EMERGENCY WRITING COMMS

Hot Stuff. Headcannons.

tw (🍰) mentions of murder, violence, age gap (2 years, your 20!!) fluff 🥺 super cute Kei in some points. mentions of kids <3 fem!reader !!! Manipulation .

🍓: “What’s up, hot stuff?” Spoke the honeyed voice of Tsukishima Kei, in other words, your boyfriend.

He may seem like the big bad Tsukishima, but let’s be honest. He’s absolutely enchanted by you! Honestly, he may seem like the “bad guy” but only to everybody else! He adores you, that’s final. <3

He’s the overprotective type, toxic, obsessive. But in some points - more than most - he is a worshipper. Kei gets so much pleasure from watching you have a good time doing anything. Tsukki wants you to use him, in anyway,

His pet names can go from: hot stuff, baby, babe and in private: goddess.

He gloats to you to literally everybody. You read a book? Be prepared for everybody to know, you could literally kill somebody and he’d still think you were the cutest thing ever.

Kei does take it into his own hands to get rid of the parasites that hurt you. Hurt you basically means they don’t think you’re interesting, good looking basically if they say “bad stuff” (in his words.) that could possibly offend you if you ever were to find out.

Tsukishima will sadly manipulate you just a little bit out of going outside! It’s all for your own good. Probably.. but at least you can go out at Christmas and your Birthday! He took you to Disney even though it was probably the most expensive thing he’s ever done.

It was all worth it for those giggles, smiles, happy teary eyes and everything else. He of course gets you a cute little pink headband, with sparkles, as well as a cupcake of your choice.

Tsukki is willing to wait hours just for fast passes! If it means you’re happy, he’d do anything, honestly. No is a word he’s never said to you, unless it can hurt you. But even then he gets you a present just to make you feel better. <3

Thank you for reading! This is my first post here!! I’m glad I started off with my comfort character 🥺 if you have a request please send it in! I do everything but smut! I prefer comfort requests (sad stuff, sappy, starts and everything else!) but please do share your thoughts about any fic you’d love to see!

Thanks !! 💕💕

- 🍓

---

high enough | haitani r.

haitani ran x fem!reader

summary: ran didn't know why he kept coming back to you when he knew the risks involved--or he supposed he did, he just wasn't willing to confront it yet.

warnings: sub!reader, dom!ran, bonten timeline, unprotected sex, a bit of gentle manhandling, mentions of gang violence and wealth disparities, angst + hurt/comfort undertones (? kind of i guess)

notes: ty teepot n eris n (eventually) kat for betaing sobs @sakusins @kxeyas @sano-obsessed

y'all this piece might be the one im most proud of i s2g i actually love how it turned out

He didn’t know why he was here. The air was cold against his skin, bitter on his tongue and the sky was dark, the only thing illuminating the street around him was the distant, flickering street lamps. Sirens and gunshots resounded through the air--a few streets away, he pinpointed, too close to you.

He should move you out of this area, but as soon as the thought raced through his head, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t care at all, really. You were a nobody--a random girl he had met at a bar a few months back that he used to relieve the stress that being a Bonten executive weighed on him.

But if you were a nobody, then why did he keep coming back?

It was easy for him to rationalize if he ignored a few important points. Sleeping around put him more at risk in regards to dangerous situations--fuck around with the wrong person and he might just be ending the night with a bullet lodged in his skull or a knife cutting open his neck. Sticking to one person, at the very least, lowered those chances. 

But even as the thoughts ran through his head, he knew that it wasn’t so simple. Sticking with one person brought other risks--risks of leaking sensitive information, risks of enemies pinpointing a possible weakness. It brought vulnerabilities that he just wasn’t quite able to accept because it would ruin any possible rationalization he might have to come back to you so often.

A particularly loud gunshot caught his attention, narrowed eyes shifting down the street toward where it came from, fingers drifting to curl around the loaded gun holstered at his waist. You lived in one of the shittier parts of the city--an area caught in the crossfires of the brutal, ongoing gang war between Bonten and its rivals.

It was dangerous for him to be here, the logical part of his brain reminded himself. There were hits on his head with bounties that would put oligarchs to shame, coming to this part of town with no back up, no one knowing where he was, no plan in case things went wrong, it was as good as a death wish and yet he found himself at your doorstep every other night. 

He was playing a dangerous game, a game of Russian roulette that he knew would end with him losing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop pulling the trigger. 

Go back to the apartment, he told himself but even as the thought raced through him he was pulling the trigger yet again--fist rising to knock heavily on your door. 

It was late--well past two in the morning but you were a night owl, you were usually up til the sun rose and slept well into the afternoon. And a part of him wondered if he had any hand in your odd sleeping schedule, he was sure that it hadn’t been this fucked before the two of you met but the thought conjured a warm feeling in his chest that he wasn’t willing to try to decipher. 

He waited a few moments before his chest began to curl anxiously. 

Why weren’t you answering?

His nails dug into his palm as he considered what to do--knock again? leave? 

He brought his fist back up against the door, knuckles rapping hard and rapidly against the wood. A series of worst case scenarios began to flood his mind--what if they realized what you were to him? 

You weren’t anything to him, he tried to argue back immediately but the sinking feeling in his chest was proof enough that you did mean something to him. 

His throat felt like it was closing up, the air around him becoming heavy, suffocating, he couldn’t breathe--images of you limp and bloody on the other side of the door flashing through his head, tied up and scared, wounded and unable to move, dead. He ignored the way his hands shook as he took a step back, preparing to kick in the door himself just so he could make sure you were alright.

But he didn’t have to. Just as he was about to drive his foot into the door, it unlocked from the other side and a numbing sense of relief swept through him as his eyes fell upon you standing in the doorframe, eyes sleepy and confused and trained on him. 

He could breathe again. 

Another blank.

Your nightgown hung off your shoulders as you brought a hand up to rub at your left eye, a yawn slipping past your lips, “Ran,” you murmured, “I didn’t think you were coming tonight, I would’ve stayed up. ‘m sorry. How long were you waiting?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” his voice was colder than he intended for it to be and he hated the way your lips tugged down, and he hated himself for being this way, “I can go.”

“No,” you reached out, your smaller hand grabbing his and he stiffened instantly. Your hand dropped back to your side when you noticed his reaction, “Come in, it’s late, you looked exhausted.”

Ran opened his mouth to protest but didn’t get the chance, “Please,” you said quietly and Ran faltered, eyes unable to meet yours.

It’s late, whatever is going on down the street is getting closer--it isn’t smart for him to be wandering around in this area with the Bonten tattoo branding his throat, he rationalized as he stepped into your home. 

“You need to be more careful,” Ran said as you shut the door behind him, relocking the door with a flimsy chain that even Kokonoi Hajime would be able to kick down if he wanted to. He would have to get it replaced with a stronger one. “What if it wasn’t me behind that door?” 

Your lips pulled up into a soft smile that did something to his heart that he did not like. You looked back at him from over your shoulder, “I’m not one to linger on ‘what ifs’,” you told him. Ran looked down at the floor, unsure of how you could live so carefree in such a dangerous area. “You should go change out of that, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

You didn’t wait for a response, walking in the opposite direction. He only stared after you for a moment, lips turned down, eyes heavy as you disappeared from sight. And Ran tried to pretend that he didn’t know the way through your home like the back of his hand, despite the confusing twists and turns of your hallways, ones that most people would end up getting lost in. He tried to pretend he didn’t recognize every little ding in the wall, every little stain in the wallpaper; he tried to pretend that he didn’t know which floorboards to step over, the ones that were worn out due to storms and the passage of time that you couldn’t quite afford to get redone. 

His shoulders were tense and stiff as he pushed open the door to your bedroom and he still continued to pretend--he pretended that the clothes tucked away in one of your drawers weren’t ones that he had ended up leaving during one of his nights staying over, ones you washed and cleaned despite the fact that you could barely afford detergent and your washing machine was on its last legs, even if it meant taking out some of your own clothes to tuck his away safely in your dresser. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, purple and black strands falling loose around his face. He let out a heavy breath, chest tight as he unbuttoned the red-stained shirt and tossed into the bin next to your dresser--casually, too casually, like he would in his own apartment. 

He felt ill. 

His eyes caught the cracked mirror resting against the wall by your dresser and his lips twisted even further down when he noticed the bruises lining the left side of his body—almost hidden, but not quite, by the dark tattoos decorating his skin. 

You would notice, you always did.

He hesitated as he reached for one of the cloth undershirts of his that you had stored in your dresser, an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his chest. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be doing this. 

He shouldn’t be doing this.

But it was addicting, you were addicting, you brought him a type of high that no amount of drugs or alcohol could hope to give him and he couldn’t bring himself to give it up, give you up. Even if he did know deep down it would be for the best; even if he knew it could get him killed, get you killed. 

A shattering of glass, a shriek, the trigger was pulled again, this time by his invisible opponent. 

Ran was moving in an instant, tearing out of your room without a second to waste. His shoes slammed against the floorboards, his lungs burned, his eyes were wide and he felt the world collapsing around him. Ran was fast, he knew that, he’d always been the fastest in whatever gang he was in--Tenjiku, Rokuhara Tandai, Kanto Manji, Bonten, no one could ever keep up with him--but in that moment he swore that time must have been against him, his feet felt like they were dragging against the floor, sinking in quicksand, it was like he was trying to run through waist-deep water and the tide kept pulling him back, preventing him from getting to you. 

His heart was in his throat as he turned the corner into the kitchen, gun in hand--he hadn’t even noticed he had pulled it from where it had been strapped to his waist. 

His heart was beating in his chest so loud that he was sure you could hear it, his eyes were wild as his gaze darted around, trying to figure out what had happened until his gaze fell upon you on the floor, eyes wide and trained on the gun in his hands.

You were on your hands and knees, glass shattered beneath you that you were trying to pick up with your bare hands, water pooling below you. His heart rate slowly calmed down once he realized what had happened--you dropped the glass. The raised gun fell to his side, his shoulders relaxed.

He could breathe again.

Another blank. 

You gave him a small, apologetic smile, “‘m sorry,” you said again, and he hated when you apologized--especially to him, “the glass slipped.”

You were unbothered by the gun in his hand, relaxed even, and Ran wondered if that had to do with the fact that you were used to guns and violence considering the part of the city you lived in. Or was it that you just trusted him that much? The latter thought made that warm feeling in his chest return. He pushed it away. 

He couldn’t move as he watched you clean up the glass, his feet were glued to the floor, holding him in place even as his mind told him to move forward and help you so you don’t end up cutting your hands. 

He didn’t understand you. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. He didn’t know why you kept willingly letting him into your home. You knew who he was, what he did--you had to, even if he had never explicitly told you. Everybody knew what the tattoo branding his throat meant, and the area you lived in leaned heavily toward Bonten’s enemies and they had received plenty of intel that their rivals were using civilians as their eyes and ears to keep an eye on Bonten’s movements without risking their own men. 

You knew who he was, what he did, you knew the risks that came with associating with him and yet every night he found himself at your doorstep, you opened your home, your arms, your bed for him. You took him, you gave him something to look forward to after long grueling days of blood and pain instead of drowning himself in drugs and alcohol trying and failing to forget old memories and what he had turned into, what he had dragged Rindou into. 

It had never been enough, no matter what he took, no matter how much he drank, the memories haunted him, fear consumed him--fear of what could happen to him, to his few remaining friends, to Rindou. 

It had never been enough--not until he met you at least, and all thoughts of trying to deny how much you meant to him disappeared as he watched you chat easily about your day at work. Your words went in one ear and out the other as his mind raced. You had become important to him quickly, too important, too quick. You had become the light to his darkness, your home a sort of sanctuary that he had never had experienced until he met you. 

You were good to him--too good. Sometimes he wondered if he was ruining you, a poison that was slowly eating away at your health, an acid corroding your happiness, your stability, your future; and sometimes he wondered if this was just a cruel, elaborate ploy from his enemies, showing him what love was like and then ripping it away.

His world stilled, his vision tunneled onto you.  

Showing him what?

Anxiety began to twist in his stomach, curl through his limbs, ice cold fear began to spread through his body and that familiar fight or flight feeling took hold as his breath quickened. Every instinct told him to run, protect himself--weakness, vulnerabilities, they weren’t allowed in his line of work. Every weakness brought disaster, every vulnerability brought death. He had seen it time and time again with friends and enemies alike. 

You’ll get yourself killed, you’ll get her killed, and he was about to turn on his heel--flee your home in an effort to protect himself and the one thing that might bring him genuine happiness--but then you looked at him as you stood from the floor, tossing the shattered glass into the garbage can, and you smiled, and Ran was selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish because instead of turning on his heel and leaving--making the choice that ensure you weren’t targetted by his enemies in attempts to get to him--he moved forward.

You let out a soft hum of surprise as Ran brought his hands to your face, large palms cupping your cheeks, fingers tracing your skin, toying with your hair and you inhaled sharply when he pressed his lips to yours, gently at first, his lips moving slow in time with yours, a special dance that only the two of you knew.

He knew that it was wrong, that he was risking your safety for his own selfish desires, but Ran couldn’t stop himself. He tilted your head up, one hand sliding behind your head, fingers entangled with your hair to hold you impossibly closer, and he could feel your fingers trembling from where they were wrapped around his forearms, he could feel the way your eyes fluttered shut as you relaxed into his touch.

And Ran thought it was sickening how you could be so at ease with someone like him, so willing to give into him, so happy to give into him. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve you, he was selfish and inherently cruel and he was undeserving of your love when there were so many better men out there that could treat you better than he could, give you the stability and safety that you deserved.

But unfortunately for them, and unfortunately for you, Haitani Ran was not a good man--a good man would have let you go so that you could make the best of your life, would have given you the means to get out of this shitty area so you could live a life free of crime and danger. But Ran was not a good man, and instead of pushing you away like he should, his grip tightened. 

His hands slid down your body, wrapping around your thighs to lift you and you gasped into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist and arms circling his shoulders. You pulled back slightly, lips parting to speak but Ran didn’t give you the chance, leaning in again to capture your lips with his, tongue tracing the inside of your bottom lip. 

He knew you were probably confused, he could practically predict the question on your tongue--Ran had never been one to display affection like this, the most he kissed you was when he was half-drunk on your pussy and not thinking straight, and he didn’t want to answer the question you were bound to ask. He wasn’t ready to verbally admit the conclusion he had come to--verbally admitting it made it real, and Ran wasn’t ready to face the consequences of it being real. 

And it was unfair to you, he knew it was. He kept you in limbo, wondering each night if he would show up, wondering what you really meant to him, and you deserved better than that, better than him. 

His grip tightened on your thighs and you let out a soft moan into his mouth, your arms fell from around his shoulders, delicate hands coming up to his cheeks instead. Ran’s eyes slid shut as your fingers traced his cheekbones, nails drawing gentle patterns on his skin. And you always did this and he was quite sure he would never be used to it. His breath shuddered against your lips and he tried to hide it by kissing you deeper, his tongue running against yours, tasting the mint on your breath. You had always touched him softly, from the first night up until now, and it was another thing he would never understand because Ran was rarely ever gentle with you--he tried, he swore he tried but soft touches to your skin would always turn into bruising, borderline painful grips as he desperately tried to fuck away the pain and fear and stress that laid so heavy on his shoulders. 

But it didn’t matter how many unintentional bruises he left on your hips and thighs, ones that caused his chest to swell up with guilt when he woke up before you the next morning to slip out before you could try to convince him to stay, you would always cup his face gently the next time you saw him, tracing your fingers over his scars and tattoos, showing him a type of tenderness that he had never experienced in his entire life before you.

His throat felt tight as the slow kiss began to shift into a far more needy one, his teeth nearly clashing with yours as he leaned in closer, stepping from around the kitchen counter to lead you down the narrow halls toward your room. And yeah, he had to admit that it was harder to pretend that he didn’t know all of the little nooks and crannies of your home when he kept his lips pressed to yours, not even bothering to look where he was walking as he brought you back to your room.

“Ran,” you gasped against his lips, “What’s wrong?” 

Instead of answering, Ran pressed his lips to the underside of your jaw, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, making your words melt into soft moans next to his ear as his teeth grazed your skin and his lips massaged bruises on your neck. Ran let out a groan into your skin as one of your hands slid behind his head, intertwining with his hair, nails scratching his scalp as he laid you back on your bed.

And it was crazy, really--your bed creaked underneath the two of you, the mattress dipped, and he knew his bed back at his own apartment was objectively exponentially more comfortable than yours but he had never felt more at home, never slept better than when he was laid up with you in yours.

He dragged his lips back up your skin to your lips, arms braced on either side of your head, body heavy on top of yours. Your legs tightened around his waist and Ran bit back another groan as he rolled his hips against yours, feeling you whimper against his lips.

He carried his weight on one arm as he brought his other down between your bodies, and then between your thighs to slide your panties off. He smiled against your lips when he wasn’t met with the pretty silk panties he was used to. 

“Thought you weren’t expecting me to show up?” he murmured against your lips and you giggled, eyes bright as you looked at him and the warm feeling in his chest grew and he couldn't even bring himself to push it away this time.

“I was still hopin’ you would,” you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips that had him dizzy and reeling. His throat was tight as your lips left his, head falling back against the pillow and he couldn’t stop himself from chasing your lips, pressing them hard against yours with a type of desperation that he didn’t know he had in him.

As if you could sense the turmoil within him, which you probably could if he were being honest, you matched his intensity. Lips slipping against his messily, hands sliding across his shoulders, smoothing out over his skin, tracing his tattoos and making his body shudder, and Ran fumbled to undo his button and unzip his slacks, brows furrowing in frustration.

A curse slipped from his lips as he failed to undo the button again, but he paused as he felt your hands cup his cheeks, lifting his face to force him to look at you.

“Relax,” you said quietly, voice smooth and gentle and at once, all of his frustrations seemed to fade away, “There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world, Ran.”

Ran’s breath was shaky as your hands drifted down his body, undoing the buttons with ease and he let out a moan as your fingers slid up and down his cock, hips bucking into your hand as you freed him from his pants. 

There were a million words on his lips—telling you that you didn’t have all the time in the world, that there were so many risks, so many dangers, that he was sorry for dragging you into this life and that he was sorry for not being a good enough man to let you go. 

But nothing left his lips—he did not voice his fears, he did not apologize, instead he kissed you more intensely, holding the side of your face hard, hoping to convey all that he couldn't speak aloud through his actions.

Your fingers wrapped around his cock gently, languid strokes that had him gasping against your lips, eyes fluttering shut. 

He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging it, and his eyes slid back open, meeting yours, questioning.

You gave him a small smile, and it was all of the answer he needed. He reached down with one hand, a large hand wrapping around your thigh and lifting it, pressing it up against your chest and hooking your leg around his shoulder and then repeating the process with your other leg. 

His jaw clenched as the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, slipping against the slick and sliding between your folds. He bit back a low groan as you gasped but couldn’t hold back the moan that fell from his lips as he began to push his cock into you at an agonizingly slow pace.

Your legs were trembling on either side of his head, chest heaving and your nails were digging into his bicep as you tried to control yourself but the fluttering of your walls gave you away. Heavy pants escaped your lips as he bottomed out into you—walls contracting and squeezing him so good that it nearly had him whimpering.

And he watched as you braced yourself for the hard, heavy thrusts you were used to—the ones that would knock your breath out of your lungs and have you dumb and drooling into the mattress by the time he was done with you; that would have him out of breath and sweating, thighs tense and shaking as he emptied his load into you for the third or fourth time of the night.

But this time was different—slow, deep strokes that had your jaw slack and eyes half-rolled back. He could feel every inch of your walls as your cunt tightened and fluttered around his cock. Each roll of his hips had your thighs twitching and trembling and your toes curling as Ran let out shaky breath while he turned his head to the side, pressing his lips against your ankle as he continued the steady pace.

Each drag of his cock against your walls had his arms tensing and flexing on either side of your head, shaky groans that he couldn’t quite hold back spilling from his lips as your cunt clung to him like a lifeline—wrapped around his cock so tight that each slow roll of his hips had his eyes knocking back.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped into your skin as he buried his face into your neck again, “Feel so good.”

And you were letting out barely intelligible babbles, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, but Ran couldn’t bring himself to do it—the new pace unlocking something primal within him, a warm unfamiliar feeling that had heat pooling in his lower stomach and spreading across his body like a wildfire.

He forced himself to pull his face from the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against yours again, and he inhaled sharply through his nose as your babbles for more shifted into high pitched whines and desperate moans. 

His lips brushed yours, breath mingling and creating a dizzying sensation that had him light headed. His eyes traced your face, hips stilling against yours as he watched your eyes water, glassy and unfocused and barely trained on his face, lips wet and swollen. 

You were beautiful—you were always beautiful but right now….

He brought one hand to cup the side of your face, watching as you instinctually leaned into his touch, eyes lidded and glossy, filled with a sort of intense love and trust that had never been directed toward him his entire life. You looked at him as if he weren’t Haitani Ran, a wanted criminal, a gang executive, a murderer and a liar and a coward.

Or maybe you looked at him like that because he was Haitani Ran.  

His throat felt tight, his heart felt heavy.

“I love you,” he breathed out before he could stop himself and he watched as your eyes widened, if only slightly, but he didn’t give you the chance to let his words register, instead leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips as he began to rock his hips into you again.

He fucked himself deep, deep into you—as if he couldn’t get close enough—his slow place gradually shifting into a faster one. Your walls clung to his cock and he was letting out low groans into your mouth as he felt your cunt spasm around him.

You were close, he could feel it in the way your hips were rolling up to meet his, he could hear it in the way your moans were becoming breathy as your voice shook, in how your arms were wrapping tight around his shoulders, trying to hold him as close as possible.

“‘m gunna cum,” you sobbed against his lips, “‘m gonna cum, Ran, I-“

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence, one particularly sharp thrust of his hips had your jaw going slack and your eyes rolling back, body spasming beneath his. Ran let out a low groan, lips pressed to your jaw as the feeling of your walls contracting tight around him pushed him right over the edge—mind hot and fuzzy as he spilled his cum deep inside of you.

He panted against your skin, body heavy on top of yours as you went limp beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to recover from your high.

Ran let out a hiss as he let his cock slip out of you, rolling onto his back to pull you onto his chest. Your eyes were tired and droopy as you looked up at him and Ran let out a soft hum, bringing one hand up to cup your head as the other traced patterns on your skin.

“Ran…” your voice was soft, shaky, you still sounded half out of it but there was a question in your eyes that made him anxious.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured.

“Will you be here when I wake up this time?” your eyes were sad, your lips wobbled, and Ran’s heart was in his throat as he looked down at you.

The words spilled from his lips before he could consider what they meant, “I will.”

And he supposed the relief and adoration on your face was worth the fact that he would have to confront questions that even just the thought of made him sick and fearful. But you rested your head back down against his chest, eyes fluttering shut and breath evening out and Ran knew he wouldn’t have the heart to go back on his word—not with you.

He toyed with your hair as you slept soundly on his chest, his own eyes slowly drooping shut as exhaustion took hold. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head once before letting his head drop back against the pillow, and as he slowly allowed himself to drift off to sleep to the sound of gunshots and shouting in the distance, he couldn’t help but wonder how many blanks were left.

—-

taglist: @thomaphoria @dear-xiao @manjiroscum @arozaur @kisakiapologist @scandescent @crackheadwithtoes @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @adeptiixiao @zuuki @hollypastl @imkumichan @meena-in-a-nutshell @obsessiontoanime @prettyiolanthe @r-xochitl @whydohumansss @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @blvebcrry @lundabean @savagemickey03 @keijisprettygirl @kuroolv @shizunxie @kazuwhora @tokyometronetwork

You always make my week when u post!!!!

Aftershock

Kyoutani Kentarou x female reader

w.c 3.1k

tw: implied non-con, violence, unhealthy relationships, yandere themes

There’s an odd sort of calm you reach, half propped up in the hospital bed. 

Or maybe it’s not so much a calm as it is a numbness, because the overwhelming terror and panic have settled, and there’s an anger there, building slowly, simmering away beneath the surface – but you can’t touch it. Can’t feel it.

As though it’s separated by a thin pane of glass. Fragile, fractured, held back until that one tiny nudge shatters it entirely. 

The dam will break eventually, that’s an inevitability – but for now it holds. 

Barely. 

The officer who took your statement left ten minutes ago, the nurses ducking in and out of your room– well, bay really. Little more than cheap, plastic curtains pulled around the bed for the smallest semblance of privacy.

You’ve got nothing left to give, and the drugs they’ve loaded you up on take care of any pain.

So yeah, numb fits. 

When the doors to the ER ward are thrown open and a familiar, angry looking blond storms in, you can’t summon anything beyond a faint whisper of irritation, and even that fades before it can truly take hold of you.

