you before immediately jumping up to flee.

he wants you to tell him you miss him but you want him to tell you he loves you, that he loves you enough to stay when you guys fight; but right now, neither of you are even sure if that’s true anymore.

“i don’t know about y/n, you guys,” mingi says suddenly at dinner, the drunken slur to his voice evident to everyone. “i love her but sometimes.... i think i actually fucking hate her.”

you feel your heart sink when those words leave his mouth, your face dropping just as the boys call out his name roughly.

“mingi, what the fuck,” san growls from across the table; but the boy is completely unbothered, shrugging his broad shoulders as he looks directly at you.

“how ‘bout you, babe? how do you feel about me?” he asks, leaned back against his chair like he’s completely calm, cool and collected.

“i’m not having this discussion with you right now.”

“you never want to have this discussion,” he mocks, the anger and rage in his eyes only making your blood boil even more. 

“i’m getting tired of it, y/n. i’m getting tired of all this shit.”

his voice is raising and you’re becoming increasingly embarrassed, knowing that the last place for this blowout fight is in front of your friends in a public setting.

“mingi, this really isn’t the place to-”

“shut up, yunho, we’re gonna finally-”

but you’re not intending on doing anything, already feeling humiliated and belittled as you get up from your seat and walk toward the door.

you leave your bag and jacket so the boys know you’re not leaving, hoping and praying that your drunk asshole of a boyfriend follows you outside; and sure enough, two minutes later, you smell his familiar cologne when the door opens.

neither of you say anything for the first few seconds, him leaned against the wall and you facing him with your hands on your hips.

“what’s your problem?”

it’s the first thing you think to ask, looking at him with such concern and defeat in your eyes. 

you hope he can see it but you’re sure he can’t, far too absorbed in whatever he’s been going through for the past few months to notice.

“i don’t have a problem.”

“you obviously do,” you snap, your voice raising as you take a step closer to him.

“you just embarrassed me in front of everyone and you’re acting like a fucking child. we could’ve had this conversation at the house instead of not speaking for days.”

“why? so you could just turn shit around on me or ignore what i’m saying?” he snaps back, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at you. “maybe we need an outside source to listen.”

“not our friends, mingi, and not at a public dinner when you’re getting drunk.”

“you always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” he snaps, his jaw clenching and eyes flaring as he continues to peer down at you.

“and it’s always on me. when we tried to talk this morning, you blew me off, too, y/n. it’s like you don’t ever wanna have this discussion.”

“because i don’t know what you want me to say, mingi. how many times do i have to repeat myself and tell you i don’t know what you want from me?”

“have you ever thought that maybe that’s the fucking problem, y/n? that after all of this, you still don’t know what i want from you? are you fucking stupid?”

“are you fucking stupid?” you yell back, the suppressed anger and rage you knew was brewing boiling over right here and now.

“you want me to tell you that i miss you when you leave every other week, mingi? why would i tell someone that who could give a shit? i could tell you i miss you or that i’ll miss you and you’ll still fucking leave me.”

“how do you know?” he snaps, “you’ve never tried!”

“i’ve never tried?” you yelp, tears of frustration burning your eyes as you look at him.

“what’s me texting you when you leave like a little bitch every single time? or me obviously worrying when you pull that stupid shit over and over? i’ve been trying mingi and you don’t care! you leave me crying alone every single time!”

he meets your gaze with fire in his eyes and you can only stare back with tears in yours, waiting for him to scream something before he decides to kick over the metal garbage can a few feet away from you.

you watch as it clatters against the side walk, a loud, deep “fuck!” leaving him as you watch him blankly. his chest is heaving and you can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself right now but you also don’t know anymore.

because you’re shaking inside and out and feel like you wanna throw up, knowing that right now you both look like the worst type of couple; but it’s nothing compared to how you feel, how even though you don’t want to, you can’t stop yourself from acting out on these negative feelings.

“and if i never try, mingi, then just leave again,” you say, tears blurring your vision and a lump growing in your throat. “you can stay and come home with me tonight. or you can leave. at this point, i’m too tired to care.”

you weren’t surprised to go home alone that night.

watch as seonghwa and yunho helped your boyfriend to their car and promised that he’d be back in a few days; you were only able to sleep soundly that night because you knew he was safe with them.

but it didn’t stop you from crying yourself to sleep that night, the night after that and the night after that for the next week; the same would’ve probably happened the next night, too, at least for a little bit, had you not heard your front door open just after midnight.

you were getting in one last episode of your drama when mingi returned home, craning your neck back to see him lazily kicking off his shoes at the front door.

his head looked up to meet your gaze, the glow of the tv hitting him just enough to tell you he looked like shit.

he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was tousled messily, like he hadn’t washed it since you last saw him. his face was sunken and pale as if he’d been away in the wild for months opposed to his friend’s house for just a little over a week.

but when he’s away from you, this is what happens each and every time - he can’t sleep or eat or function properly.

he’s only plagued with the thought of you, memories running through his mind or constantly wondering what you’re doing. if you’re safe and feeling okay or if something bad is gonna happen to you because he’s not there.

the couch dips next to you before you feel his skin graze yours, a quietly mumbled “hey,” like he just came in from work casually spoken through the air.

you crane your neck up at him to look in his sunken eyes, an uncontrollable frown on your face as you swipe your finger across his purple skin.

it’s the softest touch he’s received in a week and he’s missed it more than he cares to admit. shutting his eyes and smiling slightly when he hears you mumble “hi” back.

you bask in each other’s comfort and warmth for the rest of the episode in silence, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm wound tightly around you until the tv screen falls black.

you two walk into bed and he pulls you down with him, your head falling to his chest and his hands in your hair. you moan against him sleepily and it’s a sound he’s missed so dearly, tightening his hold on you as he feels his body immediately relax.

you’re both completely comfortable and at ease, days of worrying finally calmed as you’re beside one another again.

but even with this comfort, even with the familiar feel of each other’s skin and warmth soothing both of you, you know it won’t be enough.

because you still don’t say you missed him and he still doesn’t tell you he loves you.

a year and 11 months ago - january 10th

you weren’t sure if it was possible to fall in love in less than a month but it really felt as if you and mingi did.

from the moment you saw him two days after your initial meeting, skating together and braving the frozen lake together, your connection was immediate.

you’d spent everyday with each other, frolicking through the town in the afternoon before going back to your house at night.

you usually spent it cuddled up on the couch or making food in your kitchen, his arms wrapping around your waist before tossing you up on the counter playfully.

“you didn’t strike me as a chef,” you tell him, watching him stir a pot of noodles with a content look on his face.

“well, i didn’t strike you as a rapper either,” he says, a smirk on his face as a giggle leaves your mouth.

you learned that mingi was an aspiring rapper, him and his friend hongjoong trying to get their foot in the door for the past year. you listened to a few of their songs and even got a live performance from him, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you watched him.

in a fit of absolute astonishment, because you didn’t think mingi could get any more attractive, you blurted out that he didn’t seem like a rapper. that his personality was too “cute and charming” despite the deep growl to his raps and voice.

“i told you just personality wise,” you whine with a pout, reaching your hand out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “but appearance wise, absolutely. you’re very tough. very cool looking. i’m scared of you.”

“you’re making this a lot worse for yourself, baby,” he hums lowly, another giggle leaving your mouth as you bite down on your lip.

“did your friend hear back from that producer yet?” you ask him curiously, your legs criss-crossed as you sit on the counter and peer up at him.

he looks over to see you staring at him all wide-eyed and interested, a soft, happy glint in your gaze that makes his heart pull in his chest.

he hasn’t even known you for a month but he’s never been this happy before.

he’s never had anyone be there for him the way you’ve been, dedicating their time to him and being so actively interested and supportive of his decisions; it also doesn’t help that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met, both inside and out, that made him extend his trip a week longer.

he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to you yet and he’s still not sure if he can; he’s grown incredibly attached to you and it’s something he’s never felt before.

something all consuming and magical that’s making him incredibly vulnerable.

“not yet,” he mumbles, his eyes roaming your face.

your eyebrows pull together when you notice the way he’s looking at you, soft and sweet with a fondness that makes your heart flutter dangerously.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

a smile crosses his face as he lowers the heat on the stove, caging your body in and cocking his head to the side. he bites down on his lip when he sees your eyes widen, a large hand coming up to push pieces of hair out of your face.