Kyoutani ignores the nurse who approaches him, scanning the room until he spies you tucked away in your bed on the opposite side of the ward. 

The moment your eyes connect, he stiffens. It’s a rare thing to catch him so unguarded, but in the space of mere seconds, eyes wide and jaw lax, you physically see the barrage of emotions that slam into him, rippling across his features like shockwaves. Rage and fury and pain, guilt, relief, one after the other.

… And none of it reaches you. 

You wonder how it is you must look right now, bruised and battered, swallowed up under fluorescent lights, the harsh sterility of the hospital ward. 

Snapping himself out of it, you say nothing as he stalks towards you, yanking a chair from a nearby bay and dragging it to your bedside to sit, hunched over as close to the bed – to you – as he physically can. 

There’s no hiding the damage, so you don’t bother to try; fractured wrist, the swelling on your cheek from where you’d been slapped so hard your bones had sung with pain, the scrapes on your knees they’d plucked glass and gravel out of – bandaged now, not that it seems to make much of a difference. 

There’s a thin cut on your throat from where the knife had bit in, and you suppose you should be thankful that your clothes – torn and bloodied as they were – have been taken away, either to be disposed of or as evidence, you neither know nor have the capacity right now to care.

And with every second that stretches in uncomfortable silence, with every mark, every bruise, all the blood they hadn’t cleaned off and the hollow, haunted look in your eyes – seething, murderous rage blisters and burns beneath his skin, seeping out of every pore in his body until the air’s thick enough to choke you with it. 

He takes your face in rough, calloused hands – gentle, he always tries to be gentle – nostrils flaring, jaw tight. Yet he seems to be at war with himself, lips parting only to struggle to find words that won’t scare you – words that won’t shatter you right now.

But Kyoutani’s never been good with words at the best of times.

You reach up, hand enclosing around his wrist, prying it away from your face. His features soften then, a hint of real worry bleeding through the rage.

He lets you tug his hand away. 

“They said,” you voice is hoarse. Stiff, almost robotic. “I was… I was a message.”

The muscle in Kyoutani’s jaw twitches, the hand you’d pulled away tightening into a white knuckled fist. Normally, you’d try to calm that building rage, soften his harsh edges and coax him back to you. 

Somehow, somewhere along the way, that had become your sole responsibility, to act as the buffer between Kyoutani and everyone else. A temper to those baser, violent impulses. 

Why? Why was it your responsibility to tame him, when you hadn’t asked for any of this. One of his friends – though friend was probably too strong a word – laughed the first time he’d seen it in action, your hand on Kyoutani’s arm, the other cupping his jaw, begging him to calm down.

‘And here I thought our Kyoken was the one holding your leash. How interesting.’

His eyes had gleamed when he said it. 

It was like everyone else had just decided they preferred it that way; you made Kyoutani more palatable, and that made everything else easier, so why should it matter whether you wanted the job or not?

And what good did it ever do? At best, you’d stop him from launching himself across the bar at some guy who spent a second too long staring at your tits, at worst–

“Did you bring the clothes like they asked?”

Shoulders hunch, his gaze darting guiltily away for the briefest of moments, “… No.”

Of course not. Because the moment the nursing staff told him that you were here, that you were hurt, everything else would’ve been white noise. 

You breathe in. Out. Smooth down the starched, scratchy sheets. “I can’t leave without clothes, Kentarou.”

“I know that!” he snaps, only for his cheeks to darken with a blush. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll– here, take this.”

He’s shrugging out of his leather jacket, pushing it into your lap and you feel that niggling irritation bite at you once more. There’s a voice in the back of your head that tells you that he’s stressed and upset, that he’s trying.

You don’t care. 

The beeping of machines around you, a steady thrum of noise – nurses and doctors darting around, patients coughing, a baby wailing for its mother. Every sound grating on your already frayed nerves, and Kyoutani’s still trying to push his jacket on you – like you can just walk out of here wearing that and nothing else, like that’s supposed to fix any of this, and in an instant that fragile little bubble you’ve wrapped yourself in, tamping down the hysteria bubbling away underneath, splinters.

“I don’t need your stupid jacket, I need my fucking clothes!”

Kyoutani jerks a little, wide eyed. The people closest – patients and their visitors in the nearby beds, the doctor who treated you when you arrived and the nurses hovering around the admin station turn to stare, the sharpness of your voice rising above the routine clamour of the busy ER.

Most glance away quickly, but it makes no difference. 

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment, a thick lump settling in your throat as hot tears well and glisten unshed. You blink them back viciously, fighting to keep from letting those cracks shatter you entirely – again – right here in front of everybody, in front of him.

You won’t be some spectacle for them all to see. 

“Please, I need my clothes so we can go. I just want to go home, okay?” you say, the words little more than a choked whisper. If anything, that only serves to heighten the panicked look in his eyes. 

He nods, a short, sharp jerk of his head. “Yeah. Yeah that’s– I won’t– ‘m not leaving you, but– I’ll get ‘em.”

In the end, he calls one of his friends to do the job, a tall, dark haired man you vaguely recognise. He passes Kyoutani a duffle bag full of what you can only assume is an assortment of your own clothes, eyebrows knitting together in a distinct frown as he takes in your condition. Whatever thoughts he has, he keeps them to himself, and you find yourself grateful for that small mercy. 

When he turns back to Kyoutani, though, something heavy – significant – passes wordlessly between them.

Kyoutani, talkative as ever, thanks him with a nod, “I owe you one.”

Iwaizumi – it is Iwaizumi, right? – simply nods in return. His eyes flicker back to you, another assessing once over, “Look after her, yeah? We’ll talk later.”

And then he’s gone too. 

They let you go and get dressed. Kyoutani’s seen you naked more times than you care to count. Sick as a dog, drooling in your sleep and drunk before, and yet there’s something distinctly humiliating about having to rely on him to dress yourself because your legs are still too shaky to stand properly and trying to pull on the jeans Iwa brought you – much less button them – with a broken wrist is nearly impossible. 

And even if it weren’t, you doubt he’d be willing to let you out of his sight right now. 

It’s the quiet that fills the space between you, the way he goes about helping you – glancing up to check each time he touches you. Hesitant, because there’s no hiding how you flinch every time he moves too quickly, how quick you are to have his hands off you. 

Kyoutani’s a lot of things; aggressive, hot tempered, volatile, stubborn. Quick to lash out and violent when he does so. He’s not stupid, though. 

The Doctor speaks to you again before you leave, passes you packets of painkillers with instructions to take two every six hours and tells you to come back in six to seven weeks time to assess removing your cast. 

He also hands you a card with the name and phone number of a psychologist neatly printed in black lettering. “She specialises in cases like yours. It might… help.”

No, Kyoutani isn’t stupid. 

He says little on the drive back to your apartment, a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. 

Or at least, you’d thought he was driving you back to your apartment. Ten minutes in, and you realise the route he’s taking doesn’t lead home, but to his place. Home, you’d said. You wanted to go home.

Kyoutani’s apartment, for all the time you spend there, has never been home. 

It’s not worth the effort of arguing with him right now, so you bite your tongue. With an arm anchored around your waist, pointedly ignoring your attempts to push him away and do it yourself, he guides you inside. 

Locks the door behind him, setting you gently onto the couch. 

A beat of silence passes. 

Kyoutani hoarsely clears his throat, rounding on you. “Tell me what happened,” he demands. “Everything.”

Tell him so he can go and find every last one of them that dared lay a finger on you. Tell him so he knows exactly how long he should drag it out for. An eye for an eye, right?

You’d made your mind up hours ago, when you were shakily recounting your attack to the police officer who found you. Or maybe it was before that, even – lying half naked, shivering and bloody and sobbing amidst the filth of that alleyway, every tiny movement bringing a fresh wave of pain.

Maybe you’d made your mind up months ago, you were just too much of a coward to do anything about it. 

You breathe in. Breathe out. 

“I’m done, Kentarou.” Lifting your chin, you meet those burning, honey darkened eyes. “We’re done. I won’t do this anymore, I– I can’t.”

His silence is thunderous. You force yourself to keep going.

“Tonight… shouldn’t’ve happened. You– you’re not good for me, but I thought–” a harsh, slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up, surprising both of you. It sounds more like a sob. “I thought that if I left you’d get angry and you’d– you’d hurt me, kill me, even, but I’m gonna end up dead either way, right? It’s a lose lose situation.”

Kyoutani takes a step towards you then, and you flinch back into the couch, shaking your head. “No, no! Don’t, I just– I want to go home, Kyoutani. I wanna go home!”

You’re hyperventilating now, and this time he doesn’t stop in his pursuit to reach you. “You are home,” he mutters. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He pulls you onto his lap, half cradling you while you shudder, sobbing into his shoulder. 

He’ll only ever hear what he wants to.

“You’re safe here, I’ll fix it, okay?”

Fix it, as though beating the men who attacked you to a violent, bloody death will somehow magically make things right between you.

And you can picture it clear as day; he’ll hold you til the tears subside, til exhaustion and grief wear you down and you don’t fight it when he carries you into the bedroom. He’d want to stay, to keep watch after coming so close to losing you entirely, but his anger, as always, would win out.

He’d wait until you were fast asleep, dead to the world, before locking you up like a princess in a tower to go and chase down those who’d hurt you. You wouldn’t tell him the details, not the names you’d overheard or the descriptions of your assailants. It wouldn’t matter. Either he knew exactly who’d done it and why, or he’d take that jagged, snarling rage of his and lash out at anyone he’d ever pissed off just in case they’d be stupid enough to try coming after the one thing – one person – Kyoutani Kentarou gave a fuck about.

Tomorrow you’d wake, and maybe with a clearer head you’d try to bring this up again. Or maybe you’d just go; call your sister or one of your friends the first opportunity you get – you haven’t spoken to any of them in months, would any of them actually pick up? – to come and take you away, someplace safe. You could change the locks on your place in the short term, look for a better apartment somewhere on the other side of the city, maybe.

Maybe.

The smell of cigarettes clings to him, the leather of his jacket, the same one he’d tried to push onto you back at the hospital, his aftershave, woodsy and spiced. Once, those familiar scents might have been a comfort to you. Now, they’re as suffocating as the rest of him.

The Mad Dog’s whore, they’d called you, spitting it at you while they kicked and kicked and kicked. 

“It’s your fault.”

The words come quietly, barely more than a whisper, yet they ring through his apartment like the tolling of a bell. 

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

With your face buried in his chest, you can’t see his expression change but oh, you feel the way his body tenses like a live wire. The rabid snarl he physically has to bite down on lest it rip through the room and expose him for the animal he is. 

And there’s an unspoken warning in the way his grip tightens, unintentionally crushing you against him. He’s hurting you, your fractured wrist and bruised ribs crying out as Kyoutani fights to keep that hair trigger temper of his in check. 

Yet the words wouldn’t sting if they weren’t true, and in that moment, you know you’ve struck your mark. It’s almost worth it, a bittersweet, biting victory amidst overwhelming defeat. And drunk on that vindictiveness, too far gone to back out now and desperate to inflict a fraction of the pain you’re feeling back onto him, you double down and twist the knife.

“You might as well have been the one holding me down, ‘Tarou. You did this to me, and I’ll never stop hating you for it.”

He does snarl then, ripping himself away from you like your very touch burns. His face is alight, fury radiating off of him, teeth bared, eyes near feral. This is the Mad Dog everyone else sees, the monster – rabid and dangerous – that he tries and fails to hide beneath clumsy tenderness and affection.  

Physically shaking with fury, hands flexing in and out of fists, he stares you down, each breath leaving him in heaving, ragged pants. Kyoutani towers over you, broad and muscular, savage and utterly enraged.

And in the thick, palpable tension, in the seconds that stretch and warp, passing like molasses from one moment to the next, you wonder if he’s going to take a swing at you. Wrap his hands around your delicate throat and throttle you. Kill you, even. He certainly looks angry enough. 

Instead, after what feels like an eternity, Kyoutani snorts like a bull, turning on his feet and storming out without another word, slamming the door shut with enough force that the whole apartment shakes and rattles.

You don’t move for a long time after that.

At first, you tell yourself that you’re waiting to see if he comes back. Kyoutani’s always been rash and hot headed, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d left in the heat of an argument only to return a short while later with flowers and some grunted out, pained sounding apology. 

And then… well, you don’t quite know after that. 

Sunlight begins to creep through the window, and you curl up on the couch. The painkillers they gave you still have a few good hours left in them, but your whole body feels weirdly heavy. Exhausted. After your vicious little outburst, you’ve run completely out of steam. 

There’s nothing left for you to give. 

The tears come again, silent and pained, streaming down your cheeks. Your whole heart aches.

You think you’re grieving; for what happened to you tonight, for the awful, inescapable mess that you’ve tangled yourself up in. 

And you could go now, leave this apartment – and Kyoutani – behind. Maybe you’d make it. Maybe your sister would come. Maybe his friends are downstairs waiting in case you try anything. Or someone less friendly with a score to settle.

Maybe it wouldn’t even matter, because Kyoutani would rather set the world on fire and watch it burn than let you go, whether you leave this apartment or not. 

Minutes tick by – or is it hours? – and eventually your breathing evens out and sleep comes and takes you.

You stir not to the sound of the door opening, but the scent of something sharp and coppery, of cigarettes and leather, and warm, familiar aftershave. Strong arms lift you up. 

Kyoutani says nothing as he carries you to his bed, sets you down gently and crawls in to take the space behind you, shifting the blankets up so they cover you both. His lips press against your hair, a heavy arm sliding over your middle, pulling you snug against him.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles gruffly, and you wonder what it is he thinks he’s apologising for.

Heavy eyelids fall shut.

You don’t fight sleep when it beckons once more.

Tag me please 💓💓

𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚛 | yandere!jungkook |1|

Summary-  ❝ There’s just something special about seeing someone lose their mind over love. ❞

Warning-  This work is pure fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behavior in real life. Contains violence, manipulation, disability.

further links will be found in my bio

Your fingers twitched, your eyes scanned over the messy notes scrawled upon your iPad.

The turned on night lamp was useless as the light was starting to come through the dirty, finger-printed window.

It’s royal blue paint glistening in the first golden rays of the day.

A frown downs upon your face as you let out a sigh of frustration. Quietly you walk towards the window to open it, it was still early, the only time of the day when people can rest from the whir of the machines.

Hands pressed to the cold wooden windowsill you shift towards the outside and look towards, not down, there was still fear creeping on behind you that the wall could just collide and there would be no exception, only to fall and smash against the concrete.

The buildings are silhouettes against a crimson sky, the air felt refrigerated, that same coolness combined with moisture - perfection.

You eyed it for a few seconds before straightening up and going back to the table, you had to finish your assignment even if your brain was as a flat battery.

-

You gently shook Jimin by the shoulders to wake him up, he looked like a baby burrowed into the warm, soft sheets.

His eyelids fluttered and you couldn’t help but coo as he lifted his arms upon his face.

Giggling you shook him again, this time with a little more force.

“Jimin, you have to wake up” you whispered out of habit, even though you knew he won’t be able to hear you.

Slowly and reluctantly, he uncovered his face, blinked, closed his eyes, and blinked again. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and blinded him. He sat up, dragged his feet off the bed, and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned.

You watched his legs dangle above the pastel blue polyester carpet. Still, sleepy his eyes fell over your figure and the papers scattered over the table with two cups smeared with your lip tint.

He reached for his phone before typing something and clicking the ‘send’ button.

It wasn’t long until you heard the familiar ding and vibration pace that was specially made for Jimin’s messages.

‘ Did you stay awake again? ’

You shyly smiled before nodding. Before you could even see the concern on his face you clicked to write.

‘ Don’t worry Jiminie, it’s fine, now go and get ready, we’ll leave soon ’ you typed back and waited for him to go.

Once you heard the shower running, you sank down to the cold ground. The weather was getting colder with each passing week and you had no idea how were you going to be able to pay for the heating after the bills of the hospital treatment were still screaming at you.

But as long as Jimin okay, you’ll be fine. Both of you will be fine.

The guilt was like gasoline in your guts. Your insides died slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burnt you out so badly there was nothing left but a shell.

You knew Jimin didn’t blame you, he said it so many times you almost believed it, but there was a monster living inside of you telling you that it was your fault.

And you wished you had a magic sleeping pill for it.

Sadly, you didn’t.

-

The walk to the nearest coffee shop was drowning in silence, not that it bothered you. It was an arrangement both of you had agreed on.

No sign language, no strange or frustrated gestures in public, just you and Jimin gripping onto each other’s hands, now losing Jimin in a busy street would feel equal to a parent losing their kid in a supermarket.

The headache you had since the clock struck 5 a.m.was starting to go away as both of you sat at the furthermost table. The cafe itself was inviting and warm. The lo-fi playlist was like a siren’s melody, so luring and calming.

Your eyes landed on Jimin who looked through the window with striped straw between his lips. He didn’t look bothered, he didn’t look sad.

Sometimes you wanted to ask how does it feel to live in complete silence, to lose something as valuable as sound, don’t they say silence it’s what makes everyone alone? So why didn’t he look alone, why did he look happier than you?

Part of you just wanted to shook him by his shoulders and scream if this was just a facade he built upon himself. But what good screaming would bring if he didn’t even hear you and if we’re being honest, you weren’t sure if you’re ready to face the crumbling walls and no-masked faces.

You weren’t.

You nursed the mug of coffee in your hands as you ran your eyes over the display of a window in front of you, trying to find something or someone interest. You felt like you were in a library scanning your eyes through the shelves, one old and a plain man with a cheap dark jacket, the other one with colorful socks pulled over his calves. But nothing particularly interesting.

Your phone buzzed scaring you.

‘ shouldn’t i be the one with sealed lips and empty eyes? ’ rolling your eyes you  looked at Jimin

“whatever, park, let me have my moment” you murmured a little slower than you would normally say it to anyone else, Jimin was still not a pro at reading lips and you were horrified he’ll never learn.

Just two weeks ago instead of seeing “I want snacks” he thought you wanted to have sex with him and you didn’t know that until the next day when you got a message about how he only sees you as a friend.

“Would you like something else?” you heard a very soft voice beside you. Jimin didn’t notice him until he felt you shifting.

The dark bambi-like eyes caught you by the guard but before you could really look into them his eyes fell onto something else.

A heavy silence settled over you, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled Jimin’s eyes glanced towards you. Noticing how uncomfortably he shifted you returned to look towards the boy.

“No thank you” you smiled kindly and you could swear a very light shade of pink appeared on his cheeks.

Not after bowing he left.

-

“Text me if you need something” you smile to Jimin as he stands next to his art class door.

Before you could turn around, you notice his hands starting to move.

He’s signing.

Taking a deep breath you try to understand and catch every possible sign you learned at the cheap youtube course.

“are you g-oing…to get his d…-dog?” you furrow your eyebrows looking at him. “What the fuck are you trying to say Jimin?”

Jimin rolls his eyes with a silly smile on his face.

You groan when you feel weight on your shoulders.

“He means dick, not a dog” the familiar voice rings in your ears “By this time you should know it, it’s one of the favorite words to sign for our Jiminie here” Taehyungs laughs.

“BYE” horrified you brush Taehyung’s arms off your shoulders and turn to walk towards your class, not before letting a tiny little smile spread on your face because that’s something the old Jimin would say.

So maybe things didn’t really change?

-

Stepping into a class full of computers feels weird, it’s not really your ‘place’ and the only reason you’re even here because of the lack of credit you’ve faced, thank Zeus it’s only one semester.

Scanning over the classroom all you see is males and males. Not a single female sat in the IT classroom.

Only then you notice one familiar face.

Coffee boy.

-

-

Tell me if you want to get tagged

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

General Yandere! Atsumu Miya Profile

Yandere! Atsumu Miya x fem! reader

Warnings: stalking, obsession, kidnapping, drugging, mentions of non/dub-con, masturbation, nonconsensual photography, mentions of physical abuse (Atsumu doesn't hit you, though), Stockholm syndrome, nonconsensual affection, fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10.0K

DARLING PROFILE:

Honest

For Atsumu, trust is the most important thing in a relationship.

He’s always been dubbed a bit unreliable; his twin rolling his eyes and mentioning how he’s always late, past girlfriends crying and screaming at him about he’s throwing them away for some stupid sport, even his own reflection in the mirror telling him he’s too narrow minded, too obsessive, too abnormal to ever have a successful relationship.

It’s left Atsumu a bit jaded – he’s always wanted a lover, yes, but as his professional career has developed, his desire has dwindled. Too often he’s been accused to blowing off his significant other in favor of the sport, and while he's never been able to argue that point, it’s exhausting.

And so, having a partner that’s honest about how they’re feeling, how they want him to treat them would be perfect. He’s tired of having people have such high expectations of him without him even knowing, and when he inevitably doesn’t meet them he’s always the one with the door slamming in his face, shock and confusion stirring in his gut because what did he do wrong?

His darling must be painfully honest with him; he likes people who are able to be blunt while expressing their opinions, and while he doesn’t want a blatantly mean darling, one who is able to give him tough love is more than welcome. He likes the idea that his woman is capable of keeping him in line, and frankly, with every murmur of I wish you’d spend more time with me that falls past their lips, Atsumu is scrambling to let his coach know he’s taking a week off, that he’s calling in those favors he earned from staying late to so many practices.

He just wants a partner that will never pretend to be something they aren’t, and while they’re allowed to have secrets (in the beginning), Atsumu wants to know every fucking one.

So really, his darling should just be honest from the get go; it will attract his attention, yes, but isn’t it just so sweet to have the six foot tall, charismatic, talented professional athlete head over heels for you?

Opinionated

Don’t get it twisted – Atsumu doesn’t want someone who takes this trait to the very extreme. He still very much likes the idea that he’s the one in charge of the relationship, that he’s the one wearing the pants, that he calls any of the truly important shots.

However, when things really come down to it, Atsumu is a worshipper. He’s utterly and completely enraptured by his darling, blindsided by them and willing to do literally anything it takes to get them smiling at him, to hear those sweet words of praise falling from their lips.

He’s obsessed in every possible way, and to have a darling that doesn’t give things up easily only makes him fall more in love. He likes a darling with convictions; they have opinions and beliefs that they stand by, and it’s difficult to get them to budge.

He likes people with strong personalities, and a darling that fits this mold is his ideal type – he doesn’t have to agree with their beliefs necessarily, though it would be nice. He just likes the prospect of a darling who isn’t afraid to fight for what they believe in, and to voice what they think is right.

He’s not afraid to argue a bit, though he’ll always eventually give in, staring at his darling with wide, glossy brown eyes and parted pink lips, his cheeks stained red and his heart racing because wow, they look so damn sexy when they’re standing up for themselves.

Quite honestly, as his obsession develops, it becomes alarmingly easy for his body to react to his darling’s declarations of beliefs as well; the minute they say they support pro-choice causes, his pants are tight and he’s hiding his face, because as they keep listing off the reasons they believe in the cause, Atsumu can’t deny how fucking passionate they are, how pretty and smart and confident they seem.

It’s a turn on, truly, and while at the end of the day Atsumu’s opinion is the final say, having a darling with strong beliefs will help fuel his worshipper tendencies.

Competitive

Similarly to the other traits listed out for his darling, Atsumu needs someone with a bit of a competitive edge.

He doesn’t want this to overrun their relationship, but he likes the idea of small, domestic competitions; who can shoot the paper straw wrapper the furthest when he’s taking his darling out to a nice dinner (their table neighbors are less than pleased, but with the way his darling laughs and giggles, Atsumu doesn’t fucking care).

Little competitions of outwitting each other are mandatory for Atsumu; a partner that can tease him, sending him knowing glances and making fun of the stupid things he says makes his ears go red and his throat get all tight, but he fucking loves it.

He wants a partner that will compete to see who can go without stepping on a crack in the concrete the longest when he takes them out for a late night walk through the local park (eventually he’ll fudge the number just so he can win, and then he’ll offer to carry them home because they ‘obviously can’t avoid the cracks on yer own’, fully trying to pretend like the concept of touching his darling doesn’t make him break out in anxious shivers, beads of sweat covering his temples and hands).

He just likes a darling that can challenge him, and while he never seriously considers his darling actual competition, there’s something about seeing the way they focus on him as they try to beat him that makes his head swim.

There’s something so wonderful about how hyper focused they become on the things Atsumu accomplishes, and frankly it’s an opportunity to show off – he can show them how impressive he is, how capable, how strong and manly and romantic he can be. It’s perfect, and he needs a darling that fill these shoes – so really, don’t let Atsumu win, yeah?

Because once you win, his obsession just grows deeper, his fascination with you that bleeds into the wee hours of the morning as he clutches his pillow and desperately humps at it only getting stronger.