“because i’m happy i met you.”

a small, touched smile pulls at your lips as you peer up at him, raising your own hand to smooth out the chain around his neck.

your fingers brush against his warm skin and it’s like there’s electricity coursing through both of you, your bodies close and hot breath wafting together.

“i’m happy i met you too, mingi.”

his heart soars at the way you say his name, eyes falling to your lips as he presses himself closer to you. you push yourself against the cabinets, swallowing the lump in your throat when you follow his gaze.

your tongue peeks out to lick over them unconsciously, your own eyes falling to his lips. you feel your stomach swoop dangerously, wanting so badly to feel them on yours - they’re one of the first things you noticed about him.

“y/n?”

“hm?” you hum, your eyes lingering on his mouth before hazily meeting his eyes; and there you see it, the soft intensity you’ve yet to grow used to.

you’ve seen this look from him more times than you can remember despite the short time you’ve known each other.

on the lake when you two were skating, grasping each other’s hands and giggling as you tried to keep yourselves from falling back.

in town when your hands bumped and you’d stop dead in your tracks to look at each other, completely unaware of the people around you giving each other knowing looks.

on the couch when you’d allow your head to rest on his shoulder, cuddling closer to him because the weather is really cold for january and you need body heat.

but it’s never been as strong as it now.

your heart’s never been beating this fast and you haven’t been able to feel his own pounding against his chest. probably because he was nervous to ask-

“can i kiss you?”

neither of you can remember what happened after he uttered those words.

just that one minute, he said it and the next, your mouths were connected. parting on one another’s as he completely caged your body with his.

your arms wound around his neck and he hummed contently against your mouth, slipping his tongue in when you started playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

he had half the mind to turn off the stove before carrying you to the couch, your legs wound tightly around his waist as every hint of desire and want overtook you.

he plopped himself down as you situated yourself on his lap, lips never disconnecting. you moaned against him when you felt his body underneath yours, tongues colliding and mouths pulled into smiles.

his hands gripped onto your hips gently, pulling your body closer to his as your kisses grew hungrier and more intense.

you finally pulled apart for air with heaving chests and red, puffy lips, your eyes meeting and every hint of vulnerability and longing in them.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he finally says softly, almost whispering it in fear that someone else would hear.

but this house is empty. it always is and it has been for quite some time.

until you met him and he completely changed your life.

now there were two pairs of shoes at the door and two empty cups in the sink. there was someone to talk to and someone to be in the silence with.

because you’ve learned over this past month that even a silence with someone else is way better than the silence of being alone.

“me... me too,” you admit shyly, a warm blush creeping up on your face. “i’m... really, really happy you’re here, mingi.”

his eyes widen when he sees tears well up in your eyes, his mouth pulled into a frown as he brings his hands to your face.

but you only shake your head before he can comment on it, placing your hand atop his before connecting your lips again.

he meets the kiss with the fervor you need, everything about it soft and sweet and passionate. like you guys know time is running out and you need to fit it all in.

“that producer got back to me and wants to meet in person so you’ll be home next week, yeah?” hongjoong asked mingi over the phone, the boy laid out on his bed a few days later.

he can only keep replaying the memory of you in his mind, the tone of your voice and the teary look in your eye when you told him how happy you were that he’s been here.

there was a certain type of sadness behind you that he hasn’t been able to shake, making it incredibly hard for him to pick a day to just pack up his car and go.

“i... uh. i don’t know, yet.”

��what?” hongjoong asked.

him and mingi had been waiting to meet producers for months, getting either put on a list or straight up rejected. and now when they have a chance, “you don’t know yet?”

mingi licks over his lips as he hears the disbelief in his friend’s voice, knowing that hongjoong won’t be able to believe this. they’ve been waiting for this moment ever since they were in high school and had the dream of rapping as a duo.

he was only supposed to be here for a few days and now it was almost a month. what could possibly be keeping him there? what could possibly have made mingi-

“what could you possibly not know, mingi? we’ve been waiting for this moment for years. you even extended your trip for a bullshit reason thinking i’d really buy it.”

“okay but my aunt really did need help around the house...” he mumbles because yes, she needed help around the house as she redid her bathroom but she was quick to hire professionals so, technically not a lie.

“so what, what’s your excuse this time? did you meet some chick?”

there’s a silence that stretches over the phone for what feels like hours, mingi attempting to find any words before hongjoong lets out a loud groan.

“a girl? mingi, are you fucking kidding me?”

“i really like her, hongjoong,” mingi tells his friend, a sweet genuineness and innocence in his deep tone. “i really, really like her and i... i don’t think i can leave her yet.”

he reluctantly opens up to hongjoong about you, telling him that you’re in school and live alone in this quiet little lake town. that you and him have been spending every second together and he’s never felt this way about anyone before.

“i’m happy for you, man, i really am,” hongjoong says, never having heard his friend talk like this before. “but i mean... is she worth changing your plans? what the hell is there for you?”

he wants to say that you. you’re there.

the girl he’s known for less than a month but has gotten him so tight around her finger - and once he leaves, will still be here.

except she’ll be within the walls of her house all alone again, in a town based off people coming and going where she’s never seemed to have a stable relationship with anyone.

where she now knows what it’s like to spend every day with someone and look forward to their company every morning and night. spend hours talking until the sun rises and sleep until it’s dark out.

“i wouldn’t be changing my plans that much. i still have our music, hongjoong. we can still do shit even if i live here.”

“live there?!? hongjoong blurts out, “you’ve been there for a less than a month, dude, that’s fucking crazy. you’ve barely know her and you’re gonna move there?”

“i can’t leave her.”

he didn’t think at the time that it was crazy. he didn’t think he’d ever come to regret that decision because, at the time, he really couldn’t imagine leaving you.

he couldn’t picture himself hugging you goodbye and telling you that you’d keep in touch via texting and facetime.

he couldn’t picture going back home with a genuine smile on his face when it felt as if he left behind something, someone, would could make him the happiest he’s ever felt.

he couldn’t picture that he’d ever come to resent you because when he told you he was gonna consider staying in town longer, a bit more permanently, the smile that lit up your face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“really?” you smile, jumping up from your spot on the couch and running over to him.

you’re so smiley and happy and bouncy until you’re not, your face dropping ever so slightly when you look over his face.

“but wait... what about the producer? did he ever answer?”

“he did. hongjoong’s meeting with him tomorrow.”

your eyes widen at the news but he’s quick to cut you off, bend down and press a long, lingering kiss to your lips before scooping you up into his arms.

“but i told him there was something better for me here.”

present day:

he wasn’t sure when the resentment started.

he just knew that, one minute he loved you, and the next, he started to question everything.

it could’ve been from seeing hongjoong’s success, album after album and talk of him all over social media right in his face every day.

it could’ve been his lack of success, pursuing a music degree via online school while still keeping up with his previously established career as a rapper; it was enough to get the bills paid and keep his name lingering around but that’s all it was now.

it could’ve been that all of his passion was gone and he blamed you for that; because if it weren’t for you, he’d be with hongjoong now. he’d be making money and feeling inspired and at the peak of his creativity and motivation.

but he loves you, right? he loves you more than he’s loved anyone in the world and he made the right decision.

“sometimes i question if i made the right decision.”

it was a relativity quiet night for you and mingi, the past few days calm and uneventful, so you knew a fight was bound to happen soon.

and with that statement, it seemed as if the night was quickly headed in that direction.

“what do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your textbook.

he was sat on the love seat opposite you, computer in his lap and a beer on the side table as he watched you. he’d been wordlessly watching you all night and you hadn’t been sure what to make of it.

now, you can see, he might’ve been watching you with disdain.

“i mean i sometimes wonder if i made the right decision in staying here. just... so quickly not accepting that producer’s offer with hongjoong’s.”

his words hurt you more than you let on, your stomach sinking and knotting as you let his words sink in.

you had asked him for weeks after he made that decision if he was sure.

if something he worked so hard on and something he looked forward to for so long was something was worth giving up.

and anytime you asked, he’d say the same thing.

“you’re worth it.”

you wonder now if he said it so many times to qualm your ever present worries or to convince himself. tell himself over and over again that, yes this girl is worth staying here and no, i won’t come to resent her.

it’s something you worried about in the beginning but faded with time.

because your love grew stronger and you both became more secure. your relationship was the closest thing to perfect you’d ever experienced.

but not now.

now it’s a fucking disaster.  