Stubborn

While Atsumu enjoys the idea of holding a certain amount of power over his darling, he doesn’t want someone who will easily roll over.

He likes the idea of a darling that is willing to stand up for themselves, and in particular a darling who is true to their word – and so, a more stubborn beloved would be perfect for Atsumu. He needs someone who isn’t willing to give up on what they want or believe so easily; of course, they can’t be too stubborn, as they need to be able to see the benefits of other perspectives sometimes.

(Specifically, they need to understand his perspective sometimes, even if it involves stalking them, kidnapping them, or even forcing them to sleep in the same bed as him.)

They need to be able to admit when they are wrong, but for the vast majority of the time Atsumu would love a darling that takes a bit of time before they’re willing to change their minds. He likes to idea of a darling that would only ever change their mind for him; it feeds into his possessiveness, and quells his delusions regarding his darling.

After all, they treat him unlike they treat everyone else – and isn’t that a sign? Doesn’t that mean they see him differently, think of him differently, perhaps even view him as someone special? The thought makes him giddy, his chest erupting in butterflies and the widest grin settling across his features, and he’ll remember each and every time his darling has ever changed their mind on something involving him.

It’s euphoric, the kind of thing he thinks about when he’s deep in his despair and missing his darling, but just remembering their pretty eyes looking up at him, the defeated and embarrassed look on their face when they say well, maybe you’re right…

It’s the stuff of both wholesome and wet dreams, and Atsumu will take it all with stride. After all, he’ll take anything his darling gives him.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

In general, Atsumu is absolutely desperate for your attention.

He’s not unused to female praise and girls fawning over him, what with the sheer number that attend his games and cheer him on. He’s used to the screaming fans in the crowds at Jackals games, constant messages in his DMs containing nude photographs and attempts at beginning a relationship with him.

And yet, despite his popularity, there’s something about the idea of you supporting him, you giving him the time of day that gets him feeling hot, his stomach fluttery and his lips dry. There’s something about the idea of you taking the time to recognize him, to acknowledge him (even if it’s just through the tiniest of smiles, or a quick text wishing him luck in his next match) that gets him sighing like some lovesick school girl, the idea genuinely so pleasing that he tends to zone out, too busy imagining the way you’d hug him or kiss him or snuggle up beside him after a hard game.

As a result, Atsumu tends to flock to you every chance he gets; he wants to show off, to get you in awe and have your eyes on him, and he’s not subtle.

It’s more than obvious to anyone that knows him (his friends and team) that he’s trying too hard, that he’s pushing himself harder than he should in order to win your favor. They’re more than aware that he’s overworking himself at games he knows you’re attending, flexing every muscle in his body as hard as he can when he walks by you, laughing loudly and lowering his voice slightly when you’re nearby because he’s heard that women find huskier voices attractive.

It’s embarrassing, if Osamu, Suna and Sakusa are being honest, but Atsumu can’t help it.

He needs you to notice him, to let your gorgeous eyes flick over his form, a small smile curling on your lips, a finger tucking your hair behind your ear, your weight shifting from one hip to another, anything at all to show him that you notice him, that you see him and think of him and love him and want him and need him and can’t stand even a single moment away from him –

It’s intense, to the point that you’ll likely notice the way he resembles an adolescent boy with how badly he’s trying to catch your attention, and frankly, you’ll probably be flattered. After all, it’s the Atsumu Miya that keeps meeting your gaze, his brown eyes flicking away quickly as he fights a blush and nudges Suna rather harshly, telling him to laugh like I told a joke, dammit, or I’ll steal yer chuupet, and how could you not be flattered?

He’s a heartthrob, a volleyball star, someone every girl you know would love to date, and he’s choosing you of all people? It feels good, and you’ll bask in the attention for a while – giving into his little desperate cries for attention, having conversations with him, coming to practices, letting him catch dinner with you sometimes, everything he requests with that strangely vulnerable would ya mind if I – er, if I went with you?

It’s hard to say no after all, and while Atsumu is internally panicking every second you’re together because he’s terrified he’ll fuck up and ruin the chemistry you seem to have, he wouldn’t trade his time with you for the world.

You’re perfect, so utterly lovely in every possible way, and so with time slowly his clinginess grows more and more intense, stronger and difficult to control, until you start getting worried about how far he’s pushing things, why the line seems to be crossed between friendliness and questionable intent.

It’s strange when his knuckles keep brushing yours, much more often than what would be accidental, or the way his fingertips brush against yours and slightly curl, like he’s trying to be subtle and gauge your reaction to holding his hand.

It’s odd how his gaze lingers on your form for much longer than is normal, those brown eyes fixed on your figure as you walk away, as you squirm and uncomfortably stare at the ground as your friend talks about the recent history test they’d just taken while you’re out and about getting lunch.

It’s strange how he always seems to make direct eye contact with you during games, even when you’re buried up in the sea of people in the bleachers, or how he hands you a plastic sack before the next game with small keychains and little memorabilia on it that he thought ya would like, since yer always cheerin’… inside you’ll find stickers with MSBY’s logo, a few volleyball themed sticky notes, pens and banners, and a copious amount of yellow plushies; foxes, jaguars and little birds, things that seem to match the shade of his hair exactly, little stuffed animals in number a 13 jersey, even a few banners with the words I’m proud of you ‘Tsumu! written across it with handwriting that looks just slightly too similar to your own.

It’s weird, and frankly you’ll want to return all of the things, but guilt and the crushed expression on Atsumu’s face when you don’t wear the custom made t-shirt with his jersey number and last name on the back (the size is exactly right, much to your dismay) to the next game have you reluctant.

You’ll want to return everything, but when you aren’t jumping up and down and cheering with every set he makes, you’ll end up piling on the accessories and supporting Atsumu, letting him call you every night to ramble on about his latest plays and movies he loves, letting him take you to Osamu’s favorite onigiri stand after games, letting him hug you for much too long.

You’ll let it happen, and Atsumu couldn’t be happier – but be warned, when you give the blond an inch, he’ll take miles and miles and miles. After all, he just needs you, and if you’ve let him push the envelope so far already, what else will you allow?

Will you let him knock you out and lay you across the soft comforter that adorns the bed he’s set up for the two of you to share?

Maybe you’ll let him cuddle you and run his fingers through your hair, bury his face into your neck and inhale, hump you like an animal in heat as he begs for you to tell me ya love me, fuck princess tell me yer in love with me.

Atsumu sure hopes so, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint, right?

Possessive

Tying in with some of his clingier habits, Atsumu struggles to not completely involve himself in every possible aspect of your life. It’s not that he wants to be omnipresent, always there, peering over your shoulder like some overgrown guardian angel with a golden retriever’s need for attention, but he genuinely can’t help it.

He gets so anxious where you’re concerned, terrified that someone else will come along and sweep you off your feet, scared that you’ll find someone better that he just physically can’t sit still and let another man walk into your life.

He struggles to give you your own space, not quite sure how to balance his desire to make you happy and see him as the perfect partner and the other, more pressing part of him that’s desperate to keep every man on Earth away from you, to keep a healthy distance of at least fifty yards away from you at any given time.

He doesn’t want to even allow the opportunity for another person to steal your attention or time, and as a result Atsumu decides the best method to achieve this desire is to simply always be there. If he doesn’t allow an opening for another man to sweep you away, then surely it won’t happen, surely you won’t be speaking to anyone else without the blond at your hip, staring down with malicious eyes as some guy tries to make you laugh or smile, as they compliment your eyes.

He’ll stand there, towering over you with brown eyes narrowed, flexing each and every muscle in his upper body, the sleeves of his uniform shirt straining against the lean muscle of his bicep as the man splutters, terrified that the Atsumu Miya is glaring at him, scared that he’ll get punched or his reputation ruined.

He tends to start off with staring, trying to make the other man who was stupid (and brave) enough to approach you uncomfortable enough to leave the two of you alone. But if that doesn’t work (which, most of the time he’s too impatient to see through fruition), Atsumu will rely on other tactics to get you looking at him and only him, just as you should.

That is, it’s disturbingly easy to plaster a fake smile onto his lips, grabbing your arm and spinning you to face him, asking you in that sing song voice that’s just a bit too high if you want to grab something to eat, if you want to see the new serve he’s been working on, if you want to go bother Osamu with him.

He’s asking anything, everything to get you agreeing, whining for your attention and telling you that he needs ya, yer my good luck charm with ‘Samu and I want some onigiri, pouting like a child if you seem unsure or reject him.

When you eventually sigh and agree, apologizing to the other man and letting Atsumu drag you off to god knows where, the blond will throw a malicious glare over his shoulder, a proud smirk etched onto his lips as he mouths the words mine, before looking down at you and smiling once more, prattling on about some new accomplishment of his in an effort to impress you.

Generally, this works – Atsumu is terribly insistent and determined, wanting so badly and so impatiently to get your attention and drag you out of the situation that it’s nearly palpable, but he has this strange charm to him that has you always caving, making you sigh and bite your lip but ultimately say okay fine, but just this one time, okay?

Atsumu is strangely pitiable, someone that manages to master the kicked puppy look each time he begs and pleads for you to spend time with him, to just stay with him, to not ditch hangouts in favor of working overtime, to not join that recreational group you’ve been interested in because he needs you to watch his practice and haven’t ya seen the men in that group? Don’t ya see the way they look at yer ass when ya walk away? Ya’d be stupid to join ‘em, princess.

He’s oddly sweet, the validation that him constantly searching for your attention and praise gives you strangely addicting, so just let him put his hand on your waist, lean down to inhale the scent of your hair (and smile when he smells your familiar shampoo and not a single trace of cologne that isn’t his), smile and point at you when he makes a good set, grab your wrist and drag you behind the practice facility to press you against the nearest wall and shove his tongue down your throat because someone forgot who they fuckin’ belong to, huh baby?

Atsumu is strangely endearing in his desperation to keep you to himself, but don’t be fooled – underneath the jealous schoolboy act is a pathetic, dangerous man willing to do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it involves dirtying his hands with chloroform, blood, or lies.

Delusional

The trouble with Atsumu is, of course, his determination.

He’s simply unable to let himself lose or let go of things he’s truly passionate about. And so, once his feelings for you form, you make that very short list of Atsumu’s priorities – right between volleyball, and, begrudgingly, his brother.

But while this in itself isn’t particularly strange, it’s the method with which Atsumu expresses his intense devotion to you that’s a bit alarming, that makes him qualify as a delusional man.

He’s very, very dedicated to making sure that he looks good in your eyes and that you like him. He’s obsessed with making sure that the two of you pan out, that you end up together, that he gets to hold and kiss you, to touch your pretty skin and slip a diamond studded ring on your finger while you whisper out that airy yes, I’ll marry you ‘Tsumu.

He’s driven by the fantasies he possesses of the two of you; mostly domestic things, embarrassingly enough. He likes to imagine waking up together in the mornings, the sunlight dancing along your face as you softly breath in and out.

He likes to imagine the way he’d snuggle up against you, pulling you against his chest so that your face is buried against his pectorals, his chin atop your head as he deeply breaths in your scent, relishing in the peacefulness and calmness of the moment.

He likes to imagine the way you’d smile when he compliments you, your flustered expression as you playfully smack his upper arm, trying to hide how embarrassed you are as he teases you. He imagines you’d shut him up with a kiss, whispering against his lips when you pull away that he’s just as pretty as me, the prettiest boy I’ll ever know.

He’s fueled by these desires, and while they aren’t explicitly dark, it’s the extreme to which Atsumu is willing to try to see them come to fruition that’s disturbing. It’s the way he’s holding himself to an impossible benchmark to encourage these feelings in you, to get you to reciprocate his infatuation.

It’s the way he’s simply not taking no for an answer; he’s always asking you to get food with him, to come to his games, to let him take you out to the park for ice cream, even just to call him – and if you decline his offers, Atsumu simultaneously feels his heart break and his resolve harden.

He feels as if it’s a sign that he’s not doing enough each time you reject him; obviously he’s not trying hard enough, not putting in the level of dedication and work that he must in order to get you falling in love with him.

His delusions lie in that he’s continually pushing himself harder to make you want him. He’s doing extensive research into the types of movies you watch, the books you read, the fanfiction you enjoy, the tropes and heartthrobs, anything and everything he can find about your tastes, even if it means digging through your browsing history.

He’s religiously watching and reading the media you like to consume, trying to find similarities so that he can emulate what the male lead always does.

Maybe he should dye his hair?

Maybe he should start wearing only shades of gray and black?

You always read stories where the lead brings the narrator flowers, so obviously you must want a bouquet, right?

Don’t be surprised when he shows up at your doorstep with a lovely, gorgeous bouquet of flowers in your favorite color, a blush dancing on his cheeks while he sheepishly asks if you’d like to come to the movies with me? There’s this new film coming out that I’ve been wanting to see, but it’s always depressing to eat popcorn alone, so…

He’s not really listening when you tell him that you’re not interested in dating anyone right now; you obviously just need some time, because there’s no way you can’t feel the desperation Atsumu feels for you.

There’s simply no fucking way you don’t realize how horribly, deeply he wants to call you his. Instead, he’ll just smile at you, that same too-wide grin while he pats your head (silently reveling in the feeling of your hair texture against his fingers because holy fuck he just touched you -) and tells you that it’s okay, I understand, no emotional commitment for ya, babe!

He’s not swayed by anything you could do or say to try and argue that his efforts aren’t working; Atsumu is determined, and he won’t let anything get in the way of earning your love and attention, including you. What you want matters to him, and he truly does want you to want him, but at the end of the day, his delusions cloud his mind into thinking that you do want him.

You may not know it yet – hell, you may not be willing to accept it yet, but Atsumu is okay with that. He can be patient, just for you. He can wait, lay the groundwork some more, woo you with every possible method he can think of, until you finally come to your senses and realize that no one can treat you like he does.

No one else will ever want you as badly as the blond does, and no one else would ever fight as hard to get you by their side.

No one else would be willing to rifle through your discarded trash just to see what food packages you were eating, what brand of soap and shampoo you like, what brand of tampons you use and what size.

No else would be willing to lace the food he has Osamu make for you (begrudgingly, but a few extra bucks thrown at the chef will do wonders) with vitamins, things to keep you healthier and happier, because he just cares about you.

No one else would do half of the shit he’s willing to do for you, and Atsumu is more than aware of this. Doesn’t that make him special?

Doesn’t his devotion to you show that he’s serious about loving you? Isn’t it romantic that he’s willing to go so damn far for you? You should be flattered, really; you’ve caught the attention of the Atsumu Miya, a professional athlete and star of the MSBY Jackals.

He’s head over heels for you, obsessed in every sense of the word with having you be his girl, and how could you get any luckier? Especially with the way he watches your every move like your shadow because he just cares so much?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

When it comes to jealousy, Atsumu is certainly no stranger. He’s dealt with the green eyed monster his whole life; having a twin was difficult, what with people constantly comparing him to Osamu.

He’s tired of being known as simply an extension of another person, and while this got better as he got older and the two Miyas developed their own, independent lives, he’s always held a shred of jealousy towards his brother. He’s quick to anger, and so once you’re in the picture?

Well, Atsumu may have grown and matured a lot since his high school days, but he’s still the same somewhat childish man at heart. And to see someone – something – he loves so much be threatened by another man makes his gut clench uncomfortably, his lips pulling into a grimace before he can even think about it.

His fists are clenching before any rational thought enters his brain, whatever poor object was in his hands nearly breaking with the sheer amount of force he puts into his grip. He’s gotten much better with handling his rage, but the reality is that the idea of you finding another man doesn’t simply enrage him – no, it terrifies him.

He’s scared that he’s not enough; sure, he’s got money, fame, a great physique, and a charming smile, but what about his personality? Is he funny enough? Smart enough? Kind enough? Can he make you laugh like you want him to, can he make you flustered and embarrassed with his compliments and cheeky comments?

He’s riddled with self-doubt when it comes to you, and while he tries to put up the façade of confidence most of the time, there’s moments where you’ll very clearly see the real Atsumu underneath those layers of charisma. The real, raw, emotional, desperate young man who wants nothing more than for you to choose him.

And so, it doesn’t take too terribly much to set off his jealousy. Generally speaking, the blond only ever feels jealous when your attention drifts away from him. He doesn’t enjoy seeing other men stare at you from afar, the way their eyes rake over your figure, thoughts surely flashing through their mind about what could be under your clothes, all manner of perverted intentions and fantasies being played out mentally.

He doesn’t enjoy it, but at least Atsumu knows that you can’t be tempted by what you don’t see – he knows the look men give when they’re imagining railing you into next week, when they’re contemplating whether to approach you, but you don’t.

You’re not aware of the fine art of decoding the male gaze; and so, why should Atsumu be worried? He’ll shoo the man away, laying his claim over you to try and (not) subtly show the stranger that you’re firmly claimed and taken.

However, when his jealousy really activates is when you show signs of interest in other men. When it’s your eyes trailing another man’s figure, when it’s your lips quirking up into a smile as you listen to another man’s voice and jokes.

It’s insecurity hitting him square in the chest as he wonders if this man could be better than him, if you’d prefer him over Atsumu, if you’re unhappy with the blond. And so, he must put a stop to the interaction before you can develop any sort of attachment to this new man – it would derail everything he’s worked so fucking hard for over the last few months.

Atsumu’s brows furrow inward as he watches the way you tap your foot and smile at the man in front of you in line.

You’re waiting to order your drink at the local coffeeshop he’d had the both of you meet up at. Surprisingly punctual when it comes to you, Atsumu had arrived earlier than the time he’d scheduled, and had subsequently gotten his iced coffee before you’d gotten the chance to enter the shop.

And now, he was deeply regretting his decision to caffeinate himself before you showed up; the man in front of you was tall, with dark hair and tan skin. A chiseled jaw line was obvious even from his distance away, as were his smoothly pressed, tucked in maroon dress shirt and black slacks. Atsumu frowned; his own pair of brown shorts and brightly patterned top seemed much too childish now.

Did you like men in muted colors, or bold designs?

Distantly, Atsumu made a note to look through more of your browsing history to find out. In the present, though, the blond was growing more and more irritated by the minute. You were clearly checking out the stranger; your eyes were obviously traveling down along his back, your pretty gaze settling in on the spot right above his thighs –

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath, his cheeks feeling hot (surely red), before he was immediately bolting out of his chair, his legs moving faster than his mind could think.

You were not to be having this free of an attraction to another man – particularly one that looked nothing like Atsumu himself.

Were you more attracted to men with dark hair? Did you prefer tanner skin rather than Atsumu’s own paler self?

Shaking his head, he let his fists clench at his sides, his lip trapped between his teeth so hard it threatened to bleed. It’s horrible, having to watch this interaction – the man had turned around to ask you a question, and you’d responded with something that made him laugh.

He was laughing, his whole face lighting up with a smile brighter than the fucking sun and Atsumu wants to spike a ball at his head, to punch him across his stupidly sharp jawline and make him scream and cry and beg for his forgiveness for touching what’s his his his –

He sucks in an unsteady, shaky breath as the man makes some comment about you looking pretty, and you jump slightly, your brows shooting up at his forwardness. You stutter out a thanks, mentally shocked because was he flirting with you…? This handsome stranger?

You clear your throat, telling him you like the color of his shirt, and the man smiles knowingly at you.

Do you like my shirt, or do you like what’s underneath it?

Your lips part slightly, your brows furrowing a bit. Oh, um, no, I mean your shirt.

Something about the way the man’s brows rose and the smirk that settled across your lips was starting to unsettle you, his forwardness earlier seeming confident, though perhaps too confident.

Admittedly, self assurance was attractive, but as the man’s smirk grew wider and he took another step towards you, you found yourself stiffening up.

I’m sure you’d like what’s underneath it too, sugar, if you’d like to see. I’m in the gym every morning, promise, and I never skip arm day.

You smile shakily at him, a barely hidden grimace at his words, before taking a small step backwards and away from him. You’d been unaware of the way Atsumu had taken strides to get closer to the both of you, essentially hiding himself behind the nearest display shelf of coffee cups and mugs while he kept his eyes focused on the both of you, his ears wide open to take in every word.

And to say he was angry was a massive understatement – sure, this man may be attractive, but could he not see how uncomfortable he was making you?

Did he not understand that you weren’t fucking interested? Atsumu is frozen for a moment, internally weighing what to do, but as the man reaches out to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear, the blond snaps.

He’s immediately at your side, grabbing your arm and shuffling you behind him, paying no mind to the way that the man’s face sours, his lips settling into a pinched line as he stares at Atsumu.

They’re roughly the same height, and despite the man’s insistence of always hitting the gym, it’s more than clear that Atsumu has more strength, his professional career leaving him ridden with muscle, even if he’s not a spiker. Atsumu’s sending him the meanest, coldest look he possibly can, cutting off the man who attempts to say something. She’s not interested, dipshit.

The man’s nostrils flare, and distantly Atsumu scoffs that he was ever feeling insecure because of such a piece of shit. The man guffaws, crossing his arms, snapping out and how the hell would you know?

Atsumu nearly growls, his heart pounding in his chest out of anger and barely restrained rage, his every muscle begging to be let go, to punch this man across the face, to beat the shit out of him while you watch – maybe you’d be impressed, thinking of him as strong and capable, thinking of him as your protector, your manly, masculine boyfriend.

It’s a charming thought, but he steels himself and instead rolls his eyes at the man. Because yer a fucking creep, that’s why, harassin’ women and getting’ em all scared and nervous. Fuck off.

And with that, Atsumu is grabbing your wrist, swerving on his heel and dragging you behind him, taking the both of you outside of the coffee shop. He’d left his own iced coffee on the table, but he couldn’t care less.

Once the both of you were outside, he immediately turned around, hazel eyes searching yours as he examined every inch of your face and body for any sort of injury or tears.

Your mouth is parted slightly, your eyes wide, but Atsumu can only mutter out a ya okay, love?

You don’t answer him – instead, you’re crashing into his chest, throwing your arms around him and hugging him as tightly as you can. Atsumu squeaks, his cheeks flushing bright red because holy fuck, you’re hugging him –

You whisper out a thank you, shoving your face further into his chest, and Atsumu can only hug you back as tightly, a hand running down your hair in comforting motions. A tear slips down his cheek without even realizing it, his heart racing because the fear of thinking he’d lost you was still much too strong, the worry and pain slowly ebbing away, but not nearly fast enough.

He’s quick to buy you another coffee at a different shop, along with your favorite sweets, insisting that you take the day off of work and instead come watch his practice today, where he can make sure you’re not approached by anymore creeps.

You agree, and Atsumu goes to sleep that night with a wide, nearly crazed smile as he hugs his pillow tightly, remembering the way you’d touched him and cheered him on at practice, even giving him a kiss on the cheek when he’d made a particularly good set.

His hand slips down his torso as he relives the way your chest had felt against his own, his other hand opening his phone to the folder he has of pictures of you, your pretty face staring at him through the screen as his own face morphs into a pretty ‘o’, his brows shooting up and whimpers tumbling past his lips.

You’re just so perfect, and while he still worries you’ll find someone else, at least today you didn’t – today, you were his.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Quite honestly, Atsumu doesn’t particularly want to steal you away.

He’s still clinging onto the idea of having a normal, healthy relationship with you, and while he can’t deny the attraction of keeping you locked up in his penthouse apartment, he isn’t jumping at his heels to kidnap you.

There’s just something about it that leaves a sour taste in his mouth; he fell in love with you for you, and perhaps there’s some part of him that’s hesitant to force you into captivity for fear of changing who you are. He doesn’t want some brain-dead, Stockholm Syndrome induced lover.

No, he wants you, with your every flaw and strength bare before his eyes, so that he can know every bit of you as you are, not as he wants to mold you to be.

He’s not interested in forming you into his ideal lover; you already are, and he’d never forgive himself if he changed you just to make you a more obedient captive.

And so, the prospect of kidnapping you just doesn’t seem like a possibility to the setter – besides, his delusions reinforce the idea that eventually you’ll want to live with him. He’ll tell himself over and over that you don’t want to be kidnapped because you want to come willingly with him, and while he may have struggled to believe it at first, eventually he's swearing by the idea.

Because really, when he’s repeating it to himself like a mantra, chanting it under his breath as his fingers clutch at the bathroom counter and cool water runs down his face from the faucet still on below him, how is he supposed to doubt it?

How can he not believe that you’ll eventually want him, want the life he can give you by being his partner?

Atsumu is riddled with insecurities, but despite the way the idea of you makes them flare up, there’s something oddly therapeutic about imagining the way you’d be able to overcome them, how you’d accept him as he is, smiling and leaping into his arms as you tell him yes, yes I’d love to live with you! Let me pack up all my stuff and let the landlord know, you’ll have to get a bigger bed so we can both fit…

He’s convinced himself that you want to live with him, through sheer determination and repetition, and often when stress is eating him alive, his fingers tugging at his hair while he paces back and forth as he relives the way you smiled at that man today over and over and over again, it’s the thought of how you’d lovingly accept him eventually that keeps him going.

It’s a pleasant thought, really – and one that keeps his sanity in tact.

And so, when eventually the time comes and he gets this blushy, bashful look on his face, wringing his hands and struggling to make eye contact with you as he opens his mouth, just know that the scene will not be pretty. When he blurts out the words (stuttered a bit, hopefully you won’t notice), just know that when you inevitably reject his offer, Atsumu will seem a bit… off.

There’s something about the way his brown eyes darken, his hands falling limp in his lap, the chatter of the restaurant around you seeming so fucking loud as silence falls between you.

Atsumu’s in shock, really, unable to believe what he’s just heard – your rejection goes against everything he’s ever believed, every mantra he’s forced himself to believe, every little thing he’s repeated to himself over and over again until he’s crying and smiling like a fool, laughing and sobbing and whispering your name again and again and again –

He’s frozen, and you’ll eventually leave the restaurant with him, giving him an awkward hug and wishing him a good night, but when you get into your bed you’d best cherish it. Really, you must – because that’s the last time you’ll ever be seeing the familiar four walls of your bedroom, the familiar feel of your sheets, the same view from your window.

Because as you sleep, your pretty chest rising and falling peacefully, Atsumu’s at your doorway, his hand shaking as he breaths in unevenly, the rope and chloroform already at attention as he whispers you’ll love me, promise ya will, jus’ takes some time…

It’s a rude awakening the next morning, of course, with a stranger’s arms around you and his heavy breaths in your ear, but don’t take too long to adjust; after all, Atsumu is patient, but every man has his breaking point.

As a captor, Atsumu is mostly just clingy.

He’s not too terrible; he’s generally somewhat aware of your personal space, but he does have a habit of forcing you into unwanted affection. He’ll never put you into sexual scenarios, but more often than not you’ll notice he has wandering hands.

He’s always snaking his hand into yours, his fingers brushing against your soft skin and the pad of his thumb rubbing small circles against your hand, a small smile settling over his features.

He’s always wrapping his arms around you from behind, settling his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and sighing out your name, some slurred compliment making shivers run up your spine.

(It’s normally something along the lines of smell so pretty today babe, ‘s that yer new shampoo? I like it, makes me wanna take a bite outta ya.)

He’s planting kisses against your cheeks and knuckles, letting his lips wander along the plains of your body under he’s reached your neck. He won’t actually kiss you, though – you’re grateful for that at least, because while he loves to leave his mark along your body (mostly on your forearms, ankles, stomach and collarbone), there’s something so intimate about kissing you, about pressing his lips against yours.

He wants you to initiate it, for you to lean forward, flutter your eyes closed and press your lips against his, for you to sigh lightly, to let your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him deeply, slowly, meaningfully…

When he coughs into his fist and his gaze darts away from you while he’s got you snuggled up into his side on the couch, just know he could absolutely pin you down and kiss you until you’re gasping for breath, just like he wants to.

But Atsumu has promised himself to be patient with you, that the love he’s convinced you’ll eventually feel will come, but only if he treats you like a queen. And so, while you may have to deal with the (more than occasional) touches and cuddles, Atsumu mostly respects your personal boundaries.

He does not, however, respect your attention.

He wants it.

Constantly.

His clinginess doesn’t just manifest in physical ways, and while you may have believed he was bad before he’s stolen you away, it’s nothing compared to how he acts once you’re in his apartment, under his care – because now, you have no way of escaping those brown eyes that are always fixed on you.

His little whines and sing-songs of your name from across the apartment will be a constant presence in your life, the front door slamming closed while locks click into place and he calls for you to come to the door, I got ya a little present today from ‘Samu!

It’s onigiri he picked up, some homemade desserts from his brother, too, and Atsumu is oh so fucking pleased to show you what he has to offer. Because really, that’s Atsumu’s favorite thing to do; he wants to impress you, to prove to you that he’s worthy of your love, that he’s a good man and would be an even better husband, and what better way than to prove it to you?

He’s always trying to buy you things, both expensive and not. You’ll find new pieces of jewelry (all things you wouldn’t mind buying yourself, if you’d been on the outside of course), new articles of clothing (all fitting you perfectly, despite any irregularities on your body that make it difficult to size), new flowers sitting in vases on the kitchen table when you wake up.

He’s getting you your favorite candies, a constant supply in the kitchen cabinets of your favorite snacks and drinks, a separate credit card in his wallet reserved exclusively for your purchases. (It’s got roughly a million dollars on it – a good year of his own salary, but Atsumu thinks it’s worth it – anything for you to give him those pretty eyes, that gorgeous smile, to feel your hands on his body in a loving way.)

He’s mostly just pathetic; his desperation is palpable, and despite your best intentions, you likely will fall for him. He may be a delusional, mentally disturbed man that stole you away from the world and keeps you locked up where only he can see you, but at least he looks at you like you’re his whole world.

At least he treats you with delicacy, smiling in such a raw, emotional way at you that it makes you have to look away, the plain love and adoration glimmering in those honey eyes making you uncomfortable. At least he cares enough to get the finest things he can buy, all for your comfort and happiness.

And so, while his delusions are strong, eventually Atsumu will be right – because you will love him, eventually, even if you try to fight it. Because after all, when he’s the only one you see everyday, the only voice and touch you’ll know for the rest of your days, he’ll start to seem oddly cute.

Oddly handsome. Oddly endearing. Oddly enough, your only choice.

So really, just accept him – you’ll get unconditional love for the rest of your life, and Atsumu has more than enough money and adoration for you to last both of your lifetimes. So really, just let it happen.

PUNISHMENTS:

Because Atsumu has such strong worshipper tendencies, getting him mad is actually a bit of a challenge. And getting him actually mad at you is even harder.

He loves you – fuck does he love you, or at least as close to love as his obsession can get. And while he’s maybe not the most chivalrous man on Earth, Atsumu has always been taught that women are to be treated with respect and dignity. And so, he’ll never be one to physically strike you.

He hates the idea of you getting hurt just in general; the moment he sees a bruise on your pretty skin, a scratch along your knee or a papercut on your finger, he quite frankly loses his mind. His mind is racing with questions of how that injury possibly got there, how you could’ve been out of his sight long enough to hurt yourself, why he couldn’t stop you from getting it.

He’s blaming himself as the reason why you’re crying, your lip bit between your teeth as you hiss and stare at the small papercut, the stinging sensation not horribly painful, but certainly not pleasant. He’ll race up to you, eyes wide and his voice stuck in his throat, examining the injury with careful fingers.

His eyes will well with tears too, his heart breaking as he realizes he’s directly responsible, that although he wasn’t the hot water that burned your poor pinky, he let you touch the water. He may have been at work, just barely walking through the door, but it’s his responsibility to take care of you, just as a good partner should. And so, in order to get Atsumu mad, a few things need to happen;  a perfect storm must be created, and frankly almost none of it is your fault. Firstly, Atsumu’s day must have gone poorly.

He must’ve had a bad practice, lost a match, been insulted one too many times by Sakusa, or gotten chewed out by his mom or brother. Something must have happened to irritate him, serving his mood to be a bit fouler than usual.

He must have hit traffic on his way home to you, the clock in his nice, expensive car counting the minutes by, getting later and later as he anxiously taps his fingers against the wheel, letting his eyes dart from the stop-and-go traffic back to the dashboard again.

He has to have felt that he’ll be late in seeing you, that you must be suffering at home all alone without him, probably angry at him for not being home right on time like he always promises to be.

He must have gotten an urgent call as he finally pulled into the apartment’s parking lot, the caller his own coach hoping to go over some new training times with him that Atsumu frankly couldn’t give a shit about.

He must have accidentally fallen on the stairs leading up to the apartment (he never takes the elevator – always says it keeps him in shape, but really he’s noticed that you seem to like his smell when he's just slightly sweaty, the strong musk of his cologne attracting you in just enough to Atsumu’s heart racing), tripping and maybe dropping his phone by accident.

He must’ve had to struggle with the door’s lock for a few moments, his anticipation eating away at him as he fumbled with the keys, before finally – finally – the door is opened and he has access to you. And finally, he needs to see the way you jump up at his greeting, banging your hand against the hot oven stove as you cook yourself some eggs, causing you to yelp and clutch at the finger that has a slight burn.

It’s all of these events together that make Atsumu tip over the edge, the horrible day he’d had along with seeing you hurt yourself making everything collide into a storm, one that makes him drop his athletic bag, his chest heaving, eyes wide and lips parted.

It takes a bit for him to reach that point, but once he does, suddenly the Atsumu before you is no longer the one you recognize.

He’ll stare, unable to form words as you blink back some tears, the burn really not that bad, but your body just can’t help it.

You’re clutching at your finger and hissing under your breath, quickly running towards the sink and letting the cool water stream down over your finger. You sigh slightly in relief, and it’s only as you turn your head and smile briefly at Atsumu that he can feel his limbs again.

Hey, Atsumu. You call, turning back to the sink and putting your finger closer to the spigot, though you know it doesn’t help at all. Suddenly, a clamoring of desperate footsteps sounds behind you, and you stiffen up as hot breath pants against your ear.

Atsumu’s behind you, his body caging yours against the sink as he clambers your hands into his, his own fingers trembling as he stares down at where you were burned. He can barely breath, and as he starts murmuring under his breath, your brows furrow together.

You call his name questioningly, to which Atsumu only responds with don’t talk, just – fuck, just shut up. His voice is a whisper, and although it’s quiet it’s harsh, the sound something you’ve never heard Atsumu make.

Your heart is racing in your chest, a slight bit of fear rolling through you. Was he mad?

Soon he’s taking steps away from you, and you turn around to see him standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his head, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair. He’s staring at the ground, his lips moving quickly but you can’t hear what he’s saying.

You call his name again, concern and fear flowing through you, but as you take careful steps to approach, Atsumu suddenly collapses to his knees, the hard linoleum floor crashing against his bare skin. You wince slightly, knowing that must’ve hurt, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to care – or notice, really.

He’s still murmuring to himself, cradling his head in his hands, and with a deep breath you kneel down in front of him, saying his name again and reaching out to lightly touch his shoulder. As your hand makes contact with the gray of his training shirt, Atsumu stiffens up, his chest no longer heaving, and for a moment you wonder if he’s stopped breathing.

Atsumu? Are you okay- You’re cut off by his hand knocking yours off his shoulder, exposing the way his eyes are wide as they stare down at his knees. ‘s my fault, my fault, my fault.

He’s murmuring to himself, his breath hoarse, and as you stare in concern, suddenly his eyes are snapping to you. He’s staring under his eyelashes, and before you have a chance to ask again if he’s okay, he’s suddenly lunging forward, springing so quickly you let out a small scream.

His hands are on your shoulders as he clutches at you so hard you’re afraid it’ll bruise.

His nose is mere centimeters from yours, his breath fanning across your lips as he heaves, the look in his eye chilling you to the bone. He looks scared, lost, angry, and so, so very unhinged. You gulp, your gaze darting between his eyes. I

t’s my fault. He whispers, to which you open and close your mouth, unsure what he’s talking about. ‘ve been bad, not been treating ya right. Makin’ you go off and hurt yerself, just to get my attention.

He’s still whispering, but somehow it’s getting louder, his every word making you shrink in on yourself. Been bein’ a bad boyfriend, huh? Makin’ ya cry, been treatin’ ya like shit. Your mouth is dry. No way ya love me, ya hear me? No fuckin’ way.

His hands are trembling as they hold you, you realize. It makes your whole body shake.

I fucked it up, made ya hate me. Ya hate me, don’t ya? He's asking you, you think, and you go to answer but he cuts you off. I disgust ya, huh? Rather hurt yerself than love me, huh?

You shake your head no, but Atsumu’s growling, hanging his head down in defeat. Made ya hate me, now you’ll never want me.

It’s silent for a moment, before you slowly – very slowly – shuffle closer to him, letting your arms wrap around his waist. He lets you, his breathing still harsh, and you stay still for a moment once he’s in your embrace.

Shh, I love you, stop doing this. You’re whispering to him, and though you’re just trying to comfort him, a small part of you wonders at how easily the words flow off your tongue. Breath with me, in, now out. In, then out.

Slowly, his breathing gets under control, and once you feel it’s alright, you use your finger to lift up his chin. Look at me, ‘Tsumu. His head snaps up, and for a moment you wonder if the wide eyed look he’s giving you is because of the nickname.

Your heart clenches at the tear tracks running down his cheeks. I love you, kay? I didn’t mean to hurt myself, it’s not your fault.

He’s gaping like a fish, but after a moment he whispers out ya love me?

It’s the most vulnerable, saddest thing you think you’ve ever heard, and without thinking you nod, surprising yourself. Atsumu stills for a moment, before a wide grin breaks across his face, and suddenly he’s on his feet with you in his arms. He spins around, dragging you with him, a laugh in his voice as he calls out ya love me, ya love me!

Soon he’ll stop and hold you close, your forehead to his as he smiles and closes his eyes, whispering the words under his breath.

Ya love me forever, I love ya forever.

Forever.

OVERALL DANGER:

 8/10

Really, Atsumu is not particularly dangerous. The thing that makes him an undesirable yandere, however, is his mixture of determination and delusion.

He’s very, very fixated on making you love him. He’s obsessed with the idea of you; your personality, your beauty, your words, your body, your mannerisms.

To him, everything you do is perfection – and he wants it to be all his, to be only his. He’s possessive, delusional, and frankly always in your business – clingy is a nice word for how often he’s stealing your attention.

He’s always calling your name, placing his hand on your arm, sending you flirty remarks (that are somewhat less effective because of the slight stutter in his voice and the harsh blush on his cheeks, but still oddly sweet, even if the words are a bit creepy).

He’s always in your vicinity, that same lovesick look on his face while he watches you: his brows are tilted slightly upwards, his honey eyes half lidded as he gazes at you, his lips in a slight smile as he rests his chin on his hand, leaning forward at the table he’s seated at to watch you you you.

Atsumu is consumed by thoughts of you at every moment of the day, to the point where even volleyball can’t be considered his love – it’s only you now, for better or for worse. And really, as suffocating and unnerving as having all of the Atsumu Miya’s delusional, twisted love for you is, you’ll eventually find yourself craving it.

After all, there’s something empowering about how you can get the professional athlete on his knees with just a snap of your fingers, practically drooling as he tells you he loves ya, I’d do anythin’ for ya, fuck baby yer so pretty, so good for me, love ya so much it fuckin’ hurts –

He’s a fool in love, truly, but be careful – because a rejection of this fool can land you in serious trouble.

The kind of trouble some twisted, fucked up part of you will grow to love, even if you hate yourself for it.

polarity | 06 yandere! jungkook

pairing: yandere!jungkook x (f) reader

genre: yandere

warnings: 18+ , toxic relationships, unhealthy and obsessive behavior , mentions of mental health, manipulation, blackmail, cheating

word count: 21.k

summary: Your best friend’s new boyfriend becomes infatuated with you..

Playlist

Parts: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

❄️CS | 03 JK

A/N: im delirious after editing this so if you see any error , please pretend you didn’t 🥴💕💕!!! ily <3

—-

The anticipating silence filled the room as you stared down the familiar face in front of you. You could hear a ringing in your ears, the anger in your body simmering down and being replaced with sheer panic. Suddenly your mind was now moving rapidly through every possible reason as to why Hoseok could be here. Had your text messages been read? Had there been a slip up on your part? Had you mentioned him to Jungkook? What did he know? How did he know? Did they know each other? Your feet shifted to the side and you took a step back.

For a moment it felt as if this was some sort of soap opera playing out in front of you and you were just a pathetic puppet being wired by her master. Jungkook was the deranged puppeteer in this circus and you were the biggest fool of them all.

You inched forward, instinctively wanting to tell Hoseok to get away from him. Just the thought of him near Jungkook made you nervous. Let alone watching him being sat so comfortably in his apartment.

“What are you doing here?” You asked in a breathless whisper, the clear shock evident on your entire physique.

Hoseok’s eyes shifted between you and Jungkook, tensing up at your question. He seemed not only confused but upset. Your eyes didn’t miss the soju bottle next to him. The sight left you even more than perplexed . Why was Jungkook seemingly having a casual drink with the same boy he had threatened before? How had he managed to lure him into the apartment in the first place? How was he here? The worst of thoughts began to emerge in your head.

“That’s a little rude, isn’t it?” Jungkook feigned innocence, leaning in to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear like he often did in endearment. However, in this particular moment nothing about it felt sweet or endearing. “Considering you’re the one who invited him over.”

What?

Your face scrunched up in complete astonishment. You slapped his hand away and put more space between the two of you.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t invite anyone.” Your voice wentup in pitch towards the end. “What’s going on?”

You look between the both of them, they shared a swift knowing glance at each other before Jungkook locked his gaze onto you again.

What was that?

Something was so off. Not only were you terribly confused but it felt familiar almost, terribly familiar. It didn’t feel as if you had walked in on a clear betrayal. It felt as if you had walked into some sick kind of inside joke. A set up meant to leave you in the dark. It didn’t felt like you were the one that deserved an explanation.

But you noticed one thing. Jungkook’s prying eyes poorly concealed something else in them. Seething jealousy. A shudder left you as you braced for what he was going to do. You’ve messed up horribly.

You felt Hoseok’s eyes on you now too, his expression changing into a frown as he studied you.

“I told you,” Jungkook spoke, his dark eyes didn’t stray from you but he was clearly addressing the other man in the room. “She was playing you.”

You snap your head back at Hoseok in shock at the words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth. You weren’t expecting them but they helped confirm your suspicions. The puzzle pieces were still scattered but you slowly began to watch them fit together as you took in everything in front of you.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What the hell are you talking about!” You shrieked out but immediately took a deep breath, feeling yourself start to lose control of the emotions overwhelming you. A need to reel yourself back in took over, a part of you afraid of triggering another panic attack that you couldn’t handle at the moment. You flared your arms up as you neared towards Hoseok who looked more upset by the second.

“You texted me.” Hoseok stated shaking his head at you. “You sent me this location and told me to come over, that you were ‘really needed me right now’.”

You stare at him, freezing in your steps as you rapidly shake your head in denial. What was he talking about? Had Jungkook taken your phone somehow without your knowledge? But how? He hadn’t asked you to unlock your phone the other day. You hadn’t texted Hoseok since yesterday, vaguely giving him a run down of your day. In fact, you had been texting him far less these days as you were determined to still let him down gently. You figured it was working. Which is why you couldn’t believe your eyes at him being here. You would never tell him to meet you anywhere. Not with Jungkook’s inquisitive nature that you had barely escaped earlier. Let alone lead him right into a lion’s den.

“No, no.” You explained, pointing towards Jungkook. “He must’ve contacted you somehow, I never texted you! I don’t understand what the fuck is going on but I never texted you that!”

This was ridiculous. You gripped your bag and slung it off your shoulder. You began to search for your phone, eagerly needing to provide proof of this insane claim but Hoseok continued his accusation.

“You told me you broke up with him yet you led me directly to your very much still boyfriend’s place.” He continued you with a scoff. “The text came from your contact. What the hell are you doing? Why lie about something like that? Is this a sick game or some shit?”

The text came from you.

That was literally impossible. Jungkook didn’t know your passcode.

Did he?

Even if he did, you would’ve noticed he went through it. Wouldn’t you? You didn’t recall leaving your phone unattended. Or did you? The days here didn’t even feel real, you were struggling to recall much of anything right now. But most of all, you didn’t like the guilt you felt at the thought of Jungkook going through your phone. You should be angry and you were but another part of you also felt ashamed. It felt exactly like what you had felt that morning he confronted you about your phone and how you had thought you fooled him successfully for once.

The walls were closing in on you as you finally found your phone. Your fingers shook while tapping against the screen.

“She lied.” Jungkook chimed in. From the corner of your eye you could see him still observing you as he walked right over to the island. “She does this whenever we have a fight, she just wants attention.”

No.

No.

No.

You swallowed, your eyes stinging with newfound tears as you opened your texts, easily finding Hoseok’s contact that you placed under a girl’s name. Your closed your eyes tightly, letting out a silent curse. You were right there was no texts of you sending a message to meet up, your screen just showed the many texts of you casually talking and politely declining to meet up with him. But it was then you realized your mistake.

These messages didn’t rid you of any guilt. They only dug your grave further.

You had been deceptive. Not with malicious intent but you had been nonetheless. You had lied to not only Hoseok, but to Jungkook.The latter unsurprisingly filled you with much more dread. No matter which way you looked at it, this looked exactly how he intended it to look like. The story of an unfaithful lover that had been caught red handed with another man by her husband.

Jungkook fit the part with ease with the way his demeanor promised silence before the storm. The forced coolness in his tone was hiding a beast beneath it. You suppose you fit the part too by how dry your mouth had gotten. You found yourself suddenly not wanting to meet his scrutinizing gaze. You went behind his back, didn’t you? You lay in his bed every night, ate his food, enjoyed his luxurious and in return you sneak around. Did you not deserve his wrath? Perhaps you deserved much more.

Another skipped heartbeat.

What was wrong with you? The rational side of you was slipping away little by little. It knew well that this wasn’t your fault but your feelings were fighting strongly against all rationality. If it wasn’t your fault then why were you hesitating to show them your phone? If you were so innocent then why did you feel so dirty? You gripped your phone painfully tight officially panicking as you delayed to turn it over like you were so eagerly planning on doing a moment ago. How could you be so idiotic? Why didn’t you delete these texts? Why didn’t you block him all together? You’ve not only screwed yourself over but you’ve taken Hoseok down with you.

Jungkook seemed to notice your struggle, his mask slightly slipping.

“ What’s the matter, baby?” The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. “Show your proof.”

He practically spit out the last word, twisted amusement taking over his gaze. You felt your lips tremble as you tried your hardest to swallow down a sob.

“Jungkook.” You pleaded with wide eyes. “Please, why are you doing this?”

His expression sharpened at that. Instead of taking pity in you, like you foolishly assumed he might, he glared daggers at you. His weakness seemed to be seeing you break and seeing you break down in tears. As sick as it was he did once tell you he hated to see you cry and you cling to that slither of hope that would appeal to his more softhearted side. But of course you should’ve known better than to trust you had Jungkook figured out in the slightest.

“Me?” He asked you incredulously, his mask fully falling now as you saw his eyes flash with a familiar type of hurt you had seen in them before. The same type of hurt when you had yelled at him that you would never love him. You took yet another cautious step back, surprised at how much the look seemed to leave you completely chilled this time. You didn’t remember feeling this breathless last time you had caused it.

“How do you have the audacity to say that to me.” He sneered at you and one stride towards you had him closing most of the space you’d been creating between you. “How about you turn over the phone screen and show me how much you’ve been lying to my face?”

Another step.

“How about you tell me exactly where you’ve been all day.”

Another skipped heartbeat.

He knew where’d you been.

“No.” You continued to shake your head and turned your frantic gaze towards the other poor man in the room.

“Hoseok, you need to listen to me. This isn’t what it looks like, he’s doing this on purpose to-"

Jungkook’s cruel laugh cut you off, he ran a hand through his dark locks in disbelief. You watched in horror as he played the betrayed boyfriend role so convincingly because he genuinely did feel like you betrayed him. You felt your chest ache at the sight. Why did it ache? Why did it hurt to see him like this? Not only had you not even sent that message to Hoseok but you didn’t owe Jungkook any sense of loyalty. You didn’t owe him anything.

But the broken look in the large doe eyes that you had spent every night looking into since you got here made you feel like you owed him the world. You saw the corner of his lip twitch as he tried to blink away his glossy stare.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” Jungkook stated with determination. So sure of himself. He tilted his head to the side, turning to Hoseok. “Did you know what she had just finished doing just before she received your adorable first text?”

You stiffen at his implication and at the way he comes up behind you. His breath tickles your ear as his fingers come to brush your hair out of your face and wraps his other arm around your waist. You let out a small gasp. The hand on your hair slowly runs down the back of your neck and inner shoulder. The cold sensation of his rings making you involuntarily shiver.

“Or rather who she was doing.” Before you can react, he pulls you further into him and places a kiss on the top of your head. “You have no idea how pretty she looks on top of me.”

Your jaw hung at his awful crude words and you harshly pull yourself away from him, quickly putting back the previous distance in between you. Your face felt like it was on fire. You had nearly forgotten the undeniable mean streak Jungkook possessed. It had been easy to pretend it had never existed with how sweetly he had treated you all this time you’ve shared his space and his bed. How quickly had you forgotten the many sides of him, the ugly sides that came out when things didn’t go his way and when his doll had overstepped her restraints.

But it was obvious that this was more than Jungkook being cruel, he was making a point. Staking his claim.