“where did that even come from?”

you can hear to your own ears how shaky and unsure your voice sounds. it’s filling you with as much shame as it does embarrassment, knowing that you can’t even talk to your own boyfriend openly and honestly.

without feeling upset, like you know you have to walk on eggshells or can’t express how much he’s been hurting you.

“i don’t know, i’ve just been thinking,” he hums, taking a swig of his beer as he adjusts himself on the couch.

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, only humming lowly as you nod your head.

you lick over your lips as you look back down uncomfortably, blankly staring at the words of your textbook. your brain can’t absorb any of the terms or phrases on the page, the sinking, awful feeling in your stomach taking over.

you can’t even remember how long you’ve felt like this.

when butterflies turned to this gut wrenching, awful feeling.

like the feeling before a plane takes off or you have a presentation to do or when the one person you’ve loved in this world has decided they don’t want you anymore.

“i stayed for you.”

the words you feared hearing pierce the air and you hold back a shaky breath, biting the inside of your cheek so harshly you’re hit with the metallic taste blood.

you look up and see his eyes narrowed in on you, tears burning the back of yours as you beg them not to fall.

because you can’t keep crying in front of him just for him to ignore you. to just watch you lose it with a blank look in his eyes, instead of holding you or attempting to soothe you.

“i couldn’t leave you alone in your house,” he begins, like the words he’s rationalizing in his head are coming out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“i wasn’t ready to leave you yet and i didn’t even think twice about how i would feel in the future. because i was so fucking consumed by you, y/n.”

there’s an obvious and palpable pain in his voice and it makes your gut wrench even more; you hate that he’s in pain but you’re in pain, too. you were in pain before him and now you’re in pain because of him.

“i’m still consumed by you but i feel...angry now. i feel so fucking angry, y/n, and i don’t know why. i don’t know if i’m mad at you or myself but i know i stayed for you. if i never met you, i never would’ve stayed here and now i feel like i’m stuck.”

“but i never asked you to stay, mingi,” you whimper out, the tears quickly coming to the surface.

they’re a mix of sadness and frustration, because it hurts so much hearing this, the obvious regret in his words, but it also makes you mad - that was his choice and his choice alone.

and it’s like he knows that too. because he doesn’t say anything in response, just continues to stare at you with a look in his eye that breaks your heart.

“i asked you so many times if you were okay with doing that,” you begin after moments of silence, your teary, wet gaze meeting his. “i asked you again and again because i knew you’d come to regret it.”

“i’m not saying i regret it, i’m just saying i-”

“you’re saying you stayed here for me like it’s my fault,” you say, shaking your head as tears leak from your eyes and down your cheek. “like i asked you to and like meeting me was your downfall. but i never told you to and i would’ve never ever expected you to.”

“what, so i was just supposed to leave you alone?” mingi growls lowly, emotion behind his tone that’s almost masked by the brashness.

he can’t help but feel all of this coming up, all of these feelings he’s been going through these past months and making him a completely different person.

“why would i have left you when i knew i loved you?”

neither of you focused on loved being past tense, probably because it’s a fact both of you know by now.

“i didn’t want anything else but you in that moment.”

“do you want a prize, mingi?” you snap, every defensive and defeated emotion coursing through your veins.

“you could’ve left me alone. you could’ve just left the way you wished you did so fucking badly. you would’ve saved yourself all of this obvious regret.”

“you think i regret staying with you?” he asks, his voice low and deep as he rises from the chair.

his frame is tall and broad and looming as he walks closer to you, standing over your chair as you sit there and stare up at him. his eyes roam your face and he follows the few tears rolling down your cheeks, his hands stiffly hanging at his sides.

he used to hate seeing you cry.

it used to make him wanna destroy whatever was hurting you. he used to kiss your tears away and wouldn’t let you leave his arms until you were smiling and laughing again.

“well, what do you call this?” you whimper quietly, sniffling and stuffy and feeling small tears stream down your face.

“you basically said if it weren’t for me, you’d be happier with your life. and i... i was so happy when you decided to stay, mingi, i’m not gonna lie to you. i was so happy because i knew we would love each other so much,” you whimper out, the knot in your throat making it difficult to speak.

“but i also knew that one day, you would probably regret it and resent me. it’s why i asked you over and over and over again. because i was so scared this was gonna happen.”

his mouth grows dry as he licks over his lips, a burning behind his eyes as he hears your voice break. he’s quick to shake his head and blink away the tears, though, because he knows if he starts crying, he’s never gonna stop.

“i thought you would leave with me eventually,” he’s finally able to get out, his throat clogged and voice gruff as he voices his innermost thoughts and wishes.

you compromised for him once, why wouldn’t you do it again?

“i thought if you actually loved me the way you claimed to, you’d be able to go.”

“well, i was always honest with you about that too,” you murmur, feeling utterly defeated and guilty as you meet mingi’s glossy eyes. “you know i never intend on leaving.”

a year and 5 months ago - june 19th

he learned about your parents accident on the 4th year anniversary of their death.

he had noticed that week you were especially gloomy, a sad look in your eye and the fake smile on your face making him cling to you just a bit more than usual.

and apparently, you had noticed too.

“mingi, are you okay?”

the words were muffled against his shirt, your face pressed against his chest as the two of you lay on the couch. his hand had been running up and down your back gently all night, like he’d been trying to calm you without any words.

like he knew there was something wrong, even though you hadn’t said a word.

his eyebrows pull together in confusion, placing his fingers under your chin. he lifts your face as his eyes search yours, that sad look behind them masked by a soft curiosity.

you’re trying to hide your pain because you think he’s hurting and that alone only makes him even more sad.

“of course i am, baby. but are you okay?”

you can’t find it in you to say yes so you only nod shyly, a small smile gracing your face as you look at him.

his eyes are full of such warmth and love that it makes tears prick behind your eyes, dropping your gaze quickly as you bury your face back in his chest.

the movement causes him to swallow nervously, adams apple bobbing as he presses his lips to the top of your head.

he knows something’s wrong. he knows something’s very wrong but he doesn’t know what happened or what’s brought this on.

“you can tell me anything,” he mumbles against your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around your body. “you know that, right?”

because he also noticed that you started seeming off when he mentioned moving in together, looking at apartments in town for himself before getting the idea to live with you.

you guys are already together all the time, it only made sense for you two to live together as well.

but he could tell immediately the idea unsettled you, you clutching desperately on to him as you muttered that you’d think about it.

at first, he would’ve assumed you didn’t wanna go that far with him. that it was too serious a commitment and you were completely uncomfortable with that.

but it was the way you were clinging to him, burying your face in his chest like you were begging him not to leave you that made him realize something deeper was going.

it’s why he dropped it at first. looked for apartments on his own with the idea that, best case scenario, you’d move in with him too.

could that be what’s wrong right now? you dealing with moving in with him and fears coming from that? or something else entirely?

he just knows that when he starts to hear you cry quietly into his chest, he needs to know what’s been wrong because he hates seeing you like this.

“hey, hey, hey,” his deep voice mumbles, large hands pulling you from his chest and wiping at your face. “what happened, baby? what’s wrong?”

and since you started crying about this, remembering the day and the circumstances around it so well, you won’t be able to stop. you can only continue to cry into him, tiny sobs wracking your body as you clutched onto him tightly.

“i... i can’t.”

you couldn’t talk, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t tell him, he wasn’t sure.

that’s why he shook his head and pulled you back into his chest, the warm safe place you’ve come to know so well and usually calmed you whenever you needed.

“i don’t know what’s wrong but i promise you’ll be okay,” you hear him mumble against your head, his hand running up and down your back gently. “i’ll try to help you in any way i can, baby, but i’m gonna need to know what’s wrong.”

but he can’t help you bring back your dead parents.

he can’t help you time travel the way you so desperately wish you could to tell yourself not to go on that senior trip.

that if you didn’t go, your parents never would’ve driven you to the airport and they never would’ve gotten in the car accident that took their life on the way back.

you’d spent a week in a foreign country while they spent a week in the hospital, your aunt and grandparents dealing with the repercussions before you came back and said your goodbyes in a dingy, hospital room.

mingi doesn’t know how long you both sat there in silence, your cries muffled against his chest and his arms wound tightly around you.

he loosened his hold immediately when he felt you try to pull away, watching as you stared at him, wiped your eyes and told him everything.