“Stop it! What’s wrong with you?” You didn’t need to even look towards Hoseok’s direction to know how incredibly uncomfortable he was. It was clear in the way he cleared his throat and went to stand up.

“There wasn’t a need for all of this, I would’ve never asked you out if I’d known you two had just been on some kind of break.”

“We never broke up, she just loves making me jealous whenever we have ….disagreements.” Jungkook replied for you with a smirk spreading on his lips that reminded you of a devious child.

You were breathing heavily now, struggling to ground yourself as you felt the awful dread start traveling through you once again. It was triggered and you couldn’t do anything to stop it now. You had mere seconds left before your mind was burdened by sheer panic.

“She was just using you, unfortunately you were the perfect bait.” Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you. You watched nervously as he walked back over to the counter and leaned on it, directly facing Hoseok. You could practically hear his grin. “You need to realize how girls work, you seem a bit inexperienced .“

Your phone dropped with a loud ‘clank’ but the two men didn’t seem to even notice it. It may have looked like you simply threw it to onto the floor in rage but your hands hand not stopped shaking. You felt the hideous need to run your nails down your arms and face . It was taking great effort not to do so, you opted for running them down frantically through your hair instead. He was turning the tables completely and successfully. He was playing this off as a typical unsteady relationship where he made you look like the dramatic girlfriend who was simply acting out when there was trouble in paradise.

Hoseok let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he stood up from his seat. He seemed to be completely over it.

“Whatever, you need to tell your crazy girlfrie-"

“You need to learn to take threats more seriously. I told you to stay away from her .” You heard Jungkook cut him off with now a much less neutral tone. All casualness gone. You didn’t need to look at him to know why the air seemed heavier now, you wanted to tell Hoseok to be quiet and not poke him further but you could barely focus your spiraling mind on anything other than the feeling of your chest tightening.

“Listen, I didn’t think it was all that serious. She never actually told me she had a boyfriend. You can’t blame me for not knowing right?” There was a slight defensiveness to how Hoseok said it and you couldn’t help but feel bad. He’d been blindsided completely. When he spared a glance at you his face scrunched up in seeming concern at your worsening state of panic.

“Right.” Jungkook nodded. His grin still present but it faltered a little when he noticed Hoseok’s gaze on you.

“Hoseok, please listen to me. I-I did lie but it wasn’t because of what he’s saying. I wasn’t playing with you. At first I was trying to-” A frustrated sigh left you as you tried to figure out how to explain yourself. You couldn’t tell him the complete truth, not in front of Jungkook. His menacing blackmail still hovered over you like your own personal grey cloud.

“To let you down easily.” You cringed at your confession. It sounded much worse saying it out loud and you saw Jungkook raising both his eyebrows in mocking manner. You glared at the realization that hit you.

He knew you wouldn’t able to explain yourself. That’s why he brought Hoseok here. He wanted to see you cower and admit your mistake in front of him with no way out. Perhaps he even knew he’d trigger your anxiety by doing so. He’s managed to gather every key that unlocked your weaknesses.

Hoseok clenched his jaw, his lips set in a straight line. He looked like he couldn’t wait to sprint out the door. You knew you’d find no help in him or hope he’d see through Jungkook’s manipulation anymore. Now he was convinced you’ve dragged him into some unnecessary relationship drama.

“How considerate of you, baby.” Jungkook continued his taunting but you heard his true displeasure beneath it. He turned his attention back to Hoseok and circled the other side of the island where he sat.

The apartment was starting to feel much smaller than you recalled.

“So now that we cleared that up and there’s no room for pesky excuses . I would very much like you to stay the fuck out of my relationship. “

You flinched at the venom in his tone. The rage he’d been burying coming to the surface and poured itself all over the last sentence.

Seeing just how close Jungkook had gotten to him wasn’t helping your growing panic. He was taller than Hoseok but that wasn’t what was intimidating about him. It was his entire demeanor sending off such drastic mixed signals .There was nothing worse than not knowing how to predict an opponent in the slightest.

Jungkook placed a rough hand on Hoseok’s shoulder.

You swore your heart stopped.

“And I suggest you start by blocking my girlfriend’s number from your phone and forget she ever existed to you.” He leaned into Hoseok’s ear, his eyes tracing back to you as that mean lazy smile remained on his lips. From the outside it seemed like the typical comrade bro hug, almost friendly in manner. Two good-looking college boys sharing some type of gossip.

“I’d hate to show you what a name like mine can do to a nobody like you.” If he had meant to whisper it then he failed terribly because you had heard his threat perfectly. “Money talks a lot around here, I’m sure you know that. I could make you lose everything you’ve worked for or come very close to it. You won’t get a second warning.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Or minutes. You really couldn’t tell.

“I get it, I swear I don’t want any problems.” Hoseok replied sounding more peeved than shaken by your insane ‘boyfriend’s’ words. He probably assumed he was just another entitled rich boy who was throwing around empty threats because his ego was hurt.

He’d be half right but there was a lot more wrong with Jungkook than his spoilt attitude and those threats were not as empty as he thought.

Jungkook stared at him for a long moment, whether to take in his words or perhaps looking for an indication of a lie you weren’t sure but once he seemed satisfied he gave him a slow nod.

“Good.” He finally took a step away from him and grabbed the soju bottle next to him, shoving it into Hoseok’s chest. “Need me to call for an Uber? I heard bus fares are quite high nowadays.”

Hoseok’s face flushed but you were certain it wasn’t due to the alcohol.

“I can walk.” He grumbled as he began to walk towards the front door.

“Suit yourself.” Jungkook flashed him another smile, this time displaying his perfect teeth. It was an uncanny sight.

You hated yourself for not even managing to get a another word out, too engrossed in your own doomsday. The fleeing sensation of humiliation didn’t have room to properly settle, overridden by much more powerful emotions that never shared their home in your tortured mind. The nails were now starting to dig into your arms, you barely felt Hoseok walk past but you for sure didn’t miss l the last nasty glance he sent your way before the sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the room.

An immediate sob left your lips, your knees slowly gave out and you let yourself fall against the cold ceramic tiles. You lifted your head up slightly, watching the man in front of you with tears pooling your vision. He had never not been quick to comfort you during your attacks but this time he simply stood there with no intention of running to comfort you. Instead he let out a sigh, his eyes remained on the door with an odd look on his face. For a moment, it seemed like he was holding back a sob himself. His eyes shifting to the corner of the room before over to you. He bit his bottom lip harshly as he ran a hand over his face.

“Why the tears baby? You caused this.” He muffled into his own hands, turning his back to you. You watched his long legs paced back and forth between the small space of where you lay. Watching him run his fingers run over his now messy hair.

You continued to sob quietly, breaths growing more shallow. How could he say that to you? You had caused this?

“Get up. We need to get you into a cold shower if you want to feel better.” You heard him order as he struggled to contain a steady tone. He turned around, placing a hand on the marble counter and leaning his weight on it causing his muscles to flex underneath his thin t-shirt. His bottom lip was now swollen and red. Eyes puffy and distraught.

It was so unfair. All of it.

“You hacked my phone, didn’t you? Because I didn’t send that text to Hoseok and how else would you have known….where I was.” You muttered the last part mostly to yourself, the idea becoming more of a fact than a theory. You had assumed he had simply followed you but if he had gone as far as hacking your phone then he surely would’ve used it to track your location.

There was no way he had followed you either, the timing wouldn’t have made much sense and you were certain you would’ve spotted his car at some point considering how careful you had been the entire commute there.

You jump suddenly at the sound of his hand slamming down harshly on the counter.

“No shit.” Jungkook spit out and you draw back. The abrupt action caught you off guard. You had never witnessed him physically express his anger before.

“Now.get.up.” He repeated. “I can’t help you if you’re sobbing on the floor.”

“I don’t want anything from you!” You shouted back, sending him the most hateful look you could muster. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing as still he refused to look your way but you swore you saw a flash of regret on his face.

He took a deep breath and regained most of his composure. His jaw clenched.

“What did you expect? Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? There will be no secrets between us. I won’t allow it.”

Well, wasn’t that just rich coming from him.

“No secrets? I-I know what you did.” You accused in between sobs, your hands planted firmly on the floor as you shifted your body weight towards your right leg that left you in an awkward sitting position. It was hard to ignore the chills running down your entire body, your mind struggled to focus on what you wanted to scream at him.

He turned his head to look down at you. His penetrating gaze meeting yours at last.

“I know that you were the one that made my professor accuse me of plagiarism.” You said after another intake of breath. “ You did it, didn’t you? You blackmailed him! Just like you did to me. Just like you do to everyone in order to get your way. I don’t know with what but you did.”

He was silent. Just quietly looking at you.

Your short breaths only quickened, the horrible feeling coming in waves, stopping then gaining more force. You felt like you were stuck in a mid fall. It felt like years passed before Jungkook slowly made his way over to you, your eyes traced over the slight twitch of his fingers and cubic steel bracelet around his wrist. He bent down to your level and you felt his fingers lifting your chin up at him. You knew he could feel you shaking because he angled your face towards him again when you tried to look off to the side, his set gaze halting your rapid eye movements.

“Seems like a little birdie has been talking.” He whispered to you, he almost sounded disappointed. “That just won’t do, baby.”

You felt the sudden urge to slap him but you went to push him away instead. He caught your arms before you could do so, pushing them towards his chest and pulling your whole body closer to him. His actions were rough and careless. An indicator of just how much you’ve pissed him off this time. You could feel your teeth chattering now, your panic attack reaching its peak as you felt your vision blur. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice all over you except you wished someone actually had just to rid you of this feeling.

“You know she’s right, you know I’m right. That’s why you’re so upset.” You went on as you squirmed in his hold.

“How easily you’ve forgotten what she’s done to you. Is it that easy to fool you, baby? Does that bitch really have such a tight hold on you still that you that you accept her words as truth without question?” He sounded a parent scolding a small foolish child over taking sweets from a stranger.

He was wrong. Your once all-consuming love for Eunji had turned into a grudge that you couldn’t shake off. She might’ve been a horrible friend but why would she lie about something like that? It seemed too specific. It seemed like she knew more than she was willing to admit and for some reason that only angered you more. She knew more yet she had given you crumbs in return. Was that the plan all along or was she making you a victim of her selfish bitterness again? Even after everything, it was hard for you to believe she hated you that much.

Because you had seen it. You had seen a fragment of sincerity in her eyes earlier. A small piece of pity, no matter how fleeing.

“Ask your little boyfriend what he was doing walking into Professor Clark’s classroom a few weeks ago.”

You swore you had heard it in her voice too. As if she had been doing you one last favor. Granting you one last bit of kindness for all those years spent together being thrown away. But the more you ponder over it, the more Jungkook’s planted seed of doubt began to grow its roots. Had you only seen what you had hoped to?

“You accuse me of lying to you over some gossip your little fake friend filled your head with? It didn’t take long for you to go running back into her arms, did it? Where is your pride?” The disgust in his voice would be hard to fake and you had to look away from the sheer sincerity in it.

“I didn’t run back to her! I wanted answers and-"

“And did you find them?” He cut you off, eyes searching your face like something in it had already granted him the answer. “No, of course you didn’t baby. You let her have the last laugh again.”

Again

“How would she know to make that connection and why would she lie about her seeing you walk into our professor’s classroom weeks ago.” You hissed back at him eagerly grasping to take control of the conversation that he had so easily overpowered in seconds.

God, you really couldn’t breathe.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re asking me why a girl that has been jealous and spiteful towards you for years would try and scheme against you for sleeping with her ex-boyfriend! ” Jungkook sneered back and you flinched at the sudden raise of volume in his voice.

“Lying comes as easily as breathing to some. Haven’t you learned that by now? You really are more naive than I thought if you have yet to realize how unkind this world is and how often people like you get trampled over.”

You let out another quivering sob, growing more and more upset by his words. You might be naive but you weren’t that naive to not realize that he wasn’t the one who should be saying this to you. Him of all people. It felt like a stab in the chest. Jungkook lets go of your arms and brings them to cradle your face in his hands instead. His thumbs wiping away your never ending tears. His action is meant to be gentle but his grip is so tight that you feel his nails digging slightly into your skin.

“I’ve only ever tried to protect you, baby. Protect you from her and from yourself.” His hot breath sent waves of shock through you, you felt his lips lightly graze your own. “How many times must I save you from her? And from everyone who has ill intentions towards you before you realize it’s only ever going to be me.”

He lifted one hand from your cheek to carress your hair, those glossy doe eyes pulling you in and tugging at the invisible strings on your limbs and heart.

“How many times must I prove my love to you?”

This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It felt like something much stronger. Much too different. Your love for Eunji had never felt this overwhelming. It never felt like you were being lulled to a perfect sleep, just to be suddenly plunged into a free fall. This didn’t feel anything like a secret held close to your chest, your heart skipping a beat everytime you used to see her even when you’d already seen her three times before that day. How giddy you felt at her accidental touches. How much you seemed to please her and never wanted to see her in pain. How easily it came to you to want to fix all her minor inconveniences.

No, this felt nothing like that. It wasn’t a secret. It didn’t allow itself to be. It was too loud. Too ugly. Whatever you had felt for Eunji, it felt five times more heightened with Jungkook. His presence felt like too much yet like there was never enough of it to actually violate you. It fit you in a way you were so frightened to admit. He had taken a piece of you that you never agreed on giving him. Yet it was that very foreign feeling that had you craving him in moments you shouldn’t have. In nearly all hours of a day. You were frightened at what you had been feeling these past two weeks sharing his space. Completely terrified at what he had managed to make you feel for him in such little time.

Even now, he felt so familiar yet so untouchable.

“This isn’t love.” You replied back in a broken whisper. It was mistake and you realized it quickly but it was too late to take it back. You blamed your overly emotional state for the thoughtless response.

A few beats of silence passed with only your uneven breaths filling the room. Jungkook continued to caress your hair before the corners of his lips twitched. An almost sad small appearing on them.

“Fine.” Another few beats of silence. The heavy air lingered.

You licked your dry lips as he retrieved his hand completely from you. Your eyes tracked the movement before they landed on the unreadable look on his face.

“ If you think I’m such a monster, I promise I will show you how easily I can make that come true for you. ” He stated lowly, dark eyes taking in your features again. “And it will make everything else I’ve done pale in comparison.”

His words sink in.

You hadn’t wanted that all and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so disturbed. It rattled you to the core. You jumped forward to try and salvage what was left of the ruin you may have caused yourself and others.

“Jungkook n-no. I don’t want that. I don’t think that of you.” Breathlessly you pleaded with him. Not even a minute ago you wanted to rid yourself of his touch on you and now you were bringing your own hands to his face. The roles reversing with haste.

“But you just said it, baby. You don’t think this is love.” His sharp look was not budging. “What choice do you leave me if you won’t even believe my feelings for you after everything I’ve done? I’ll have to make you see it, one way or another.”

One way or another. That could mean so many things for someone like him and you didn’t want to find out which method he’d try out first.

“I-I do believe them. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He said with a disillusioned look and clasped your wrists. “For the third time tonight.”

Your fingers run down his cheeks as you as you near your face to his again.

“I’m not! I’m sorry. I’m sorry but please don’t do anything. I’m begging you, please.” It was pathetic . You were pathetic but you suppose you had already lost your dignity a long time ago. There wasn’t much else to lose and you weren’t sure you’d ever manage to have a spine when it came to the boy in front of you.

He eyed you.

“What it is it that you’re so afraid I’ll do?” He muttered, his breath once again warm against your lips.

You frowned. It was a trick question, wasn’t it? Was he genuinely asking you?

“I just don’t want you to hurt anyone.” You stressed, your fingers trembled terribly against his cheeks.

You felt his thumbs brushing the inside of your wrists in a circular motion gently. The soft action wasn’t to fully soothe you but it did distract you for split second.

“Anyone?” Jungkook asked lowly. It stumped you a bit. You tried to find some clarity in his fixed look but it didn’t display much of anything. In fact, you swore his eyes were inviting you to some sort of challenge.

So you simply nodded in response.

“Hm.” He hummed, his upper lip lifting slightly before he nodded back.

Was he agreeing with you?

You let out the smallest sigh of relief. It probably looked pained.

His hands then fully clasped your wrists and he stood up without warning. The force of it dragged you up with him due to his locked grip. He tugged you against him as he made his way down the hallway. You kept quiet, already starting to feel your body weight itself down like it usually did when your panic attack lost its strength. The numbness traveled through your every muscle. Jungkook had released your wrists and instead guided you by the shoulder with your body remaining pressed into his chest.

He opened the bedroom door and guided you towards the bathroom. The unease in your stomach had not left but it was easier to ignore with how heavy your eyelids felt. You felt him suddenly leave your side and brush past you to go turn on the shower. You caught a glimpse of yourself on the large mirror above the black vanity sink . The teary gaze and snot dripping from your nose. Your wet cheeks and swollen eyes. Your gaze accidentally caught sight of Jungkook while he slid open the shower door. His stare was hollow.

A look you don’t remember ever seeing on him before.

You looked away, unsure of what to make of it. When he approached you again, you didn’t protest as he stripped you both down. Once in the shower, you kept your back to him and fully faced the shower head that washed away any lingering nerves. You couldn’t help but zoom in on the ombré ceramic tile design in front of you as your mind drifted off again. Jungkook’s hands massaged your shoulders gently as he ran the loofa down your back. The act was intimate and normal. But your thoughts didn’t let you rest for the remainder of the night. Not even when you were both in bed, tucked under the soft warm sheets. Not even when he cuddled beside you, rubbing your back continuously and you listened his steady breathing.

The normalcy of it all didn’t break your trance because you were still thinking of the look Jungkook had given you. The daring glint in his eyes masking the seething nature. The vacant look you caught of him in the mirror.

Something wasn’t right.

—

It was ache in your shoulders that woke you.The soft gel pillow underneath your cheek felt wet and you inwardly cursed and wiped your mouth.You thought you had dropped drooling months ago. You had yet to open your eyes, wanting to stay this oblivious and at peace before a certain reality hit you. It took a few seconds for the disorientation to fade away as you slowly blinked up at the familiar white ceiling with the recessed lighting now completely shut off due to the natural sunlight illuminating the space.

You lifted your head and let out a soft groan at the stiffness in your muscles.

It was quiet.

The memories of last night came flooding back in rapidly and your stomach churned at them. You pushed them away as much as you could. If only it had been a nightmare. How much you wished it had never happened and how much you wished you hadn’t walked out the door yesterday. At this point, you weren’t sure if you cared about if what Eunji had said was true or not. If anything, it had left you even more puzzled about everything. Both of them had played you in one way or another. It seemed like they were taking turns, tugging on each of your arms in complete opposite directions.

You craned your neck and looked around the empty room. Jungkook wasn’t in bed but he usually wasn’t, he had made it a habit to cook breakfast before you woke.

Flinging your feet to the side , you climbed off the bed and made your way out the door and into the hallway. You could smell coffee and hear shuffling. When you made into the living room you came to a halt upon seeing Jungkook in the kitchen like you expected. He seemed to be chopping something on the cutting board, a tomato maybe.

“Morning, baby.” He greeted you with a warm smile when he noticed you. He was dressed in casual pajama pants with an oversized black t-shirt. His hair was messy, clearly he’d not bothered to touch it yet but it made him look more endearing.

“Morning.” You reply with a small smile of your own despite the shake in your voice. He was acting like nothing had happened and you didn’t know if you should feel immense relief at that or not. It didn’t feel natural but you could very well be making something out of nothing. As you approach him though, your eyeline shifts to the floor and instantly a realization hits you.

Your eyebrows knit together as your eyes search the ground and walk towards the same spot you were last night.

“What it is it?” Jungkook asks when you fail to find what you’re looking for. You glance up at him, his curious gaze had followed yours to the floor.

“M-My phone. I dropped it last night. Did you see it?”

“Oh that.” He returns to pouring orange juice into a glass, the eggs on the stove sizzling behind him. “ I have it.”

You blink in confusion but try to conceal it.

“Oh.” You swallow. “Can you give it to me?”

Jungkook meets your gaze and slides over the glass of orange juice to you. You thank him quietly before taking a seat on the tall stool of the island.

“And why would I do that?” Your in the midst of taking a sip of the juice when he says it so you snort a little into the glass, assuming he’s joking for a split second.

But you notice the raise of his eyebrow, eyeing your movements as he awaits your response.

Tensing, you put the glass down and frown.

“Um,” You don’t even know what to say. “Well, because I need it.”

It came out more so like a question when you had intended it to sound like a firm reply. Jungkook notices your poor attempt as well, a smirk threatening to spread his lips.

“For what? To text another library boy?” He placed both his hands on the counter, leaning foward. He wasn’t that close but you fought the urge to lean back. His eyes narrowed into slits as bit the inside of his cheek.

His words make your mouth dry despite the juice you had just taken a sip of. Apparently the disturbed thoughts that had haunted you all night might’ve had some validity.

Yet this didn’t shock you any less.

But what did you think was going to happen? You had ignored all the warnings. Jungkook’s jealous side was something you never wanted to witness again and you had feeling you were only scratching the surface.

“Jungkook, I didn’t do anything. I was only trying to let him off easily. I-I wasn’t looking for anything else. I already explained this last night . I felt bad for what you had threatened him with when we weren’t even together.” It wasn’t a lie but you knew it didn’t matter by the way his expression didn’t budge one bit. Whatever innocent crush you had felt for Hoseok was long gone. Not only due to the sheer embarrassment that had occurred that no doubt had left him with the worst impression of you but you were not willing to put him in Jungkook’s radar again. You deeply regretted ever texting him at all.

It was too late to try to explain anything to Hoseok anyway. Even if you ever got him alone again you were sure he’d run the opposite direction at just your mere sight. He probably thought you were crazy.

This was crazy.

“I’m confused.” Jungkook’s scrutinizing gaze trapped you in place. “You said you didn’t want me to hurt anyone.”

“I-what?”

“You said you didn’t want me to hurt anyone.” He repeats lowly.

“I-I don’t-”

“Good. And I won’t as long as you stay in line.” He shrugs as if he’s discussing the weather and not the confiscation of your phone.

“But I need my phone, I need to text my parents.”

“I already did. They’re fine.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile but you could see how much he was trying to control the rage that traveled through him. The tightness of his grip on the edges of his counter, the veins on his hands and arms popping out slightly.

“Those petty excuses won’t work on me. You can only blame yourself as to why I don’t trust you anymore baby.” His eyes trailed down you. “Did you really think I’d be okay with you texting other men or anyone who shows interest in you for that matter?”

You looked away from him.

“No! That’s not what it was like.” You sputtered, feeling that sense of guilt invade you once again.

You heard him scoff.

“Have I been too nice, baby? I have, haven’t I? Because I don’t know what gave the impression that you could ever run back to that bitch or flirt with others to ‘let them down easy’ and think I would sit back and watch like your little lap dog.”

You watched his controlled breathing, afraid to make the slightest move that could set him off.

Deciding not to reply , you simply watched him and hoped he’d gather himself but your silence seemed to only edge him further because he pulled a hand away from the counter and reached over to take your glass away. You saw him twirl it around in his hand, your gaze fully lifting to meet his due to the unexpected action and he glared at you as he took a sip from it.

“Did you know he had a sister? Your little library boy.” He clarifies as he swallows, setting the glass back down. “She just got married. Would be a shame if a pair of newly weds suffered an unfortunate accident…or any other type of terrible luck.”

You were completely floored by his words. A full body chill running through you. You wished you had heard him wrong but the way he studied you expectedly made it all too real.

Were you that surprised though? How could you be? It wasn’t the first time Jungkook had made these sort of malicious threats. It was the very thing he had done when he had gotten you alone for the first time. There was no limits for the wealthy and well-read.

What really struck you was how and why he would go as far to involve completely innocent people that had no connection to either of you and exactly how long he had known about this? Had he accessed your private texts recently or had known of them for a while now? If it was the latter that would mean he has deliberately let you text Hoseok up until yesterday. Why had he waited that long? Why didn’t he confront you about it immediately?

Given your frantic state last night, you hadn’t even thought about the possibility. You had thought his actions were impulsive and reckless, that he had find out about the texts when he had tracked your location. But that didn’t make sense , did it? Because then why did Jungkook already know so much about Hoseok’s family? It was unlikely for even him to acquire this type of information overnight . Your stomach sunk at the knowledge that you really had underestimated Jungkook again. Because this suddenly didn’t seem like a simple impulsive act of jealousy. It seemed much more calculating

“Leave them alone, Jungkook. Please don’t involve anyone else into this. I’m begging you.” You spoke gently despite the mounting fear of upsetting him with one wrong word.

“I didn’t involve anyone , baby. You did.” He replied just as gently. It felt demeaning but the side of you that had began to cater to him thought he might’ve had a point.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Okay I did, I’m sorry. You don’t have to worry about it. You told him to block me, there’s nothing to worry about.”

He pushed himself away fully from the counter and came up beside you. He gave you back your glass of juice. He seemed much taller from this sitting angle and you watched him carefully as he played with your necklace. His necklace.

“You’ll have plenty of time to show me just how sorry you are, baby.” He mumbled to you as if he was granting you a token of consideration. Running his hands across the butterfly pendant.

“Because I’ve also withdrawn your college transfer. It really did pain me to do, I don’t like seeing you upset.” You looked up at him wide eyed and tried to process what he was saying.”But it pains me even more that you were so willing to discard me and what I felt after all I’ve done is love you.”

That rage was brewing behind his dark eyes. You realize now that it had never left, only fooled you into thinking he would bend to your will.

Discard him? What was he talking about? There was more than just insecurity behind those words. You could see the clear trigger in his entire demeanor. It was as if he was hell-bent on punishing you for something you never did.

“J-Jungkook please, I have classes I need to finish . I can’t drop out. My parents, they will-”

“Shhh, it’s temporary.” He halts your rambling with with a squeeze to your shoulder. “I can get a word in to enroll you next semester or whenever I see fit.”

That didn’t make you feel better but held back any protests.

“It’s all up to you really. It’s up you to show me when I can trust you again.” He leaned down to give you a kiss on the top of your head before brushing past you and walking back over towards the opposite side again.

“Now let’s eat, I made your favorite. I hope you like it.”

You watch him turn off the stove and you were a little surprised not anything was burnt. You let him plate the breakfast without uttering a word because all that was running through your head was how stupid you were for ever letting him take care of the transfer. You had paid a much bigger price than you thought. Jungkook was no longer satisfied enough knowing he had your body and compliance. He wanted every bit of you.

Because you suspected what had truly scared him last night.

The thought of someone else taking your mind and heart away from what he thought was already his. For what he worked so hard for. He didn’t want to share any side of you. He was frightened of what threat Hoseok and Eunji had both posed against him. He had you physically but it was breaking him inside that he didn’t have you fully yet. Mind and soul.

That was it, wasn’t it?

He wanted to frighten you and push the limits. Show a new face. A new side. Because nobody really could save you from him except himself.

He was going to show you what a mistake you made not choosing the correct mask.

—

As the weeks had gone by, you had grown more disillusioned with the hope of returning to college.

During the first week, Jungkook had not seem to be wavering on his decision no matter how much you had indirectly pleaded with him. It had been made clear that you wouldn’t get far with your methods to suck up to him in the way you had.

While he welcomed your touch and over enthusiastic displays of affection, he had only been entertaining the idea of it. It had reminded you of the time he’d seen right through your performance at the cafe but unlike then, this time he had not stopped or called you out right away.

He watched how far you’d go.

And you had gone far.

By the second week you had begin to simply cater to his every need. Waking up to cook breakfast for him instead for a change, not bothering him while he worked in his office and also cooking dinner. Then you moved on to displaying more physical attention, initiating kisses and prolonging hugs despite your racing heartbeat at the closeness. You surprisingly grew so used to it that it almost began to do on instinct. Due to spacing it out through the weeks, you had thought you’d made progress .

It was not too much all at once like your previous mistake.

Your feelings were also not entirely fabricated this time which made it more dangerous. Your attachment to Jungkook had been growing as a result of the isolation he had caused you. It had already been the case before the incident and now it only grew stronger despite your efforts to keep a level head.

But you had grown desperate when the pressuring reality hit you each night of what your parents would think of you slacking off and what it could mean to not have any future planned out. To have wasted all their efforts and money just for a stupid mistake on your part. You had not been able to even access your bank account since you had been left with no phone and you had not dared ask to burrow Jungkook’s MacBook yet in order to not draw any unnecessary attention.

You thought you could gain it all back and that you had not just tried hard enough.

However, the incident that occurred the very night you exhausted your last efforts had been a horrid and rookie mistake. It was your first and only strike up until now and the memory served as a reminder to not tread in murky waters.

~~

You waited for Jungkook’s reaction as he took the first bite. Gripping your own chopsticks tightly, you eyed the meal you had spent nearly two hours preparing, making sure you had perfected it to his liking. He nodded immediately, his doe eyes twinkling.

“It’s amazing baby.” He said in between bites, eyebrows scrunched together. “Really amazing.”

A soft sigh of relief leaves you, a smile spreading your lips.

“I was nervous, I’ve never cooked this before.” You explained, licking your lips. “I’m not much a cook though, my mom used to complain about it when I was younger.”

Jungkook hummed in response as he took another bite.

“My dad used to bake with me often though. I think I’m better at that.” The casual comment was meant to invoke the memory of the Christmas you spent with him but you aren’t sure if you succeed because his eyes drift over to center of the table.

“Are you wearing the perfume I gave you?” He asks, pulling you away from your focused script.

“Huh?” You ask then nod. “Oh y-yeah. I love it.”

He had given you a new perfume as a gift a few days ago. It was a pleasant warm rose and musk smell. The gesture came seemingly out of nowhere but the more optimistic side of you thought it maybe was due to him feeling guilty for leaving you alone here the few times he went to his father’s company for work. It would only be a couple of hours but hours felt like days when there was nothing but yourself to keep you sane.

He had not physically locked you in here. Not that you think he could anyway. But he had other ways of keeping you here, the key card he had previously let you borrow had now been revoked. He carried it with him at all times and if there was a spare one, you had not found it yet. Of course, you could physically leave and walk out but with no key, you would be forced to hang around the lobby until he came back. You were also not that dumb to try and venture off without your phone. It created too many obstacles in your head, you could get lost or something could happen to you and you wouldn’t be able to call for help. He must’ve of known that well and now that you thought it over, that was likely his main goal despite the jealousy tantrum he had tried to sell you.

Not that the jealousy had been act. You’d seen the vicious green-eyed monster take over him.

But admittedly Jungkook had already hacked your phone before. There was nothing stopping him from doing it again. Taking away your phone was a way of keeping tabs on you in another way. You felt stupid you didn’t realize it sooner though.

“I like it.” His eyes trail over you.

“Thanks. Me too.” You nod, coming to smell your wrist. “Guess you know my taste well.”

He half grins at that.

“I-I was saying that my dad used bake with me on holidays and it made me remember what my mom told me last time I talked to her.” You try to steer the conversation back.

That peaked his interest.

“What did she say?” He asked, taking a tip of his white wine.

“She said my dad had lost his job but she assured me he would find a new one soon since he’d already applied to another warehouse.”

He nods slowly urging you to continue.

“But it just makes me feel really guilty that I’m sitting here doing nothing all day while they’re working all day to….support my education. My parents are getting older.” You bit your lip, the actual guilt really hit you for a moment.

Jungkook eyes you, tapping his chopsticks against the plate.

“Do you need me to send them money?”

“No! W-What? No.” You let a breathless laugh out and shook your head. “I wouldn’t ask that. I mean I feel like it’s my fault. I f-feel like I should be doing more.”

He leans back into his seat, seemingly processing your words. Your heart is ready to jump out of your chest.

You let out a sigh and you look around the space.

“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up without finacial stability and an easy way out. But this is eating me up at night. I feel responsible for my parents and I-I am disappointing them already. Even if they don’t know it yet.”

You don’t look towards him as you continue. Feeling your throat start to close up.

“I just wish you’d ..reconsider. Going to college isn’t a threat to you-to us. I already live here and I’m with you.” You explain calmly. “If you really do love me, you wouldn’t be so careless with my future. I’ve been doing everything you want me to.”

He remains silent so you decide to add to your confession.

“I-I know you don’t trust me yet and that I haven’t earned it all. But please, keeping me away from everything isn’t going to prove my trust.” Finally, you return your gaze to him and look him straight in the eye.

“You’re only making my anxiety worse.”

With a wide-eyed expression, you raised your eyebrows emphasizing your words and waited stiffly for his reply. The TV playing in the background on low volume completely drained out as you zeroed in on him.

He let out a scoff, turning his head to the side.

The little bit of confidence you had fizzled out.

“So, that’s what all this has been about.” He confirms. “You held out longer than I thought baby.”

“No, this wasn’t just about that. I do care what you think and I did enjoy cooking for you, especially your favorite food because I-I do pay attention. I just thought you’d appreciate it more if…..if.” You stumbled over your words towards the end growing frustrated at your pleas falling on deaf ears.

“Are you done?” He asked with clear impatience when he saw you didn’t continue your rambling.

The action made you halt and stop mid sentence. You weren’t sure why but the sight of his aloofness made you cower. He was making you feel so insignificant. As if everything you said was a lie. As if he were dealing with a child instead of another equal with feelings. It reminded you of how Eunji had made you feel at times and you despised it.

You despised it because of how much you cared what he thought and felt about you.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks baby.” He coaxed you with a much nicer tone when he noticed your upset reaction. “You didn’t really think you’d sway me so easily, did you?”

Maybe you did.

You slammed down your chopsticks on the table and pushed yourself out of your chair. Jungkook followed your movements as you came to stand in front of him before you kneeled down, your knees scraping against the floor.

“Jungkook please, please.” You were out of options and resorting to the most degrading one but you didn’t care. “You need to let me go back! M-My parents… I feel stuck in here! Please!”

Reaching out to tug on his hand, your fingers caught hold of his shirt and he looked slightly surprised by your actions. His eyes widened the slightest bit as he took in your frantic state and high pitched pleas.He didn’t protest when you held his right hand with both of yours.

“Please! I’ll do anything but don’t take this away. I can’t be locked in here all day! Please!”

You felt like cowering even more under his scrutinizing eyes. His expression soon morphing into one of irritation.

“Stand up baby.” He pulled his hand away from you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to get you back on your feet. But you didn’t budge.

He snapped your name.

“Seriously, stand up.” He demanded more firmly. Looking completely annoyed now by your antics.

“What do you think you’ll gain from keeping me from going back to university ?! I have a life to return to! This won’t make things better!” You were trying everything now. Picking holes in what you thought were his plans and ideas. Trying to shatter whatever delusion had made him come to this drastic conclusion.

He let out a low curse. The chair squeaked under him as he pushed it away from the table and turned his body towards you. He dipped his head down and tugged on your loose ponytail, the action made you immediately close your mouth and shut your eyes at the stinging pain.

“You know what I think baby?” He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“I think you’ve become a manipulative little bitch.”

With that he stood up and left your kneeling figure on the floor. Your hands dropped on the chair he had been sitting. You his heavy footsteps down the hallway followed by the bedroom door shutting loudly. You ran a hand through your hair and held back tears at his insult. He had never expressed himself that way about you. It left an ugly wound on your heart and it triggered the undeniable people pleasing trait in you. A feeling you never wanted to feel again.

You’d thought you’d never feel worse than how you did when you found out about Eunji’s backstabbing nature but this was ultimately worse.

It felt so much worse.

Not him.

Not him too.

~~

It had been 2 months since then.

The rest of the days after that you had spent crying your eyes out til you physically felt you couldn’t anymore. You had held a grudge against him for his cruel words and he had taken notice. The weeks that had followed had been consistent of his various forms of apologies. He’d told you he hadn’t meant it and how sorry he was for using such a nasty insult towards you. Brought you back flowers everytime he’d return back from whatever errand he went to that day. Spent the night paying extra attention to you until you’d given in to his pleading large eyes that at times resembled that of a wounded boy’s.

His sweet whispers had convinced you to the point of even more intimate forms of affection, your body falling victim to his needy touches again . In a way you’d indulged in it as form of distraction yet again. Surprisingly yourself with the way you’d tightly grip the sheets, head buried into the mattress letting out encouraging whimpers at every harsh thrust. The nights had turned into the sweet escape you needed to make up for all the hours you’d spend alone. They had felt like a reward for making it through days with no complaints.

So you had given up for the time being and taken a different approach. You weren’t sure if you’d even call it that as it was more so your way of coping with the situation.

Was it? The days had started going by more quickly and at time you found yourself wondering what you were coping with exactly.

Your days were now mainly focused on new hobbies that were done in in the comfort of the apartment. You got into scrapbooking oddly enough. The idea had come to you once you rummaged through one of Jungkook’s drawers and found a kraft paper journal. Along with some stationary items you’d stolen from him, you had began to fill out the pages with different places you wanted to visit around the world. It had been something you remembered doing once when you were in middle school but you never got to finish due to running out pages on your tiny cheap notebook.

This time, you’d glued every magazine cut out, ribbon, glitter, different stickers and wrote out reasons to visit for each place. It had taken up your time along with the books you’d get Jungkook to bring you.

Comfort could help build a glorious cage.

You’d soon realized that the time here had simply brought back you’re already introverted nature and heightened it. It made way for you to indulge in all the more small things that you had always wanted but never had the luxury of having. Everything seemed much more appealing in a large space. You’d gotten to rearrange thing to your liking, growing more bold with the way you dealt with the kitchen or bathroom supplied as if they were your own. Integrating every one of your habits with Jungkook’s. Now you rarely thought twice before waking up and starting your routine. Your focus shifting to what you should bake that day, what you should read or write in your notebook, if you would scrapbook or finish a puzzle or simply lounge around and watch TV for the rest of the day.

The thoughts of your parents and responsibilities still lingered but in a more hidden spot of your brain, coming out in infrequent waves when your anxiety would also sneak it’s way through the edges.

Your anxiety.

It had been controlled every since Jungkook had come home with your refilled prescription last month. You had no idea when he had even found your empty bottle and took it upon himself to order the refill but you didn’t complain. It had eased you with its way it had you out cold nearly every night. No more heart palpitations or sweaty palms before drifting off to a fragile sleep. It didn’t rid you of it completely of course, you had your off days where it would trigger back.

The days had become more peaceful as well as Jungkook had started to spend more time at home too and taken less trips to the company. His absence was often the reason for those flare ups of anxiousness. He hadn’t had any outbursts since that dinner disaster and the one he’d had before become more of a distant dream floating further and further. That wasn’t to say he’d let his boundaries slip away. The mention of college was still a subject you hadn’t dared bring up again, neither was the one of your phone.

It was tedious to break the habit of reaching over the nightstand to pick up your phone or the sudden urge you still got to want to look at the time or check texts and emails. It had taken you the same effort to try and convince yourself you had no assignments due anymore and you didn’t need to set an alarm for anything. It had driven you nearly mad at the beginning, given your unpleasant breakdown but your mind had latched itself onto other stimulating activities to ease it.

You turned on the faucet and rinsed off your toothbrush before opening the medicine cabinet. Taking out your anxiety meds, your eyes linger on the pill bottle you’d always see. ‘Zyprexa 10 mg’.

You pick it up and unscrew the lid, counting the pills inside.

11.

They’re had been 11 pills ever since you’d first had found them in this cabinet. You didn’t know why you bothered to count them everyday. The number never changed. Jungkook was not taking them and had not been for a while. Despite the worry that piled inside you, you had not had the courage to confront him about it. Of course you didn’t know his reasoning or the details as to why he may not be taking it. You thought over the possibility of perhaps his doctor taking him off them but it was all just a part of the many excuses you’d made for him. You knew well why you wouldn’t mention them to him. The thought of an unpleasant reaction had chained you to an invisible wall.

“You’ve become a manipulative little bitch.”

The words would too often make their home inside mind, ruining your pleasant thoughts for the day.

You screwed the lid back on and tossed them back inside. After taking your meds, you walked back into the bedroom and saw Jungkook buttoning up his loose shirt. He tucked the ends inside his well-fitted pants, the work attire hugging his frame perfectly.

“I was thinking of making brownies today.” You tell him with a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you went over to him. “Or lemon bars, I haven’t decided.”

His nose scrunched up at the word ‘lemon’. It was so animated that it reminded you of a child.

“Definitely brownies, please.” You fought a grin before your eyes took in the scrapbook that was wide open on the bed.

“You’ve added a new place.” Jungkook comments, gesturing to the addition of ‘Zion’ and the breathtaking landscape pictures you had plastered all over the two large pages.

You felt a bit shy at how nosey he had been in knowing every detail of the book ever since you’d started it. It was endearing how he’d pay close attention to every page though and how he’d encouraged you to keep adding more. He had spent one day making you describe and explain why’d you chosen each place despite the small descriptions you’d already written on them. Most had been really superficial and non-interesting reasons, you just sounded like the typical tourist. He didn’t mind though, he had rested his head on your shoulder and listened while making sly comments.

That day he’d also promised you he’d take you to every one. You’d nearly laughed in his face but he had not broken a single smile. He had been dead serious. He claimed that at least but he seemed to know why you’d find that hard to believe given the circumstances he’d put you in.

“It won’t always be this way, baby.” He said with such certainty that you needed to believe him.“I’m only trying to teach you a lesson, show you what you haven’t yet realized.”

You didn’t really dwell on what he meant by that. It was obvious enough he’d done this to get back at you but what exactly had you not realized yet? You weren’t sure. In your perspective, his motives seem to be the same as they always did.

To keep you at his side.

“I think it’s really cool. I remember looking up pictures of it one time.”

“It looks amazing, I don’t think I’ve ever visited anywhere like that.” His gaze then returned to you as he motioned for you to get closer.

You held back a gasp when he grasped your waist and pulled you into his chest, your feet lifting off the floor for a second.

“I have a surprise for you.” He muffled into your neck, pressing his lips to your skin. “God I love this smell on you.”

It was his own perfume he had gifted you a while back and you almost called out the arrogant comment but you only let out a scoff instead.

“A surprise?” Your heart had skipped a beat but you scolded yourself to remain calm. To not get your hopes up for something too grandeur. Jungkook had made it clear you had not yet earned his full trust .The path was unclear but it was considerably still long.

And that meant you couldn’t have earned your phone back.

“Have you ever been here?” You turned when you felt the loss of contact on your neck and looked down to what he had pulled from behind him. He held two tickets in his hand, your eyed read over the famous name of the theme park.

“No.” Your eyed widened as you took the tickets in your hand. “The prices were always too out of my budget.”

The popular theme park was a known tourist attraction in this city. It was the largest in the country and you had been hoping you would get to visit it when you had first moved here for college but the money would never add up. Your funds would barely cover your food expenses at times and it left little room for much else.

It felt like you had a golden ticket in your hand, a full smile broke out on your face.

“Are we really going?” You face him, the tiniest bit of doubt seeping through your tone. The slightest bit of possibility of this being some kind of test or joke had slithered it’s way into you.

Jungkook looked almost offended by the question. His eyes boring into you as he let out a short laugh.

“Of course we are baby, that’s why I bought them.” He tells you, kissing your cheek. “You’ve been such a good girl lately, you deserve it.”

You were going out.

You would be outside again and at one of the most whimsical theme parks to exist.

“And if you keep it up,” He says into your ear, fingers tracing down the edge of your shoulder.“Things might start going back to the way they were.”

His implication was clear. If you stayed in his good graces, you’d eventually get your phone back and even your college transfer back. Your future back. The freedom back.

“Really?” Your eyes tried to search for the bluff. The teasing. Anything. But it didn’t surface. He nodded and smirked at your reaction, laying another kiss to your temple.

Had that been the lesson?

He had given these things so easily and he wanted to show you how easily he had been able to snatch it right back. If you had thought had been walking on eggshells with him before, that had been nothing compared to these past weeks, months.

That was the key to the lock wasn’t it? Had that been it all this time? If you had wanted to go back to the way things were, Jungkook had to see your mind and devotion shift completely towards him. Truly towards him. Not in the way you thought it looked like it would please him. He had made it happen gradually, organically even.

But the pressing question stood.

Did you want to go things to go back to how they were?

Yes. But not so much that it hurt you if they didn’t. Like you thought it would. Like it had hurt the first few weeks.

That in itself meant you were running out of time.

Because you shouldn’t want things to go back to the way they were.

You should want to completely get rid of Jungkook and his insanity. You should want to figure out a way to escape his blackmail and invisible cage. You should want to never turn back.

But it seemed to be too late.

Because all you had been thinking about these days were how much you studied his every move, how much you had memorized every blemish or insignificant mole on his back while you drifted off to sleep. How often he’d pout his lips unknowingly when you weren’t paying attention. How much you’d wish to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows just once and be able to look at him with as much love as he looked at you.

You’d analyzed his every move, afraid of what was next but in the process you questioned why you had also memorized his every habit. His favorite foods and snacks, how surprisingly tidy he was about his closet and clothes. How normal he seemed despite the dark secrets and intentions that boiled inside him.

Because the more you stayed in his home, the more you had started forgetting what your life was before it and why those starry brown eyes seemed far more enticing than the filthy walls of a motel or the familiar humble structure of your parent’s home.

—

From the moment you entered the park, you felt your spirits go up. You didn’t know if was purely the fact that you were finally getting fresh air or that you were actually looking forward to seeing everything inside. It was jaw dropping from the get-go. You were sure your fascination came from never really attending these types of attractions as a child or teenager but this one experience seemed to make up for all of it.

During the drive here you had mentioned to Jungkook that you wanted to take pictures of everything. It was a subtle hint towards your phone but in reality you weren’t expecting him to give in to you even for that use of it. You were right of course, he brushed it off saying you could use his instead.

You gave Jungkook’s hand a squeeze when you spotted the growing crowds as you neared the some of the restaurants and rides but he gave you an assuring smile.

“You’re fine.” He tugged you into his side, the breeze felt nice on your skin.

You repeated his words in your head as you focused your attention more towards all the tall rides and characters that wandered around the area dressed from well-known fables. A small giggle leaving your lips at some of the costumes they wore. They looked ridiculously cute.

The next hour consisted of you practically dragging him around and pointing to all the types of junk food that you wanted to try. The first victim was the Fairy themed milkshakes located in the Medieval village zone. They were a baby pink and blue infusion with edible glitter sprinkled on the top of the whipped cream.

“They look so good.” You mumbled to Jungkook as you two waited for your order in front of the small stand that was shaped like a tree bark. The decorations were impressive, the led lights layered around the plastic leaves flickered but it was hard to notice them in broad daylight.

“It looks like it tastes like a bag of sour candy.” He mused, playing with the ends of your hair.

“That would taste good.”

He smiled fondly at that, laying a soft kiss on your forehead before he heard the order being called out. His delicate touch were the ones that always sent the most shivers through your body.

He brought back the obnoxious drink and you wasted no time in taking a sip. The flavor was not as strong as you thought, it tasted almost like marshmallow but with a fruity aftertaste.

“Mmm.” You exclaimed sipping more. “Try it.”

He threw out his gum that he had been chewing and took a reluctant sip of it. You watched as he smacked his lips together, making a distasteful face.

“Oh baby,” He handed you back the shake with a shake of his head. “That’s fucking awful.”

What? It had not been that bad even if it wasn’t to someone’s liking. You wanted to roll your eyes at his dramatics.

“No it’s not!” You gaped at him, taking another sip. It tasted perfect to you. “It’s probably because of your gum.”

“Sure.” He said unconvincingly before guiding you both back towards the next destination on the theme park map.

The next victims included a corn dog, some type of corn soup and an abnormal sized cookie. All delicious to you but it had not been such a good idea to eat them all at once and then begin to go on the rides. Time was passing a lot quicker than you hoped and every stop you’d make to take a picture seemed to take longer with crowds of people waiting behind you to take the exact same one. In the exactly same pose.

The sun was setting and your legs had been started to burn now but you tried your best to ignore them. Thankfully, your anxiousness had not surfaced too much today. You thought over how it would’ve been a very different story if you hadn’t been able to take your meds again. It would’ve likely made it impossible for you to make it five minutes in here , let alone half the day.

Your eyes observed as Jungkook took a picture of one of the brightly lit canoe rides under a bridge with a boyish grin on his face despite the contrasting appearance of his dark attire and inked sleeves.

If only the people around you knew how quickly he could turn it off and on. Not even the almost grudge type style could truly ever match how cynical he could be if he chose to. It was anything but a font.

Yet you almost felt required to conceal that part of him from others. A feeling of protectiveness over how they’d perceive him or judge him.

It was silly considering the average pedestrian had more to fear of him than him of them but of course feelings never took the logical route.

“Did you come here a lot growing up?” You asked him as he snapped a last photo and handed over his phone to you. You had been the one carrying it around mostly due to him growing tired of you asking for it every second you saw something that peaked your interest.

“Twice. I loved the fast rides mostly.” He replied and you remembered how he had not stopped insisting you both get on the giant anchor ride. The sight of the swinging ship was a little off-putting to say the least but you weren’t completely against the idea. You had already been on a couple of the smaller rides in the park, like the spinning seashell ride that had you almost tasting the donut you’d ate before getting on.

You stared down at his phone screen, his home screen lit up and unsurprisingly his background was now a picture of you two standing at the very entrance of the theme park with the jumbo size sign behind you.