“my parents died four years ago, today.”

he watches with soft, sympathetic eyes and a breaking heart as you tell him about your guilt.

how if you just decided to stay home after weeks of begging them to go, they’d still be here.

“they didn’t have the money but i begged them for weeks, mingi,” you tell him, tears in your eyes and voice thick with emotion. 

“i wanted to go so badly because all my friends were going and i was too selfish to see they really couldn’t afford it.”

he can tell you’re not done talking so he only presses his lips together and grasps your hand tightly. squeezes it reassuringly as his thumb gently rubs back and forth against your skin.

“they both worked overtime for two weeks straight and gave me the money the last day it was due. and i barely thanked them,” you remember, the scene you’ve replayed in your mind hundreds of times flashing yet again.

you jumped up from the couch and snatched the money from their hands, throwing your arms around them in a quick hug before screaming your thanks and running up to your room to tell your friends.

“a drunk diver hit them on their way home from the airport and the doctors couldn’t believe they both didn’t die on impact. a-and no one in my family could even call me so i said my goodbyes when i got home, in the hospital.”

you look to mingi with tears streaming down your cheeks and you see wetness in his own eyes, his hand grasping onto yours tight.

“i couldn’t even talk to them one last time. or hear their voices. i don’t even know if they heard me.”

your voice breaks off after that, not being able to handle recounting this after years of staying silent about it; he’s the first person you’ve talked to about this besides the counselor you saw a few months after their death.

he pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms tightly around you, rocking you back and forth as he presses his lips to your head.

your eyes are closed tight as you focus on his breathing and soft murmurs. his deep, full voice muttering sweet nothings and quiet reassurances.

that your parents did hear you and they loved you till the end.

that it was no one’s fault but the driver who decided to get in a car after getting drunk.

that you shouldn’t put any blame on yourself, because your parents would want you to be happy and thriving.

“i know but it’s just hard,” you tell him, you teary face pulling away from his wet chest.

you look around the living room full of books and wooden furniture, a family portrait hung above a cluttered-filled desk; it was taken when you were ten and you remember hating that day because you had to wear an uncomfortable dress and tights.

“i don’t know how i’m ever gonna leave this place,” you voice aloud to him, one of the many concerns that muddled your mind when you started deciding on college or jobs or moving in with your perfect boyfriend of almost a year.

“it’s the last thing i have of them. i don’t... i don’t know if i’d be ever to leave this place, mingi.”

not after what happened last time.

not wanting to leave the house you grew up in to strangers who would create more happy memories and replace the ones you made with your own parents.

his face contorts into one of sympathy and pain, his heart breaking as the obvious guilt and dread is in your eyes.

he’d always seen a bit of torment behind them but you were always able to smile.

laugh with him and tease him and push whatever demons he knew you had aside; but he started seeing it again when he mentioned moving in, fear and anxiety and discomfort that he hated to even see behind your eyes.

“i don’t know how that will effect us, it’s something i’ve thought about a lot recently,” you confess quietly, playing with the edge of the blanket nervously. “especially when you mentioned us moving in together. i... i want to, so bad, because i love you and i think it’d be fun. but... i can’t leave.”

your tears start up again and a frown crosses mingi’s face, his body hovering over yours as he takes your face in his big hands.

he wipes at the tears threatening to slide down your cheeks before placing his lips on your head, breathing slowly and calmly against you as his warm breath wafts over you.

“baby, i understand completely, i really do,” he says, everything making sense now but... “but i don’t think your parents would want you to... limit your life like this.”

because you obviously had an interest in seeing the world. you obviously wanted to see different places and cultures and sights in the world that even your precious little town doesn’t hold.

but he can see tonight isn’t the night you’re gonna see that, if the way you shake your head and bury yourself back in his chest doesn’t show that.

and because he loved you more than anything else in the world, he understood it. held you and kissed you and made sure you knew he’d be by your side in whatever way you needed.

it was with his patience and love and unconditional support that you were able to live with him. keep your parents house as a sense of security but slowly move yourself out of it.

leaving a toothbrush at the apartment, a few sets of clothes, some shampoos and soaps until one night, you were waking up and falling asleep with him every morning and night.

present day:

the fight that ended you and mingi was over a trip to disney.

something meant to be so childish and fun and innocent morphing into a blowout, gut-wrenching fight that left the two of distraught.

hit both of you with the realization that whatever you once had had fizzled out and turned so horribly toxic, you were both losing yourselves.

it had started with yunho, san and wooyoung planning the trip, mingi over their house one day after the tension in the apartment got too much. he had scoffed when san mentioned it at first, wondering what business they had as college going twenty-somethings booking a trip to disney.

“it’ll be sweet!” san said, “we could go to the parks for a few days, everyone loves roller coasters! and then we can drive down to the beach, go surfing and go to bars and shit. it’d be so much fun, guys.”

and the more all of them thought about it, the more excited they got. looking at flights and car rentals and getting all their swim suits in order - that was until mingi came back home a day later and informed you of these plans.

“me and the guys were talking about booking a trip to disney,” was the first thing he said to you. not a hello or how are you or sorry for leaving and making you worry for a week.

“oh?” you hummed quietly, looking up from your spot at the kitchen sink; you’d made breakfast for two just in case he came home early but it was another serving of eggs and bacon in the trash.

“yeah, so is that something you’d wanna do?”

there’s something off about his tone that you immediately pick up on. snippy and on edge and defensive, like he’s already fully prepared to break out into a fight.

because he already knows you won’t do it. you won’t leave the 70 mile radius you’ve trapped yourself nor will you even try to go out of your comfort zone for him and you or anyone else.

and quite frankly, he’s grown really fucking sick of it. call him selfish or call him someone looking out for you, someone who knows this type of living isn’t normal, he can’t deal with it anymore.

“i... well i mean...how would we get there? and when?”

“we were looking at flights three weeks from now,” he says, carefully observing your face with slightly cold eyes. carefully waiting for the next hint of a breakdown he’s not gonna properly respond to.

you bite the inside of your cheek as panic starts to stir in your chest.

you haven’t been anywhere since the accident. you’ve gotten yourself so used to this environment that going anywhere else seems terrifying.

but you’ve seen how bad things will happen when you try to venture out. you left to do the same and it cost your parents your life - who’s to say you wouldn’t get your karma soon?

leave mingi without a girlfriend he doesn’t even care about anymore or your grandparents without a granddaughter you can’t help but feel they blame for their child’s death.

tears are quick to prick your eyes as you try to push down all of these feelings, looking down at the floor in a move mingi already knows is dismissive.

you hear him scoff and it sends a flurry of emotions through you, not even needing to lift your head to know he’s shaking his head.

“figures,” he hums lowly, making extra noise as he puts down his bag or plops down on the dining room chair. “i don’t know why i bothered asking.”

“mingi...” you begin breathlessly, guilt and shame and sorrow filling you.

“no, y/n.”

his voice is firm and hard and makes you meet his gaze, the look he’s throwing you icy and completely empty. he’s done and you’re done and there’s basically a ticking time bomb between you two.

“you didn’t even let me give you an answer.”

“because i know what it’s gonna be!” he roars, feeling stupid for getting excited when he knew damn well you wouldn’t be able to leave. “i know you’re gonna make up some bullshit excuse about school or work or money and you’re gonna say no.”

you can’t say anything because you know he’s right. but what he doesn’t know is that you’re trying. you try every day and every week and every month to push yourself out of your comfort zone and it just doesn’t work.

you’ve tried going away with him and you’ve tried expanding your horizons - you’e even moved out of your parents house to live with him. but it’s hard when you’re constantly reminded by the fact that your decisions ended a life.

while it was technically the drunk driver’s fault, your survivors guilt heavily outweighs that. intrusive thought after intrusive thought until you start to question why you’re even still here, too.

“i’m trying, mingi,” you say, your voice shaky and defeated. “i’m trying but you don’t even see that.”

“how are you trying?” he asks, watching your dejected form a few feet away from him. “you haven’t done anything different since you moved in with me. we’ve been living the same life for the past two years, y/n.”

but you just remember how patient he was when you first tried moving in. how he was so patient and kind and gentle and was everything you needed him to be.

but he can just remember how much he loved you. how patient and understanding he was, not fully grasping the severity of what happened to you and how incapable he was of dealing with it.