It was weird to look at because of how natural you both looked in it. His hand wrapped around your shoulder, a grin on his face and you had placed a hand on his chest.You tried to find an indication that this looked like anything other than a normal and even corny couple picture but you didn’t find one.

Could it be that you failed to find one because that’s what it felt like when it was taken? And it was it still felt like right now.

“With your whole family?”

“Mhm.” He nodded nonchalantly as you both walked past down the sidewalk that had all the restaurants and bakery shops.“ It was mostly my mom and I though, my dad used to complain pretty early on and just let us wander the park while he sat and waited on the benches.”

“Oh.” You mumble, frowning a bit.“Did that annoy you?”

He glanced at you, seeming to think back on it.

“Not really. I don’t think I cared that much back then or noticed.” Despite the dismissive words, you couldn’t help but detect a bit of snark in his tone.

“Still, he’s your dad.” You remind him as he held the shop door open for you and you gave him a small smile before stepping inside. His hand on your back despite you guiding which direction to walk over to first.

“He is.” You hear him reply behind you.“Why the sudden curiousity about my dad baby? Do you need my entire family therapy notes?”

You grew nervous at his inquisitive tone. You had not meant to pry into his father in particular, that’s just where the conversation had fallen naturally. For the first time your intentions didn’t have much of an ulterior motive in hopes of catching him in a lie or uncovering another skeleton in his closet. It was becoming a habit to just ask him about much of anything in a way you’d ask a friend.

“I was just wondering, my parents could never take me to these kinds of things.”

You felt him look at you from the corner of your eye when you went to stand beside him to look over a pile of baseball caps and beanies on a display shelf.

“Truth is there isn’t much to say about him, good or bad. I saw him as more of a burden to me at one point more than anything.” He mutters as he lifts up a headband with mouse ears on each end and tried to put it on you before you swat his hand away.

You don’t know what to say to his passing comment. There was an urge to ask him a follow-up question to it but you decide against it.

“Look at these.” You pointed in awe at the sight of vintage themed keychains instead. The souvenir shop you were in had an European architectural style. You went to pick up a pair of tiny tea cups that had a floral pattern wrapped around the porcelain glass. “It’s all so pretty.”

The previous scenic gardens zone you had just been at had probably been your favorite place out of the whole park.Jungkook’s camera roll now full with photos of all the different colored tulips that surrounded the trail. It was one of the most popular attractions for good reason. Jungkook had followed you like a lost child when you kept speed walking towards the countless sets of floral faces.

“Pschyology,” Jungkook says as he picks up the same tea cups in your hand, inspecting them. “What made you pick it as a major?”

You give him a questioning look at the drastic subject change, tensing up a bit at thought of discussing college again considering how downhill it had gone last time you had brought it up.

“Um.” You swallow. “I’m not so sure, I felt drawn to it and it seemed like a subject I could do well in. I don’t know if that’s still true though.”

It turns out knowing your psyche and patterns so well doesn’t always save you. You felt more disconnected with it by the day.

“Is that still what you want to do?” He puts down the teacups, his fingers brushing over a set of tiny wine glasses.

“Yes. I think so.” You try not to sound too eager. It felt like such a fragile gift he could easily shatter between his fingers.

He nods.

“You don’t have to feel like you need to do it just to please your parents baby. If you have other interests , I could always open up a way for you to do them.” You aren’t sure how true that is considering he had already snatched your future away so easily until he saw fit to give it back. Who was to say he wouldn’t do the same to anything else you wanted to do? But he sounded so genuine that you wanted to believe him.

You stay silent.

“Why did you decide to study so far away from home?” His eyes study your face.

The question catches you off guard. You brought your gaze down to the items in your hands. If you lied, he would know. You were sure of it. But if you told the truth, you feared the reaction would be not much different.

He seems to understand the meaning behind your silence. A look of realization crossing his face before his gaze hardened.

“Oh.” He says dryly. “Of course.”

You felt embarrassed by it all over again. You’d already tortured yourself enough for your dumb decision when it had come to Eunji.

“At least I have one thing to thank her for then.” He grasps your chin, a small smile playing on his lips before he gives you a firm kiss. His hand wraps around your neck as he pushes you further into him.

You feel yourself melting away, your lips parting slightly allowing his tongue to slip inside. Despite the intensity, the kiss feels playful with the feeling of his other hand pinching your sides and making you yelp.

“J-Jungkook!” You hiss in a low whisper, pulling away. You glance around to make sure nobody is watching you. It always seemed mortifying to you for strangers to witness those intimate displays.

He laughed in response, walking past you to seemingly go look at something else. You felt a little breathless and your face was for sure looking flushed.

A vibration in your hand made you look down.

Jungkook’s phone had received a notification. You snuck a glance at him to make sure he wasn’t looking your direction before unlocking it. If he had a passcode, he had removed it for today so you could easily navigate his photo gallery.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about going through it but it had been impossible to with Jungkook glued to your side the entire time. Even on your bathroom breaks, he had not been careless enough to let you go in with it. Silently reaching out his hand to remove it from your grip before you’d slip inside.

However, the notification was not what you were expecting. It was a reminder for his mother’s birthday. Tomorrow.

He’d set a reminder? You fought a smile at that. It seemed thoughtful given how he expressed their less than ideal relationship nowadays.

You tapped on his calendar, mindlessly scrolling down and you didn’t even pretend to be shocked your birthday was on there as well but your eyes caught another date that caught your attention more. It was titled ‘FS’.

11-11-20

You frowned at it.

FS.

Staring at the date, you tried to figure out why it would be significant to him. It clearly wasn’t some type of appointment or meeting considering the difference in the way he had wrote those down. Had it been an anniversary? You thought back to when you had met him.He would be the type to write that day as your anniversary date. But this was a year too early. You hadn’t met him at the cafe until much later.

Your fingers froze the second you pieced it together.

FS.

First sighting.

“Baby?” Nearly dropping the phone at the sound of him behind you, you quickly exited the calendar app and turned to him just in time he closed in on you.

“You got a reminder for your mom’s birthday.” You tell gently and hand him over the phone, a crease forming in your eyebrow. “It’s tomorrow?”

He takes it and types something out.

“Yeah, she kept asking me if we would come to her birthday dinner tomorrow.” He tells you and you can’t detect any specific emotion from his tone.

“My dad isn’t going to make it to it again.” He looks like he’s about to roll his eyes.

His mother wanted you to come too?

“We should go.” You offer, looking back towards his phone. “I-I mean if you want to? She probably feels lonely.”

He looks up to meet your gaze.

“You want to go?”

Would he find that weird? You didn’t think so. He didn’t seem to mind last time she had come unexpectedly to the apartment.

“She was really nice to me.” You say recalling the memory that seemed far away now.

The corner of his mouth lifts up. Like it did whenever he found something you did cute or amusing.

“Sucking up to your mother in law already, baby?” He teased and pulled you in. It wasn’t that. Was it? You suppose you didn’t mind bonding with her a bit more. The idea didn’t sound terrible. The image of her or anyone sitting alone having dinner on their birthday made your heart shatter.

Would Jungkook have really let her spend her birthday completely alone?

“Let’s go, we still have one more ride to go on.” He tells you and your face drops.

“No, please.” You complain as he tugged you forward but then looked back at the tiny pair of teacups you had put back down.

“Heights aren’t really my thing, I’m gonna throw up all I ate.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” He gives you a cynical grin, picking up the teacup set. “Let’s pay for this first though.”

“I don’t need that.” You protest going to grab it from him but he pulls it up higher so you are unable to reach it.

“You didn’t put it down the entire time we were in here.”

You groan as he practically drags you towards the register.

—-

The restaurant was dimly lit. It was a bit far out of into the city, located in a more calm and pleasant atmosphere that was popular for its scenic views. You felt out of place the moment you stepped in. Evidently you didn’t look out of place though. Your appearance was funded by your boyfriend, your mid-length black dress probably cost more than your entire tuition. You would’ve confirmed it if Jungkook hadn’t ripped of the tag before gifting it to you a few days ago. You stared down at the Christian Louboutin red bottoms on your feet, you’d half expected them to sense your tax bracket and make you fall head first the second you put them on.

You switched the gift bag you were carrying to your less dominant hand when you went to greet Jungkook’s mother with a swift side hug. She looked lovely, you caught a quick whiff of her perfume before you pulled away. The scent was slightly familiar. She seemed ecstatic at your arrival, well you assumed her joy was mainly aimed towards her son but you didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it too. It felt like ages since you had interacted with anyone besides Jungkook.

Not that you necessarily minded it, you weren’t exactly equipped at social interactions with strangers as proven before. But in a way his mother didn’t feel like too much of a stranger like last time you saw her. There was an air of warmth that surrounded her that at times mirrored Jungkook’s.

“Happy birthday.” You say to her , digging your nails into your palm in an effort to calm your nerves. The undeniable awkwardness you carried was hard to mask.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” She said. Her hair was styled into a slick bun just like yours and you smiled at the coincidence. She looked more elegant this time around, her heavier makeup enhanced her most prominent features.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Jungkook had been walking a few steps behind you and you saw his mother’s face lit up instantly when she spotted him over your shoulder . You turned your neck, watching a tense smile spread his lips as he hesitated to hug her. It was the most uncomfortable you had never seen him. As a matter of fact, it was probably the only time you had ever seen him like that.

He gave in at last, giving her a brief hug that seemed to surprise even her. Her eyes widened a bit at his short-lived contact and you wondered how long it has been since Jungkook had properly hugged his mother. Months? Years?

It seems like you weren’t the only one out of place.

You took a seat, placing his mother’s gift beside you on the floor. Your nerves kicked in at the sight of the crowded space and far too prestigious set of silverware in front of you. Jungkoook soon followed beside you, a much more relaxed look on his face now that he put some distance with his mother. The smell of his cologne hit you and it did wonders to calm your overactive senses.

It was funny to think his scent once did the exact opposite.

“You must be sad your husband couldn’t make it, I’m sorry I wish I could’ve met him too.” You commented in an attempt to break any of the awkward silence that could follow after that greeting.

It was a small fib , you weren’t sure you wanted to meet Jungkook’s father at all with the way both him and his mother had spoken about him. He seemed rather cold by their descriptions but then again, if his mother was anything like Jungkook, you weren’t sure she was the most reliable narrator.

You pushed the awfully rude thought away, not knowing where it came from. His mother had not been unkind to you and she didn’t seem to carry any of Jungkook’s negative traits at all.

“Ah, don’t be. My husband rarely attends birthday dinners. His business trips are something I’ve grown used to.” She responds as she looks down at the menu but sneaks a quick glance at you.

“You look even prettier than I remembered by the way, my son sure knows how to pick them.”

Your cheeks warm at her compliment.

“It hasn’t been that long since you saw me.” You hold back a laugh. It was probably the help of the makeup you had piled on to cover all the blemishes on your skin that had you appearing more vibrant.

“I’m getting old now. A few weeks feel like a decade.” She sighs and you can’t help but let out a laugh this time. Jungkook is silent , looking engrossed in the menu.

“You’re not old at all. You look great.” You reassured her and decide to finally start paying attention to the menu as well. However, seeing the prices made you nearly cringe.

You sneaked a glance back at his mother and then towards Jungkook. You chewed on your bottom lip as an unpleasant thought occured to you. It didn’t seem like his mother suspected you weren’t from the same background as Jungkook but what if she did? If she knew you couldn’t afford any of this, not even what you were wearing from head to toe, would she assume something different from you?

Thinking back to your previous interaction with her at his apartment, his mother didn’t really seem like the type. She had not questioned your family or background at all. She only seemed interested in you and what you meant for her son. You buried the thought away despite the feeling of embarrassment at the idea of her somehow knowing he had basically began to financially support your entire life. Among other things.

“I’ll just get whatever you get.” You muttered to Jungkook, eyeing his menu.

He frowns.

“Are you sure? You should get whatever you feel like eating baby.” His words comfort you but just by glancing at the options, you realize you don’t even know what half of it means. They don’t provide much descriptions either.

Jungkook observed you and you tried to ignore the way you could feel him already grasping your issue. Him knowing you that well shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it did.

“That one,” He gestured to the oddly named item on the left corner. “It’s a pasta. Tagliatelle with truffle sauce. It’s really good, fits your taste I think.”

“You got that from me liking the spaghetti you made the other night?”

He gives you a teasing grin and nods. “Think of it as white spaghetti.”

Swallowing you put the menu down and tap your finger against it.

“I hope your mom likes the gift.” You really had no idea what to get her so naturally you relied completely on Jungkook to choose. It was a high end handbag he had picked out, assuring you that it would be to her liking. Maybe some flowers would’ve seemed more genuine on your part but you had forgotten to ask Jungkook to stop by for them on your way here.

“She will, don’t worry.” He pecked your lips before you could scold him. The PDA would never feel comfortable to you no matter how used you were to his touch by now. Much less with his mother as the main audience this time.

“My son has always been really affectionate. Straight out the womb, he was such a cuddly child.” His mother watched you fondly, her hands now clasped in front of her. “You two seem to match so well .”

“Yes, you mentioned he was clingy.” You blurt out before you realized what you said. It sounded a bit rude.

“I mean, as a child.” You clarify and watch Jungkook raised both his eyebrows as he took a sip of his water. He seemed unbothered by the comment thankfully.

“Yes, he was.” His mother chuckled at you.

At least they have a sense of humor. Must run in the family.

“What I mean is, I’m glad that side of him is back. I hadn’t seen it in a long time.” She explains with a more glum tone.

“And who’s fault is that?” You hear Jungkook remark.

His mother’s expression visibly falls. Her smile remained but she lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes.

“Jungkook.” You whisper to him with an imploring look.

Instantly you feel a sense of not only embarrassment for her but deep empathy. She seemed so happy just moments ago. It was her birthday and that made it all much worse. While you knew Jungkook was far from fully reconciling with his mother, you had assumed he was on the right path at least. His mother himself had hinted at it. You had expected him to not make snide remarks at the very least.

Thankfully the waiter comes to take the orders before any of you can utter another word. You bite your nails nervously and look towards Jungkook for help in pronouncing the pasta meal. He struggles with it too but plays it off better than you would’ve. The pinch between his eyebrows was amusing and he gives your shoulder a squeeze when he notices your inability to keep a straight face.

Once the waiter leaves, you don’t know what to say to make things better. You don’t know his mother well enough to offer any sort of distraction but you wanted to lighten the mood at all costs. You never did well this sort of pressuring atmosphere, you feared you’d start to feel claustrophobic soon if something didn’t distract you too.

“Lots of children tend to be clingy I think.” You look between her and Jungkook. He gives you a thoughtful look, resting his head on the palm of his hand “But it usually fades out one way or another.”

It was a weak attempt.

“Yes, I guess that’s true.” His mother replied softly seeming to appreciate it nonetheless.

“Did you always want to be a lawyer?” Changing the subject might be for the best.

She goes on go explain that she didn’t at first and thought she’d end up becoming an interior designer due to her fascination with art when she was younger. But she ultimately decided to go to law school because her parents thought she’d strive there and have a more successful career overall. They had been right of course, she had been a top student. She claims it was hard and one of the worst experiences in her life was attending those first days of law school along with the bar exam despite her success.

You listen to her intently, nodding along to her ramblings that at moments remind you of your own. Her mannerisms continue to remind you of her son though, the resemblance still as uncanny as ever.

The food eventually arrives and that’s when you look over at Jungkook. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in what his mother is saying and you assume it’s because he must’ve already heard it countless of times before.

“What about you? I heard you’re a psychology student.” His mother questions, cutting into her steak.

You pause, your eyes slowly trailing towards Jungkook who has sharpened his gaze. But his glare is directed at his mother first before it lands on you.

A warning sits behind his eyes.

“Y-Yeah. I’m just sorta taking a short break right now.”

Take the shake of your voice. You wanted to smack yourself for having such thin skin and the complete opposite of a poker face.

“Really? Oh that’s good. I hope you find a nice career in psychology. You seem like a very smart girl.” You smile at her words.

I thought I was until I met your son. The words sat on the tip of your tongue.

“She is.” Jungkook confirms with a nod, stabbing the fork harshly into the piece of meat on his place. He raised an eyebrow at his mother. “She doesn’t need a career to prove that.”

His mother smiles, oblivious to what those words really mean for you. She swallowed her bite and looks between the two of you.

“She doesn’t but I’m sure that’s what she wants if she’s in college.”

“Mm” Jungkook muses, holding up the piece of steak on his fork as if to inspect it. “Sure, she can get a degree but I expect to take care of my wife so there’s not a need for her to stress over it.”

Wife.

A cough leaves you upon hearing that. You tried to chew down the pasta you were sure had just gotten stuck in your throat. Blinking away the tears forming, you reach over to take a sip of water.

“Oh?” His mother eyes your actions, a bit perplexed. “I suspected you two were already serious but I didn’t know marriage was already on the table. I’m glad.”

You clear your throat and wipe away your watery eyes.

“I-I,”You gape at Jungkook but he ignores you , still looking towards his mother. “Sorry I wasn’t expecting him to say that either.”

“Eventually we will. Maybe sooner rather than later.” He shrugs, bringing the fork to his mouth and chewing down the steak. “ That’s the goal isn’t it? What’s so shocking about it?”

Staring down at your plate, you swore you feel the room spin for a split second.

“No! It’s not shocking at all. I always knew you’d want to marry once you found the right person.” His mother beams, sounding much more pleased by the idea the more she talked. All her previous bewilderment gone.

“I think I’d need to mention that to my parents first.” You express and send Jungkook a puzzled look.

Your parents.

The thought of them receiving the news of you in such a serious relationship that talks of marriage were already in the air made you squirm. You had barely even admitted to having crushes back when you lived with them, let alone someone close to a fiancé. A stupidly foolish part of you at one point had fantasied about that person you’d bring home to them would be Eunji.

Eunji.

You blocked her image out entirely, aggressively burying it away.

“I think it’s time for you to let me meet them then.” He throws back in a sickeningly sweet stone that silenced you with ease.

The last thing you wanted was Jungkook within any close distance of your parents. Not with everything he had against you. He might be the only man who’s ever had your heart ache terribly like this but he was could also become the man from your worst nightmares at one wrong move . To have him face to face with the people he’d swore he’d show your darkest secrets to if you didn’t comply was something you weren’t sure you could handle yet. The very thought of it made a wave of nausea hit you. It would be such a vulnerable position.

Even though it felt like years rather than months since that video had been taped, you knew that in itself meant you had distanced yourself from it so much that a part of you felt like it never existed. That Jungkook had never done that.

That your entire relationship with him wasn’t built on lies and deceit.

The reality was too hard to face because your heart was insisting you’d give in entirely to it’s desires.

Your true desires.

And you felt like you already had.

“You haven’t met her parents?” His mother gathers your attention again. Her question lingered in the air for a few seconds before you took it in.

“Uh, no. Not yet. They don’t live close by.” You hope the excuse sounds convincing enough with your overly wide smile.

“Ah.” She nods understandably. “I hope they can meet him soon. I’d also like to meet the parents of such a lovely girl.”

“Yes, hopefully.” Twirling your fork around your plate you realize you’re not that hungry anymore.

“I didn’t see my parents much when I was in law school either and after I met my husband-”

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”Jungkook announced and his mother paused mid sentence, giving him a small nod. You felt him lay a kiss on your cheek before he stood from his seat.

You watched as he walked away and disappeared into a corner.

“He gets bored easily at times.” His mother said sheepishly following your gaze.

For a second you’re tempted to ask her more about Jungkook now that the topic of conversation had shifted back to him momentarily. However, it seemed rude to try and pry about more than what you had already asked her when you had first met her. She seemed to have already over shared everything about him to you and you didn’t know if there was much else to ask. Not anything significant at least. Still you were greedy for every of untold story about him, for any of those insignificant details. Surprisingly your nosiness didn’t come from a place of pure fear this time. Your unease was accompanied with genuine concern and curiosity.

But you decided against it.It was her birthday after all. You shouldn’t risk tip toeing over a topic that could send her back to an unpleasant time period.

“I apologize for bringing you to such a crowded restaurant.” His mother says as she looks around.

The heavy murmurs and piano playing in the background fading as you focused on her.

“I know it’s not the best place for anxiety prone people. I used to hate it here too before I got used to it and fell in love with the food.” She adds with a soft laugh.

“Oh no it’s fine, really. I’ve been able to manage my anxiety a little better these days. It’s beautiful here.” You assure her and take a bite out of your food, not wanting it go to waste.

“That’s good to hear. Therapy?”

“N-No, I haven’t gone to therapy in a while. It did help me a lot though. I’m sure you know. Jungkook mentioned you also used to attend therapy regularly.” You bring your hand to your cover your mouth as you finish the bite.

You made a point to leave out the unnerving details of that story, not wanting to reveal how her son was first made aware of you. It was in fact a weird circumstance regardless if she was aware of his tendencies.

Her bright expression faltered. She stared at you for a long moment and blinked.

“Yeah.” She said after seconds of silence."Yeah, they for sure do help.”

She tilted her head to the side and focused back on her food. You notice the tiniest scrunch of her eyebrows before she sets her lips into a straight line.

That was strange.

You watch her carefully, your eyebrows furrowing as you try to decipher her reaction.

Jungkook returns a few minutes later and you plaster a smile on your face, attempting to push away the growing suspicion that settled in the pit of your stomach. The rest of the dinner goes smoothly, not anything of substance is said and Jungkook is mostly quiet. It was odd in a way to see him so closed off when it was usually you that was the silent one around people. You suppose it was due his mother’s presence being not nearly as intimidating as most people’s. Ironic considering her choice of career.

“We got you a gift.” You state the obvious once all of you had cleared your plates and a small round cake sat at the center of the table.

It had a dark chocolate spatula ribbon design on the bordes with a golden specked butterfly as the cake topper. The long wax candles placed in the middle already blown out. Your eyes had unconsciously been locked on the certain golden speckled figurine for reasons you could not begin to explain. It made you too aware of what his mother had said about the necklace.

“Jungkook picked it out so please blame him if you hate it.” You lightly joked.

“You really didn’t have to but thank you so much.” She took the gift bag from your hand, giving you a soft rub on the back when you leaned over to give her another quick hug.

You settled back into your seat and watched anxiously as she opened up the bag, shuffling through the tissue paper.

She took out the teal colored handbag and you clasped your hands together, tucking them into your chest. At first, the look in her face was unreadable as she further studied the purse. She looked in deep thought for a mere second before a smile broke out, her eyes widening.

“I-this is beautiful.” She expressed and looked over at Jungkook, you tuned to glance at him and noticed him simply watching her.

“I used to have one just like this.” You raise an eyebrow. Had Jungkook gifted her a purse she already owned? You wanted to call him out but his his mother continued.

“I lost it a long time ago. Thank you.” She told you before her gaze met her son’s again briefly. “I didn’t think you’d still remembered the exact purse.”

Looking down at the hand-bag, your eyes scanned her face before they traveled over to Jungkook’s piercing gaze. It was unflinching. He had avoided eye contact with his mother for most of the dinner but he now he seemed to be unable to look away. You couldn’t describe the way he was looking at her. His jaw was clenched but his eyes held something more.

And you swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch so quickly that you convinced yourself it was your mind making you see things.

That same suspicion from earlier settled back into your stomach.

—-

It was stuck.

You pulled harder, letting out a huff as the bed frame legs loudly scraped against the floor tiles. Finally it moved and you slipped your head in between the small gap between it and the wall. Your hand felt for the piece of paper until you gripped the edges of it and carefully tried to scratch off the tape to not rip it apart.

Once you had it, you pushed the headboard back in place. Making sure it didn’t look slanted or out of place. Your eyes read over what you had written.

11-11-20

You were sure you would remember it without the need to write it down but you really didn’t want to put all your faith on the short term memory you possessed at the most important times. It had been the right decision because the numbers had already begun to fade when you got home that day with from the theme park. The hiding spot seemed extreme but you really knew better than to risk anything less cautious. Even more so with something that could very well be insignificant.

Jungkook didn’t tolerate secrets.

You knew that well now. Even if it was a one way street. It always would with him and you were starting to understand that, accept it even. But you didn’t know why your gut was telling you to not forget these numbers. This date. The first time Jungkook saw you in that waiting room.

But this date could be more significant in other ways.

It was a long shot. A really long shot.

And you didn’t even know why you were attempting it. You almost felt disappointment in yourself for even going behind his back again. Had you not learned your lesson? But this was innocent, wasn’t it? You were only trying to access the internet to check your bank account and emails from job offers you had applied to.

But the lie settled uncomfortably in you.

You could’ve simply asked Jungkook for his permission to use his monitor or MacBook. You were positive he wouldn’t refuse.

As long as he hovered over your shoulder while you did and you wouldn’t be able to snoop like you really wanted to.