“i’m... so fucking sick of it. i’ve grown to be so sick of you and i hate that, y/n. i hate feeling like this but it’s the truth.”

“and you don’t think i am?” you blurt out, the dam of tears breaking as you hear him say those specific words to you - i’ve grown to be so sick of you.

your frame is smaller and fragile and you’re like a shell of the person you were when you first met as you make your way up to him, looking over him with all the pain and exhaustion in your eyes.

“you don’t think i’m sick of feeling this way? of seeing how much you obviously hate me and are over this when i can’t stop feeling this way? because i’m sorry it’s been inconveniencing you, mingi, but it’s been ruining me, too. sometimes i can’t even believe i’m still here.”

the last part of your sentence stirs something in him but he can only focus on your broken state. watching as you grow weaker and weaker because of him.

“you haven’t even been helping me,” you suddenly say, words quiet and soft-spoke but filled with an obvious hurt. “i... i don’t know why you’d even wanna go on a trip with me because we’d just fight, mingi. we’d just fight and i’d cry and you’d leave me. th-that’s what we keep doing.”

tears burn the back of his eyes, a knot growing in his stomach so big it feels like he’s about to puke.

“because i don’t know what to do anymore, y/n,” he say, his voice less harsh but still holding a certain degree of bite. “i tried so hard with you and nothing seems to work. i loved you, i still love you, and i was there for you and i tried so hard with you but... i don’t know how to help you.”

“you think yelling is the way? or leaving me is the way?” you laugh out manically, tears rolling down your face that you desperately try to reach out and wipe. “you’re sick of me but i’m sick of you, too. i’m sick of feeling this way and i’m so fucking sick of thinking you still love me.”

“you don’t think i love you?” he asks, rising from his chair and making his way over to you. 

his looming height should make you nervous, the way he’s looking down at you and threatening to trap you against the counter should make you nervous, but it doesn’t.

because coming to terms with this right here is the worst part. the conversation you’ve been avoiding for months and the obvious change in what you two have become.

“i don’t,” you say, finally meeting his gaze and seeing hurt and anger swirl behind them. they used to hold such a sweet softness that would sometimes make you feel better, even if just for a little bit.

“because even if you do, you’re still sick of me, right?”

one year ago:

“what if you get sick of me?”

the newest compromise had been his family coming here to meet you.

you and mingi had booked refundable tickets for a week in his hometown, a part of you wanting to desperately prove you could do something for him. something that would make him happy and maybe prove you love him a little more than you can convey.

but the second you got on the highway to the airport, you knew you weren’t gonna be able to.

memories played through your mind of you in the backseat of your parents car, laughing and talking with them as you promised to be careful and take a lot of pictures with them.

hearing them tell you they loved you and were so happy you were able to go after all.

and then you’d looked to the other side and see in your mind a car hitting the other. spinning out and smacking into the divider as an eruption of fire, car parts and the chaotic screeching of breaks echoed through the air.

mingi had to pull over to calm you down, bring you back to the real world in the form of hugging you close to his body and his hand running through your hair.

“i’m- i’m sorry, mingi, i’m sorry, i-”

“sh, you don’t have to apologize, baby, there’s nothing to apologize for,” he hums against your head, pulling you over the console to rock you gently in his lap.

he was warm and broad and soft spoken and everything about him made you feel safe. you couldn’t grasp at the time how or why he was so understanding and sweet but you didn’t even wanna question it.

because he was the one thing in your life that made you feel okay. that you had him and he had you and there was nothing that could be that bad if you had each other still. 

he didn’t let go of your hand once as pulled onto the highway, got off the exit and made his way back home.

he guided you back into the apartment and told you to go lay down and that he’d be there in a second. 

he cancelled the flight and called his mom, telling her you guys got rained out and that, if it was okay, he’d pay for them to fly out here next week.

the bed dips a few moments later, broad strong arms wrapping around your waist before you’re pulled into his chest.

it was after a few silent minutes stretched between you two, the calming rise and fall of his chest against your back, your small voice pierced the air.

“i’m sorry, mingi.”

he could tell you were gonna cry before you even started, turning you in his arms as he pulled you closer to him.

“baby, i already told you you don’t have to-”

“but i do,” you cut him off, lower lip trembling and stomach knotting guiltily. 

“i... i don’t think this is normal, mingi. i should be able to move on with my life and travel somewhere. i wanted to go so badly and meet your mom but i-” your voice breaks as tears fill your eyes and you try to catch the breath threatening to suffocate you.

“i’m scared i’m gonna be like this forever,” you say quietly, looking up and meeting his soft, sweet gaze. “i’m scared i’m gonna be like this forever and you’re gonna become tired of it.”

“baby... that’s never gonna happen,” he assures you, voice gentle but firm as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“and you’re not gonna be like this forever. we can get you help. and i can help you,” he says, his eyes looking into yours with such a raw honesty and love. “i... don’t really know how but i’ll do whatever it takes.”

“what if it’s not enough?” you ask, because at the time it’s like you knew just how bad this was gonna get. that even with as low as you felt then, it wasn’t even rock bottom.

“what if you get sick of me?”

“i won’t,” he reassures, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your head before settling you onto his chest carefully. “that’ll never happen because i love you, y/n. and i always will.”

present day:

in a turn of events, you were the one who left after that. 

came right to the place you first met, except now the lake isn’t frozen over and the late-afternoon sun had just set.

his words were too harsh and reminded you too much of his broken promises.

you felt too weak and pathetic and completely hopeless, the tense silence so horribly loud between you two you left without a word; and he hadn’t said anything either.

and now, as you sit at the spot you’ve always come to and found solace in, you can feel why he was always so hurt when you didn’t ask him to stay. because even though you were fighting and even though you both hurt each other, you wanted him to ask you to stay.

to please not go because that would’ve been the last possible way for you both to see there was something still there - even though it’s plain to see there isn’t.

too many fights and too many words have been said. too many lapses of silence and too many unspoken thoughts that now when uttered are just hurting both of you.

you’re both too hurt and you both have too many things to sort through that you can’t do together. 

one second you were staring down at the lake, your own broken reflection staring back as your feet hung in the water, and the next you couldn’t see. tears flooded your vision and sobs wracked through your body, loud, ugly, horrific sobs that you’ve been holding back for far too long.

you cry because you know it’s over with him, you know it’s been over for a while, but now it all feels real. 

you cry because you know you need some help to get past all of the guilt you feel, how if you don’t get help, you’re never gonna leave this town and see what else is out there.

you cry because you don’t even know where to start and know, even though it hurts, you have to do it alone.

you’re so lost in your thoughts and the way your cries echo through the yard that you don’t hear footsteps approach you.

you don’t even know anyone’s behind you until someone bends down and pulls you into their broad, warm chest. a chest you know far too well and a body that hasn’t held you like this in what feels like forever.

he knew you’d be here and he couldn’t stop his legs from jumping in the car and coming to see you after you left. half because he knew this had to happen and half because he was far too scared for you to be out here like this.

he knew what conversation was gonna follow but he knew had to hold you one last time. he missed holding you and he missed wiping your tears away.

“i don’t know what happened to us, mingi,” you whimper into his chest, the tears that have been building behind his eyes finally coming to the surface.

he doesn’t know what happened either. he doesn’t know when or where you guys went wrong or when you stopped talking to each other. he doesn’t know when he stopped loving you in such a way that was all consuming, where he knew he’d do anything and everything for you.

“i don’t... i don’t think this is working. i don’t know what to do but i know i can’t do this anymore.”

“i don’t know what happened either, baby,” he mumbles against your head, his words wobbly and wet as he tightens his hold on you. it feels as if every part of is heart is breaking, for the way he’s neglected you and the way your crying against him.

“i’m sorry i can’t help you. i wanted to so fucking badly but now... i just, i can’t, baby.”

you cry harder as you shake your head against him, feeling him plop down and pull you into his arms tighter.

it feels every bit as heartbreaking and upsetting as you both knew it’d be. it’s probably why you guys put it off for so long. because even though you feel the love you used to feel, you both know nothing will change.

he’ll resent you and you’ll resent him right back.

he’ll say he stayed for you and tried to help you and you’ll say you never asked him to do any of it.

you both sit there and cry and hold each other until the sky falls dark and air turns crisp, the moon reflecting off the lake in a way that hasn’t changed in two years.

but everything’s changed between you both and it’s too heartbreakingly obvious.

“i’ll miss you,” you mumbled to him.

because you know he’s gonna go on and do all the great things he’s wanted to. move out of this town and pursue whatever dreams he put off for you, the girl he once loved more than anything.

“i love you,” he confesses quietly against your head. “i really really did love you.”

because he knows he still does, he knows he always will, but it’s not something either of you can bear to hear right now.

you both have said what the other needed to hear and when you guys part tonight, maybe you’ll finally start feeling better. fix yourselves and the damage you’ve caused each other and maybe reunite when the universe deems it right.

two and a half years later:

it had always been your dream to see the northern lights.

something about them had always fascinated you, how they almost didn’t see real or were just a figment of fake editing that would only ever be seen in photos.

but you had an overwhelming need to see them before your very eyes. see the sight before you and marvel in just how truly fascinating and beautiful it was.

so that’s exactly what you did.

you wrote down a list of all the places you wanted to see: the egyptian pyramids, the great wall of china, the taj mahal, the eiffel tower, all of the sights that you knew in order to see, you’d have to leave the perfect little town you loved so much.

it took a lot of attempts, a lot of tears and anxiety and frantic calls to your therapist, but finally, you were able to do it.

it was the third to last place on your 6-month journey around the world, jet lag getting to you immensely but an extremely fulfilling pride and excitement within you.

you were able to do it. see the sights and meet hundreds of different people and experience all the things you convinced yourself you didn’t need or want. 

and you didn’t have a single regret until this very moment. 

because the rookie mistake you made within this amazing, journey of self-discovery around the world was not investing in a parka.

the biting temperatures of alaska were surely getting to you right now, your glove covered hands over your ears as you trekked through the snow with other groups of (properly dressed) tourists during the aurora season.

you found yourself in a snowy, freezing field, tall evergreen trees above your heads as you waited patiently for the sky to change perfectly, a buzzing excitement and low chatter from the people around you.

footsteps crunching on snow filled your ears from every direction, your eyes on the trees and large sky above you. a harsh gust of wind whipped past you and you let out a tiny squeal, your hands shooting up to your red, wind-burnt face.

you could hear a quiet, low chuckle beside you, something about the strangely familiar sound sending a whoosh of butterflies through your stomach. you didn’t understand them at that moment, ignoring your bodies odd reaction and keeping your eyes focused on the sky. 

it took hearing his voice, the same one you’d fallen in love with in your own backyard, for your eyes widen and quickly look over the snowy vast of land surrounding you.

mingi stepped in front of you, eyes full of amusement and pride and even disbelief, looking over your face with the same type of a fascination he had when he first met you.  

“aren’t you cold?”

inspired by: line without a hook by ricky montgomery, ty tiktok

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @chrryhwa @baekhvuns @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo​ @nlost21​ @toffee-hwa​ @hyunjeansuniverse​ @cherryeonii​

[sooibian]

Trespassing is Prohibited!

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader ft. Chanyeol

Genre: Fluff! Fluff! Fluff! Crack. Friends to Lovers AU, University AU (ish) 

Description: Byun Baekhyun has had enough. He finally wants to ‘man up’ and make you his. But things continue to spiral out of control all thanks to his friend, philosopher, and guide (a.k.a. The Worst Wingman Ever) Park Chanyeol.

Warnings: A very rambly Baekhyun and a longwinding confession

Word Count: + 3k

-------------------------------------------

“You want me to talk about the weather?” Baekhyun squeaked into the phone after having breathed in helium from the blown up balloon in his hand.

“The weather, politics...the economy even.” Heaving slightly, Chanyeol spoke after a moment, his usual gruff and masculine voice reduced to a wafer thin high pitched squeal, sending Baekhyun into a fit of helium suffused giggles.

Taking another drag off of the balloon, Baekhyun warbled and piped, “Say...say that again. Say economy again!”

“Eco...econo-” Chanyeol’s extreme outburst of laughter at the sound of his own voice, rendered him unable to pronounce the final syllable.

All along, you stood at the door, comfortably leaning against its frame and eavesdropping on their conversation or the blatant lack thereof. Chanyeol suddenly wanted Baekhyun to talk about the weather, politics, and the economy? You thought you’d grown immune to your best friends’ antics but they continued to up the ante and left you baffled, amused, or both every single time. 

You cleared your throat to catch Baekhyun’s attention but it fell on deaf ears. He rolled around in bed, breathing in helium, laughing hysterically, chanting the words ‘economy, weather, and politics’.

“BAEKHYUN!” You screamed at last. He scrambled to face you, wearing an expression of a deer caught in the headlights. You finally had the entirety of Baekhyun’s eight second attention span all to yourself.

“YAH! YAH! YAH! What are you doing here?” Baekhyun retaliated and then whispered something into his phone, stuffed it inside his pocket, straightened his shirt and sat primly on the edge of the bed like a child who’d been caught eating forbidden candy. He threw you an accusatory glance but there was an unmistakable hint of embarrassment and panic in his eyes.

Peering over your glasses, you snapped at him, “I’ve come to pick up my phone charger because you obviously lacked the courtesy to return it!”

“Oh!” His lips protruded into a pout and he tilted his head to the side as if in deep thought, “I’ll bring it over in the evening.”

“Why are you acting so….dazed and confused?” Slouching, you took careful, deliberate steps towards the bed and sat down next to him. Leaning into his frame, you sniffed his neck and whispered, “Are you...Baekhyun don’t tell me you’re on something!”

Levelling his face with yours, he searched your eyes before flicking your forehead in response to your wild allegation. “Shut up! The audacity! You’re the one barging into my house in the middle of the day. Trespassing is prohibited!”

Confused, you pulled away from him and asked, “What are you saying?”

The corners of his lips drooped. Brows knit together, he replied, “You should’ve called first!”

His extremely out of character standoffishness made you uncomfortable. You were clearly not interrupting anything other than a helium infused gala which, truth be told, you were greatly annoyed at not being invited to. Neither were you inconveniencing him in any way. You were to simply fetch the electronic device and head home. And this wasn’t anything out of character for you either. You’d always felt free to walk into his goshiwon as you did your own. Yet, here he was, dark hair unkempt, dressed in his usual baggy clothes, accusing you - his best friend, his emergency contact, the one he moved cities with for University, the only one who had the passcode to his goshiwon - of breaking and entering. You knew Baekhyun since the day you’d learnt to walk and in all these years he’d made you feel a lot of emotions - happiness, sadness, mostly anger but not once had he made you feel unwelcome. 

Your heart sank to your stomach at this abrupt coldness.

“Baekhyun, you took my charger, remember? My phone died.” Fighting the lump in your throat, you explained politely and proceeded to rummage his desk drawers for the said item.

“Wait!” He came trotting after you barefooted as you dashed out of his room. He grabbed your wrist to hold you firmly in place. 

While you were no stranger to physical contact with Baekhyun, these past three months since your break up had started to get increasingly excruciating for you. A slight brush of his hand with yours sent tingles through your skin, made your cheeks flame, your legs turned to jelly, and alarms blared inside your head. At first you thought it was just your hormones messing with you - he was an attractive man and you’d only recently been deprived of love and attention but you’d slowly begun to realize it was something far beyond that. Something you had an inherent knowledge of but were not quite ready to confront yet. 

“I’m leaving.” You replied matter-of-factly. Yanking your hand free from his grasp, you didn’t bother to look at him. “Helium makes you stupid!” You yelled instead, and banged the main door shut behind you.

.

.

.

After a week of radio silence (though he was still clearly avoiding you at campus) Byun Baekhyun had finally started texting you again and you realized that he was now a changed man.

He'd gotten...boring.

Every morning he'd send you a no effort good morning text along with, lo and behold, weather updates! Bland messages ending with the same emoji. Mostly alternating between 'Good morning! Don't forget to wear a mask today, the fine dust level is scary! ☺️' and 'Good morning! Don't forget to carry an umbrella today, it might rain! ☺️'

You'd almost always reply with a disinterested 👍 but he remained undeterred. 

Now it was as if Baekhyun and Chanyeol came as a package. The duo seemed to be joined at the hip and they walked in the opposite direction every time they caught you approaching them. Movements frantic, whispering in each other’s ears as if they were plotting to start a rebellion to overthrow the Government. But the Morning Daily from Baekhyun remained unchanged. Until one day, you snapped and replied with an emoji depicting another special digit used to indicate an entirely different sentiment from the sweet old 👍.

.

.

.

Later that evening you were dressed up for a double date set up by your classmate Jiwoo, your only “friend” other than Baekhyun and Chanyeol. She was to introduce you to her boyfriend’s friend who she thought was your type. Not looking for anything more than just a stress free and light evening, you decided to dress to the nines, let your hair down, and forget all about Baekhyun’s pigheadedness. 

Dabbing on just a hint of blush along your cheekbones, you gave yourself a quick once over in the mirror. It was then that a familiar beeping reached your ears and you rushed out of your bedroom to greet the unexpected visitor with a snarky comment.

“Trespassing is prohibited!” Crossing your arms over your chest, you glared at Baekhyun through your glasses. Dressed in a black hoodie, head covered in the Nike cap you’d gifted him for his birthday, twirling a pen between his fingers he just stood there, smiling sheepishly with a bag from your favourite desserts cafe in his other hand. It seemed like he’d come straight to yours after his lectures.

His gaze hesitantly roved over you and he questioned softly, “Going somewhere?”

Slinging a shoulder bag on, you averted your eyes and remarked, “It’s none of your business.” 

“Yah! Don’t be like that”, he said with a soft chuckle yet his voice bore a hint of dejection and apology.

“That’s rich coming from you. Allow me to remind you how strange you and Chanyeol have been acting since the last two weeks!”

“I’m - I’m ready to..talk about it.” He quipped, awkwardly proceeding to put the box of desserts in the refrigerator. He then very comfortably took a seat at the kitchen table.

Hands on hips, you sauntered to the main door and shook your head, gesturing for him to leave. “Not today, Baek. I’m running late.”

He pulled back the chair next to his, and drummed his fingers on the table nervously. “Come sit. I won’t take too long. I promise.”

Letting out a deep sigh, you dragged your feet to the table and slumped into the chair.

“You look nice.” Lips stretched into a thin line, he stole a glance at you and said to his cuticles instead. 

“BAEKHYUN!”

“Okay..okay sorry… so the day you came home?”

“Please stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Drawing out sentences in a question.”

Inhaling deeply, a slightly irate Baekhyun replied, “I’m trying okay.”

“Listen, first of all I am really annoyed at not being invited to that helium balloon call? So I’d advise you to think twice before saying anything stupid. Tell me...why did you two think it was a good idea -”

Embarrassed, he interrupted to get that part of the discussion out of the way. “Chanyeol and I just wanted to know what we sounded like… over the phone, you know? We sounded..err...squeakier.”

“Okay...I hate to say this but ...makes sense, I guess? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because - ”

You leaned in closer, questioning eyes locked with his.

“Because -”

“Baek, I’m running late!”

“It’s because we were talking about you!”

“No? You were talking about politics -”

“Politics, weather and -”

‘The economy’ The two of you said in unison, face averted from each other to keep from laughing at the recent memory of Chanyeol’s oddly peculiar way of saying it.

“Yes..so Chanyeol and I were discussing how you probably don’t see me as a man? Like … a man man?”

Face scrunched into an expression of pure confusion, your mouth fell open to answer Baekhyun but no words came out. His lower lip had begun to wobble slightly and he rubbed his palms on his thighs before continuing. “He was of the opinion -”

“You’re literally the only one to ever pay heed to Loey’s opinions!”

“Yah! Don’t shit talk my Loey!”

“Yah! He’s my Loey too! Moving on”, pinching the bridge of your nose, you urged him to continue with a curt nod.

Baekhyun straightened his spine, threw his shoulders back and explained, “We had a thought.” 

“Both of you? The same one?”

“Ye-yes?”

“This is not going to end well. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Can you stop acting like you’re better than us? Just for a moment?”

“Fine! Go ahead.”

“We thought that it was about time you started to see me that way.”

“That way?”

“The way you used to look at your greasy vermin of an ex?”

“With sheer contempt and disgust?”

“That was after. I mean like before.” Hands balled into fists, Baekhyun looked at your expectantly.

“I don’t get it.”

He gave you an exaggerated smile as if to centre himself before throwing more vague questions your way. “What is the one thing - the only thing - I can actually cook?”

“Haejangguk?”

“Exactly! Do you get it now?”

“I have a thousand of reasons ...or ideas as to how you and Chanyeol would manage to relate Haejangguk with politics, weather, and the economy but I’d rather not dive into that cesspool. Instead I’ll allow you to explain.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows shot up in concern as he explained softly, “Haejangguk helps with your hangovers. It took me fourteen tries to master! And it was Loey who ate every single spoilt batch. Without any complaints!”

“I wouldn’t say you’re any good at it even now but...sure whatever.” Rolling your eyes, you murmured.

Your phone chimed with a text from Jiwoo but before you could answer, Baekhyun snatched it from your hands and shoved it in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Pay attention. This is more important than that loser you’re going to meet.”

“Baekhyun!”

“No, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you go from one idiot to another.”

“I’ve literally only dated two guys! Why are you suddenly getting territorial?”

“I am not getting territorial! What I’m saying is…  I spent these two weeks rehearsing the right thing to say to you but - screw that! And listen. You cannot do this anymore!”

“Do what?”

“You cannot waltz into my thoughts anytime you like! For instance I’m eating a tangerine, I think of how it would magically taste sweeter if I could only share it with you. Your face suddenly flashes before my eyes and I lose my mind while I’m doing the most mundane things like riding the subway or having a meal or talking to someone. I go grocery shopping and the first thing I pick up is strawberry milk and it’s not even my favourite! But I bought a whole damn carton because you love strawberry milk! I have cucumbers! Cucumbers! In my fridge because what if you crave oi muchim with your ramen some day and woe betide me if I DO NOT HAVE CUCUMBERS! I waste 4,050 Won every week on cucumbers but it DOES NOT MATTER because it would be nothing short of a tragedy if you want something and I can’t give it to you. Like, have you looked at yourself when you get upset? When your lips stretch into a thin line and your eyes ever so slightly lose their sparkle. It makes me want to pluck the bloody stars from the sky and lay them at your feet if it means that I can make you smile again. Do you know how warm you are? I mean, like, physically warm. Especially when you’ve woken up from a nap. So, so warm. I feel like wrapping you in my arms, putting your head on my chest and just...staying like that. Freezing the moment in time. Freezing the moment in time! Look at what you’ve done to me! I'm saying these cheesy things and I'm doing boring things like studying politics and understanding the state of affairs and keeping up with fine dust levels just so that you see me differently! So that I can somehow make you believe that you can rely on me. Think of me as more than just a friend who used to pull your pigtails back in the day.” 

The beat of your heart boomed in your ears. You hugged your coat tighter around yourself as if to conceal its conspicuous sound. Your throat felt dry and your spine liquified in the face of his overwhelming confession. You had a million things to say to him. And there was one specific thing you were dying to do the moment your eyes landed on his soft, strawberry pink lips.

Eyebrow cocked, you said in a low whisper. “Why not buy a jar of oi muchim instead? It’ll surely last longer than a week.” 

He buried his face in his hands and let out a shallow, pained wail and continued. “I'm done.” He looked up at you. Eyes droopy, lips pouty. “Put me out of my misery. Look, if you don't like me back the way I like you just ...forget that I said any of this. We can go back to being what we were at 7 o’clock. It's 7:30 now, we can rewind, 30 minutes. But don't...don't...what the hell how can you just sit there and act like you're watching a freaking movie. React! Say something! Actually...don't! Oh my god this is a trainwreck! I had rehearsed the right thing to say...but I got distracted by the indentations on the corners of your lips..I think I'm having a full blown breakdown… I just want to - ugh!"

"You just want to what, Baekhyunnie?"

You took his fists in your hands, eased them open and laced your fingers with his.

He clamped his eyes shut, slouched to make himself small, and muttered. "Don't call me that!"

Giggling softly, you repeated, "Baekhyunnie?"

Baekhyun flicked his eyes open. Unabashedly studying the curve of your lips, he whispered ‘Stop.’ His hand gently rested on your cheek, eyes seeking approval. You nodded in response, feeling your face flame. His honeyed gaze darkened as he leaned in closer, a sweet scent of bubblegum wafting in the space between you. His hand found the back of your neck, lips ever so slightly parted. Finding his movements excruciatingly slow you gravitated towards him while your breath hitched in your throat. He took your hand and placed it on his chest as his silken lips melted into yours. He held you like you were fragile, like he was experiencing the sensation of your skin on his for the very first time, committing every slight brush, every single touch to memory. You felt the wild hammering of his heart against your fingers despite the thickness of his cozy hoodie, your own reacting in likeliness. 

Baekhyun held you by your shoulders and gently pulled away, breaking the most delectable first kiss you’d ever had. Tilting his head to the side he looked at you briefly before making vague hand gestures and shaking his head. He opened his mouth to say something but found himself at a loss for words. Face flushed, he opened his mouth again after a while only to clamp it shut. 

Byun Baekhyun was processing.

After having had your fun with his perplexity, you smiled at him and raised an eyebrow questioningly, prodding him to speak.

“So...does this mean we’re?” He asked, voice faintly tremulous.

Pursing your lips to stifle a giggle you teased, “Yeah?”

“Am I your...I mean...are you my….girl-girlfriend?” Averting his eyes from yours, he inquired, while shyly rubbing the back of his neck.

Half shrugging, you answered, “Depends.”

Baekhyun’s face fell. “Depends?!” He exclaimed, almost in falsetto.

"Depends on whether you want to continue sending me daily weather updates.” You deadpanned.

“This feels like a trick question.”

“Yes or no?”

“N-no?”

“Then, yes. Byun Baekhyun, congratulations, you’ve earned the unequivocal and irrevocable right to call me your girlfriend.”

“Does it mean that you didn’t like the new and improved version of me?” He asked hesitantly, face clouded over with caution.

“That wasn’t the Baekhyunnie I fell for.”

“Yah!” Surprised at your sudden blurry confession, his eyes grew into large brown circles but the moment his gaze met with yours, his expression softened again. He smiled sheepishly and spoke tenderly, “Okay...noted. You too can call me your”, he cleared his throat, took your hand in his, placed a soft kiss on it and used his most dulcet voice to say, “boyfriend.”

-------------------------------------------------

A/N: hello, hello @you-did-well-moon​ hope you enjoyed this very cheesy confession from Baekhyun! 

@exolssecretsanta​

[dayseternal-blog]

Please, can you make a draft from ohnej's art of day 7? Please? 🥺 Pleeeeeeeease?????

Hehe anon knew that @ohnej‘s stuff is right up my ally 😂

Anon is talking about this art!

Ohnej has also been drawing the Clan Leader!Hinata AU here, here, and here!!!!

It’s always given me RTN!Hinata vibes with the more angular features and tight-fitting dresses.  I’ve wanted to write a fic for her stuff, but I’ve never made RTN!Hinata before, so I was also nervous about that...

Hmm...

Here’s something small!

Clan Leader!Hinata AU

She can still feel the aggravation piercing white-hot through her veins as they leave the Hokage’s office.

Not even five minutes into their arrival, he turned his chair around to face the window.  (Because in the end, she knows.  He doesn’t really have the guts to face her.)

Still, all went according to their plan.  She knew they got him once that facade, his professionalism, cracked, and he turned around and stood.  Always, always trying to use his ridiculous height to his advantage.  (As if his stature is enough to make her weak?)

Her eyes can see though all of it, all of him, in just a single glance.  He’s always chasing after ideals, after things he doesn’t and can’t have, and now.  Now it sickens her.  How he tries to use others in the name of cooperation and an optimistic future.

So he raises the property tax, knowing, knowing it will affect her clan the most.  Does her family not already serve the village with their very flesh and blood?  Are they not the treasured secret of Konoha?  The most desired, loyal allied clan of any hidden village?

Everyone else sees him as such an honest, hardworking man.  Sincere and transparent to the bone.

But she knows the truth.

Hanabi giggles, and they both don’t fail to notice how men’s eyes follow them through the village.  “Oh Nee-sama, if looks could kill, you’d have our Nanadaime begging for his life.”

“If only,” she huffs.  “His ego would never allow it.  I’m sure he’d fall over dead before admitting that he’s dying.”

Her younger sister outright laughs, her cackle high like bells.  “And they all say ‘he’s selfless’.  You’re the only one who hates him so.”

*You know I can’t stand men like him.  Saying one thing when he wants or means something else.”

“Hmm?  You mean he didn’t really mean to raise our taxes?”

“Of course not.  I told you before that he’s just trying to waste our time.”

Hanabi raises one angled brow high.  “What does he really want, then?”

She rolls her eyes, and a memory of his gaze trailing down the deep plunge of her neckline flashes through her memory.  “Heaven knows.”

But she knows the truth.

*

Not even half a year later, and they’re back again.  Negotiating tax policy again.

His brow furrows when they breeze in, his features intentionally schooled.  Each slight shift of his eyes, however unnoticeable to an untrained observer, but her eyes never miss a thing.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hanabi digs in.  “We told you we won’t stand for this!  Our clan can’t help the fact that we settled here earlier than everyone else.  You said you would raise hotel and other visitor accommodation taxes!”

He sighs, gaze averting, as if he really doesn’t have the time to be bothered by their complaints.  “And as I’ve said before, tax rates are not entirely up to me.  The daimyo demands more funds for infrastructure efforts across the nation.  We all need to do our part as the wealthiest village.”

Hinata steps forward.

His gaze, hardening, tracks back to her, and it’s this stubborn expression of his that she loathes.

She takes care to lean slowly onto his desk, to push stacks of papers on the side just to make ample room for her trespass, and, especially, to see that slight look of annoyance curl underneath his “Hokage mask.”  She sees the tension in his throat, like he’s about to snap just from her proximity, but, oh, no, it’s too late for him to swivel his little chair around.  No, not this time.  In a low whisper, she asks, “You suggest that we, the Hyuuga, are not doing our part?”

Blue storms against her own glare.  His jaw remains locked.  He’s not backing down, but he’s not defending himself, either, and she can imagine chipping into his very skin, slicing into the sinews of his frame until it all peels away...

Uzumaki Naruto, without the stupid titles that he wears as if to validate his existence.

“Hokage-sama?” she coos, and it’s with great satisfaction to see how much he hates it when she calls him that.  Once upon a time, perhaps not so long ago, she called him differently, but simple sentimentality doesn’t forgive the empty shell he’s become today.  “I give you my body, my life of service, and that’s still not enough?”

Discord stews within his eyes, uncertainty flashes plain as day across his expression, and within only a fraction of a second she remembers throwing herself between a pinned boy and a monster.

She laughs aloud, abruptly standing straight, and turns around to face Hanabi.

Her sister looks too amused by the rather overtly flirtatious exchange, and she’s secretly relieved that it appeared as only that.

Not an unwelcome trip down memory lane, just the scent of ashes from doused flames between two never-could-be’s.

“Hanabi, we’re done here.”  She hooks arms with her little sister and leads them back to the door.  A glance cast over her shoulder, and she’s only angrier at the sad man he’s become.  “The Hyuuga clan does not agree to your terms.  Change them.”

Hanabi is turning the handle when he interrupts their exit.

“Hinata, you know that you’ve done more than enough.”  His voice, low, is pitiful, and for a wild moment, she thinks to argue.

Never would she hold that time over his head.  Never would she ever think to guilt-trip him into favoring her clan, and so, she stands taller, intent on reframing this entire conversation as best she can.  “Well, that’s new,” she jokes in her sister’s direction.  “With the way these men carry on, I’ve been led to think they could never get enough of me.”

Hanabi’s jaw drops, and her hand flies up in mock modesty.  “Nee-sama!” she practically squeals.

She indulges Hanabi with a knowing smile.  “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Hinata-”

“See?” she sighs in exaggerated exasperation.  “Hokage-sama, you can have more of me the next time you try to raise our taxes.  We have other, more important matters to attend to now.  Good bye.”

“Hinata, I’m seri-”

Shutting the door solidly, she tries to leave the dust of her feelings behind, too.

She knows...

He’s too proud to pick them up anyway.

-------------

😱  This needs a second chapter!!!!!!!!!!  ***screaming*** I enjoyed writing this far longer tonight than I should have.