Your thoughts threw back the harsh truth. Jungkook’s computer was the only thing you hadn’t managed to snoop through in this entire apartment. Which meant that was the closet where all his skeletons must’ve resided in. Most at least. What you were looking for exactly you didn’t know. The more you circled around the reasoning you came to conclusion that it was more so you were seeking to make sure he hadn’t done something.

Something you were terrified he’d gone through with since the second he’d made the disturbing threat.

Walking down the long corridor, you felt your heartbeat in your ears with every step. You halted in front of his office door and let your fingers close over the doorknob to pull the door open. The office didn’t look any different from how you had last seen it. You hadn’t stepped foot back inside since your last failed attempt at unlocking his computer. There was a great chance this would be your second and last failed attempt.

Stepping inside, you let the heel of your foot shut the door behind you. As you neared his desk, your eyes fell on a couple of folders and papers laid out. You pushed his chair away from his desk and took a seat on it. A paranoid thought popped into your head and you whipped your head around to check every ceiling corner of the room.

Why were you doing this? You shouldn’t be doing this.

Your hands felt sweaty clasping the mouse, the movement lighting up the screen. You gulped as you typed in the numbers from the wrinkled paper in your hand. The little loading icon that followed made your stomach churn.

You held in a gasp when the screen suddenly displayed a word document and multiple other tabs popped up.

You were in.

An unknown sensation went over you as you tried not to sit on the fact that he’d really had made that his passcode. It made your heartbeat faster than it already was.

Somehow it made you feel more guilty for doing this. You fought the urge to get up and sprint out, forgetting you had even thought of this but you stayed glued to the seat.

It took you a second to process before you read over what he had been doing before he logged off. But it was just a bunch of work documents he’d been typing out. They had his father’s company’s name on them. He had so many files too, you weren’t sure you’d be able to go through them all. You glanced over at the time on the corner of the screen, you still had plenty of time before he was supposed to be back from his errand. He had gone to drop off his car to get it detailed.

Despite that , you kept wanting to look over your shoulder at any sudden sound. You were stiff as a board as you clicked off his word document and clicked on an unnamed file. You scrolled and scrolled, your eyes trying to find something that stood out but nothing did. They all seemed work related, some even dating back to what seemed to be his college days. You moved over to his emails, squinting to read over the ones with long paragraphs. It was simply him giving detail responses to a colleague it seemed and instructions on another one. All similar subjects to his documents. Scrolling down further, you eventually came across dates that were too far back but you paused as you saw a female name on one.

A wiser woman would’ve not clicked it but your curiosity was one of your many flaws. Your eyes narrowed at the flirty message. It had also been work related and it was dated far back about more than a year ago. It seemed to be a female colleague of his and the flirtatious nature of her message had seemingly been one sided due to Jungkook’s dry response. You felt satisfied reading his lack of enthusiasm towards her, it had made you unclench your tight grip on your mouse.

Why had that made you jealous?

You let out an impatient sigh as you clicked off his emails.

What were you even thinking? He didn’t do anything.

He had been bluffing. Hoseok was fine. His family was fine. It had only been a warning and nothing more. But that gut feeling wouldn’t go away, that awful doubt rearing it’s ugly bead.

How could you be sure? You bit your nail nervously as you stared at the screen. You shakily opened the browser and went to Instagram. Logging into your account, you quickly typed in his name and easily found his profile. You weren’t sure if he had ever followed you, you hadn’t opened your instagram in a while even back when you had your phone and you couldn’t remember if you had received a notification from him. It did surprise you that he had not blocked you entirely though.

You looked through his page. It was filled with the typical selfies and artistic photos but that wasn’t what you were looking for. Your eyes landed on his profile icon, the pink and orange lining around it. Holding your breath you clicked on his story . The first slide was a picture of a sunset he had taken somewhere. He was sitting down with a paper cup in his hand.

The next slide made your heart sink.

It was a black screen with two prayer emojis on the center and your eyes quickly read over the caption underneath it.

‘update: my sister’s condition is now more stable but please continue to keep her in your thoughts & prayers. thank you for all your support, our family needs it right now.’

You let out a gasp, your face twisting in complete shock at what you were reading. This couldn’t be real. You looked over at how long ago he had posted it.

9 hours ago.

You didn’t move.

How long had his sister been in the hospital? What type of accident had she been in?

A tear slipped down your cheek as you thought about Jungkook’s words that day. What he had promised. Had he really done it? No.

No it couldn’t be right? Your breaths became more shallow as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

But why? Why would he do this after you begged him not to? To an innocent person? How could he have done this.

Had it really been him? You thought over the possibility of it being a pure coincidence. A tragic one but one that didn’t involve Jungkook at all. But even you weren’t that foolish to believe in his non-existent nobility.

He had done it. He had gone through with it.

A shuddering breath left you.

Indescribable terror shook you. Any sort of benefit of the doubt you had given Jungkook was now gone. Vanished completely. Your chains didn’t feel so invisible now with the knowledge that Jungkook had kept every promise.

“If you think I’m such a monster, I promise I will show you how easily I can make that come true for you. ”

Had he meant for you to find out?

Had he meant to hide it from you?

You really hated how you weren’t sure.

A door slammed shut.

You nearly fell off the chair by how much your body jolted.

Jungkook was back early.

—-

yandere!nagi x reader, kunigami x reader

summary: when your boyfriend moves to argentina, your leftover life is more bleak than you'd imagined. Nagi's willing to spice it up for you, but he's not about to let your opinion of him get in the way of his own pleasure.

a/n - extremely dub bordering on n0ncon, but nagi is genuinely into you. nagi has a super super strong dacry philia k/ink, like SO strong. he doms but lazily. both nagi and kunigami are genuinely into reader. post blue lock at least a few years. choking, vio lence, threats. manipulation. reader's parents were alcoholics and she's shy and timid, a bit of a pushover if you dont like that then skip it. part one probably. angst, hurt comfort, smut, reader has a panic attack and nagi comforts her so sweet. this is dark content, have an age in your bio to interact minors dni

Nagi remembers the moment he realized you didn’t like him. It’s not the kind of detail he normally notices, and it’s even rarer for something like that to bother him, and while it’s true that it takes the first three months of your contract with his pro team for him to pick up on it, once it’s there the truth is undeniable. Glaring. 

It annoys him, honestly, to watch you stammer your way through an earnest conversation with a fucking benchwarmer like Raichi, and then give Nagi short answers that ensure the conversation doesn’t last longer than it needs to. With him, you’re professional, that’s it. But Barou gets to hear about your weekend, hears you sigh about the plant you just bought, and you’ll even argue with him about the merits of scented cleaning products. It grates on him when it feels compulsory that you scurry over to him during the scrimmage break. 

“Is your ankle okay?” You ask quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the assistant coaches or other players. Maybe this is why it bothered him, you were good, good at your job, good at whatever bullshit ology made you good at reading body movements, predicting mood and injury. You also know that any theatrics about a possible injury could get him benched, that he’d spent the last year jockeying with Barou for the top spot on the team, and a single missed game would be devastating to that goal. 

“Hurts a little.” He says, not bothering to look at you. “Not enough though.” You understand immediately. “Can I find you, after?” You look up at him, surprised. He didn’t seek you out often, and you had plenty of needy visitors, inquiring about gameplay, old injuries, and new ones. You nod noncomittally, confirming his little insecurity, going back to stand behind Barou and one of the defenders. The dark-haired forward turns around and says something to you that makes you laugh nervously. Nagi steams. 

He stares out across the pitch for a moment, ignoring the conversation you’re pulled between, one of the defenders snarls at a midfielder, you try to sidestep but immediately you’re called in as a subject matter expert on the play, on their movements, and he’s not looking or caring as you shrink from the huge men. One of the coaches steps in, practically knocking you out of the line of fire, telling them both to fucking walk it off and play better. 

Your hands tremble, so you shove them in your pockets. It’s not too cold on the indoor pitch, but you hate it, hate being yelled at, hate how they’re so eager to touch you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the argument. You hate how you feel like you’re the only woman for a square mile, even though in your heart you know there’s someone at the reception desk. Even the other experts the team had hired were men, doctors, and professors of game theory. Your contract was up in two months, you reminded yourself, of course, this would be different without him. 

___

“This is your dream,”  you’d told him, hand still swallows in his. He hums softly, nodding. “I won’t um, if you’re gonna say you shouldn’t go because of me, I’ll tell you off.” Kunigami Rensuke raises a single eyebrow. 

“You, you’re gonna tell me off?” He grins. “I don’t think so.” 

“I will.” You say firmly, rocking up onto your tiptoes. He sighs. The two of you are standing on a little bridge in a suburb of Tokyo, the sun setting brilliantly in front of you, painting everything gold. 

“No I’m uh,” he swallows. “I’m going. For sure. To Argentina.” The lump rises in your throat. “And I know you can’t come with me, so don’t bother. You just started your career here. You literally only moved to Japan a year ago.” You nod, pressing your lips together, and he lets go of your hand, slipping an arm around your waist, and tugging you into his body. 

“When do you leave?” You whisper, with all the breath you can muster. 

“Two weeks.” He confirms, and the tears in your eyes spill over. “C’mere.” He grunts, as if you’re not already inhumanely close, he wraps his arms around you. “A girl like you, I’m sure you’ll have another pro-athlete boyfriend in a matter of hours.” His attempt at humor falls flat, betrayed by the pain in his own voice, the idea of you with anyone else tears at him. You don’t laugh at the joke. 

“Don’t you remember I broke my rule for you?” You say, and he looks down at you as the memory surfaces. 

“Ah, yeah,” he surreptitiously wipes his own eye. “Yeah.” He manages a smile with enormous effort. “Not sure I wanna see you with any of those assholes anyway.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I’m gonna have to fight the urge to throttle anyone who touches you.” That does pull a laugh from your lips. “They better behave, on the new team, when they rotate you. If they don’t you can call me.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around him, settling against his chest. “Let’s just think about right now.” 

“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.” 

____

For the thousandth time this week, you miss Kunigami. You hadn’t realized how much his hovering presence forced his teammates to behave, to be polite, to not yell back in your face when you gently suggested a change in form. Your hands shake a little harder and you feel your heart race in your chest, barely managing to stave off the panic until the scrimmage ends, and the men thunder to back to their locker room. You were already dying for this contract to end, refusing to quit but lining jobs that would place you squarely back in academia. 

It felt like a failure. It felt like an admission of failure, that everything everyone had ever told you was true. Your legs carry you off the field, and down the hallway, but you don’t make it to your office before you start to cry, pressing yourself against the painted cinderblock wall, pressing your hand over your mouth to quiet the sobs. 

Nagi takes a couple of extra minutes to stretch, trying to reason with himself. What did it matter if you didn’t like him? Why was he even thinking about it, why was it interesting to him what you did, what you thought? He pushes to his feet and stalks off towards the door, wanting to refill his water bottle rather than heading straight to the locker room. He’s standing at the end of the hallway when he hears it, a soft, choked sob. He’s immediately hit with a wave of annoyance, followed by something else. 

He’d reasoned with it. Rationalized it. Even considered bringing it up to the expensive sports therapist that the blue lock participants had been given upon their release from the competitive program a few years ago. All the blood starts to rush below his waist. Some people had weirder things, he reminds himself, and it’s not that his dacryphilia bothered him, it’s that it was inconvenient. Hard to find in porn, even harder to find in a partner, but there was something about the softness and vulnerability of that moment, the way a woman’s lower lip would tremble, the way her face would swell slightly, and the big round tears that would fall from her eyes. Even better if she’d melt into him, let him touch her. He groans, barely keeping the sound inaudible. Everyone had their things. This was just annoying. Inconvenient. He wanted to shower, his body still sweat-slicked from the practice game, his muscles aching, but he’s got a problem now. And the problem is that you’re crying quietly down the hallway and even the sound of it is driving him to insanity. He could try, so what if you didn’t like him, he could try, women loved to be comforted-

“-Oh god,” you breathe, the air hitching in your lungs. “Oh my god, fuck.” You sob for real, the tears flowing freely. You cover your face with your hands, the abject sorrow breaking over you like an ocean wave. Your phone burns in your pocket. You could call him. He’d said you could call him. 

But he hadn’t called. Not since you dropped him off at the airport. Just a text that he’d landed okay, and he hopes you have a good day. Nothing. Complete radio silence. But you could-

Nagi steps around the corner and clears his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” you swear, flattening yourself against the wall. “Please don’t-” He takes a step towards you, no concern readable on his face. 

“What?” He asks, gesturing to all of you. You sniff loudly, wiping your face, sure you won’t be able to hide this from him but trying anyway. 

“Nothing, nothing it’s fine.” You start down the hallway and Nagi closes the distance between you with superhuman speed, taking your arm in one of his massive hands, and stopping you. 

“You’re crying.” He says, “It’s not nothing.” He watches you force an inhale, your lower lip trembling. 

“I just um, it’s hard,” you swallow, “I don’t like to be yelled at.” He nods slowly. “And um,” you wipe your face, “Sorry I just, just break up stuff it’s really not your problem.” He hasn’t released your arm, and he can feel your pulse racing under your skin. 

“Don’t be stupid.” He says, yanking you into his chest, knowing he’s sweaty and gross from practice and not caring. He wraps his arms around you anyway and feels you relax against him. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is and decides he doesn’t care as another little hiccuping sob bubbles out of your mouth, he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Shhhh,” he breathes, comforting you like you’re an agitated animal. “You really don’t like it when they yell, huh?” You nod. He sighs. “They’re not gonna stop.” 

“I know.” You pull away from him and he almost doesn’t let you do it, he’s so strong, so much stronger than  you, he could- “My rotation’s over in a few months and I’ll do something else.” He balks at that. 

“Why would you do that?” He demands. “You’re good at this.” 

“I’m um,” the lump in your throat goes painful and new tears start to burn in your eyes. “I’m miserable Nagi, I’m so fucking miserable. All you all do is yell at each other, you and Barou spend every game at each other's throats, and all the other players snap at me even when I’m being helpful,” you take a shaky breath, “And, and I’m heartbroken and pathetic all the time, when I get home I’m so tired the only thing I have the energy to do is lie down.” You hide your face again. “You’re all so fucking entitled I don’t, I don’t wanna work with any of you ever again.” You shake your head and he realizes, that the last sentence isn’t a generalization. It’s about him. 

“You don’t like me because you think I’m entitled.” He repeats. 

“You are,” you wipe your face again and try to step away from him, but he immediately closes the distance between you. Your back hits the wall of the hallway. “You’re a trust fund private school kid who was born with a natural athletic gift that took you to the upper echelon of the sport without great effort, someone else had to drag you kicking and screaming into it. If you’re not fucking entertained by the team you’re playing you can only give it half your effort, you seem physically incapable of giving a shit about something.” You shake your head. “I,” you look up at him, and his eyes are dark and cold as he considers. “It’s fine, I’ll finish my rotation and leave.” You take another breath and wipe your face, trying to leave for a third time, and for a third time, he stops you, this time taking you roughly by the arm and pulling you back towards him, then pushing you back against the wall. 

“I seem,” he repeats, “I seem physically incapable of giving a shit, huh?” 

“Nagi,” he hears the fear creeping into your voice. “Come on, just let me-” He shakes his head, noting that the gesture alone is enough to stop you midsentence. He thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head again. 

“Lazy,” he mutters, “Entitled, shit,” he laughs but there’s no joy to the sound. “Yeah, I could see how you’d feel that way. But you’re not crying because you don’t like us.” Your eyes widen a little. “You’re upset because you don’t like it when big men raise their voice to you, huh,” he says, and he takes a half step forward, he’s uncomfortably in your space now. “Don’t like it when we snap back when we yell, betcha it doesn’t even matter if it’s not directed atcha?” You swallow. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes darken. “How many times have you cried on the bus home, on the train, because of us?” You look away. He reaches for you with the hand that isn’t pinning you to the wall, and you flinch when it touches your face. He ignores it, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear. You swallow again, heart pounding. 

“Nagi, come on I have to go.” You glance down the hallway but know no one is coming, that no one can hear you, and that your office is the only one in this part of the building. He withdraws his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking it gently for a second, and then he cocks his head. 

“No.” He says. “I don’t think you do.” You tug at the arm he’s holding in earnest, and he barely registers it. 

“I am not working right now,” you yank hard to no avail, “I’m sorry I’m not one of your fucking fangirls,” the fear in your blood makes you brave, singing a quiet steady song, “Let me go-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, in a tone of voice you’ve never heard before, and his hand flies to your throat so fast you’re not sure you even see it move. He tightens his grip, holding you against the wall. “You think I give a shit about any of them,” he leans in close to you, as you start to gasp for breath, pulling at his hand and gurgling. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could be fucking useful,” he spits the words, “And so it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me right now.” He relaxes his grip just enough for you to draw breath as more tears spill over your cheeks. He can’t stop himself, leaning in and kissing them off of you, groaning lightly. “I’ll make you a deal,” he breathes in your ear, causing blood to pool in your cheeks. “You be a good girl for me, and I’ll make them stop. I can make them behave.” You freeze and stop fighting. He relaxes his grip even more, letting you fall to the ground, watching you sputter and gasp, hands flying to your neck, rubbing the raw skin. He watches you, curled at his feet for a beat before squatting down, and patting your head affectionately. 

“You wanna try again, wanna try liking me again?” He asks, softly, knowing the answer. You nod, crying in earnest now. “You don’t wanna go home to your empty apartment.” He says, and it’s not a question. “Come home with me.” You sniff loudly. “You know which car is mine?” You shake your head. “It’s the silver Aston Martin.” He stands. “I’ll unlock it remotely. You get your shit, sit in the front seat and wait for me. Can you handle that?” You nod. He reaches a hand down to you and pulls you to your feet. “Did I scare you?” He says quietly, and you nod again. “Aw,” he cradles you against his chest, he smells like sweat and musk. “M’sorry. It’s hard to piss me off, you oughta be proud of yourself.” 

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight.” You whisper, and he rubs your back. “But don’t do that again, okay?” He shrugs but verbally contradicts the gesture. 

“Yeah, alright.” He hugs you tightly, pressing his face into your neck. “Bring something to wrap my ankle with.” He leaves then, jogging off down the hallway to the showers. You stand there for a few minutes, throat aching, shell-shocked. You float back to your office, taking your back and making your way to the garage with the cars. You find the silver one and at your touch, it unlocks, you sit heavily in the front seat, attempting to take a deep breath. You do something without thinking about it. 

You: hi sorry

You close your eyes, what time was it even in Argentina, would he even look at it? How much would it hurt if he never-

Kunigami: hey what’s with the apology You: I don’t know 

Kunigami: everything okay? I’m on my way to practice, it’s 5AM here. I can call? You: no it’s okay I dont wanna take up too much of your time

You: just wanted to see how you were doing 

Kunigami: yeah alright honestly Kunigami: miss japan, miss you, but the food here kicks ass you’d love it. Kunigami: dream job helps though. I think it’ll be an amazing season. 

You: oh wow!! That’s great to hear Kunigami: what about you, they treating you okay? 

You: ahhhhh

You: it’s probably a lot to text 

Kunigami: so let’s call this weekend and catch up. Plus I think I fucked up my shoulder, you can bill me for the time spent on the phone. Kunigami: stupid question but it’s gonna kill me if I don’t ask Kunigami: have you been dating You: oh god no 

You: I don’t care if that’s embarrassing. Kunigami: thank fucking god it’s been killing me Kunigami: picturing you with anyone else makes me want to put a fist through the wall

You sigh, hands shaking now with relief. 

You: same except it’s throwing myself in the ocean 

Kunigami: this is so fucking hard 

You: yeah

You: Dream job helps though, right? 

Kunigami: sure 

Kunigami: your job still dreamy? 

You: not without you, no. 

Kunigami: listen I’m almost at work, let’s talk this weekend. I missed the fuck out of you. 

You: okay <3 

You steel yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat in Nagi’s car. He’s another 15 minutes, sliding into the seat with practice, barely reacting to your presence. He presses a button and the engine hums to life, his hair is half-dried, and little tendrils of white cling to his forehead and clump together in his waves. He glances at your phone. 

“Miss your ex?” He says, and you scramble to lock the phone and hide the conversation. He laughs. “Did he used to keep the assholes in line for you?” He asks and you sniff loudly, closing your eyes and leaning against the car seat. 

“I can’t believe you choked me like that.” You mumble, and he shrugs, skillfully backing out of his parking spot and pulling through the garage. 

“You needed it.” 

“I didn’t!” You protest. “I didn’t and you scared me.” That makes him break into a soft smile, as he leaves the private garage it starts to rain. He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, rubbing a soft circle in your skin through your tights. 

“Better do everything I say so that I don’t have to scare you again, then, yeah?” He says, and you press your lips together. “Plus,” He shrugs, squeezing your thigh. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.” You look at him sharply. “Oh,” He says, surprised, “You don’t?” He puts his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll make it worse so that you have to come crying to me.” He shrugs off your shock.  “What?” 

“Really?” You say, turning to him, and the sincerity in your voice knocks the air from his lungs. He’s able to recover in time. 

“Nah, I mean, I could but you’re not gonna make me, right?” He glances to the left and right before carefully making his turn. He puts his hand back on your thigh. “Come on,” he complains, “I’m a good guy, I’m gonna make you feel good, and save you the trouble of drinking alone in your apartment missing a guy who probably isn’t thinking about you.” Your chest aches and you scoot away from him. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, tightening his grip on your thigh, “Come here, like,” he pulls up to a light, and while you wait he arranges you carefully so that you’re leaning against his arm. “Like that.” He says. “See?”

“Mm.” You say softly, so tired from crying, your throat aching, the endless string of bad days has worn you down. You take his huge hand, and he softens. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard.” He says quietly. “Did something happen to you, like when you were a kid, dad raise his voice to you too much?” 

“My parents were alcoholics.” You whisper, pressing your face against his warm muscle. “Big tempers on both of them.” He hums softly. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rubs the softness of your thigh, delighting in the way you’ve crumbled in front of him. “By the way, I’m uh,” you detect the first traces of vulnerability in his tone. “A little worried about my ankle.” 

“Is that why you lost your temper with me?” You ask, voice barely above the hum of his air conditioner. Summer in Japan is disgusting, humid, and wet, and the rain picks up, hitting his windshield heavily. He shakes his head. 

“I just didn’t want you to go.” 

“And you’re used to getting what you want.” You finish the sentence. He shrugs the apparent insult washing off his back like soap in the shower. 

“I’m gonna make you say you like me,” He turns to you, a smile on his face that you recognize from the soccer pitch. “I’m gonna make you say you respect me,” that makes you laugh, “And I’m gonna make you say you think I’m hardworking,” you giggle, and the sound catches him off guard, “Plus I could tell you’re used to being handled roughly. You dated Kunigami, that guys got some anger issues for sure.” You shake your head. 

“I’m not discussing him with you.” You scoot a bit away from him. 

“Yeah,” Nagi artfully makes a left turn across a multiple-lane street with one hand, watching you watching him. “You think the way I drive is sexy.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You do,” He shrugs, “It’s okay to not like me but still think I’m hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “You’re gonna like me really soon, anyway so it’s not super relevant.” He frowns. “Go back to holding my arm, I like that shit.” You reluctantly cuddle up to him again. “Ankle first though.” He says. “Then I’m gonna make you say all that shit. And you’re staying over.”

“Am I?” You say, and he nods without looking at you. 

“Not like if I decide you’re staying you can leave.” He says, like it’s the most ludicrous 

thing he’s ever heard.   “What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes. “Outrun me?” Your hands shake a little and he reaches for them, taking both of them in his hand, releasing your thigh. “Don’t freak out, I’m a good guy. I’ll take good care of you. Betcha Kunigami would like that.” You shudder. 

“He wasn’t big on sharing.” 

“Mm, I’m not either.” He says evenly. “But I’ll earn that, don’t worry. When I’m through

with you, you won’t wanna fuck anyone else. That ginger asshole included.” He pulls up in front of an apartment building and catches the pained look on your face. “Aw, baby’s really heartbroken, huh? Sit tight.” He gets up and walks around the car, opening your door and helping you to your feet. “You look pretty.” He says, opening the door to his apartment building for you. He means it, something about the way you were just a little undone, just a little on edge, endeared you all the more to him. He whisks you up an elevator, watching you avoid eye contact with your reflection in the walls of mirrors. “Whatcha thinking?” He says lowly. 

“I’m trying to decide if you gave me a choice in coming home with you.” You look up at him, and the conflict on your face is genuine. 

“If you’d resisted I guess I would have had to find a way to make you,” he yawns, “But I don’t think it would have been unpleasant for you,” he shrugs, “You don’t date a guy like Kunigami because you’re uncomfortable being roughed around a little” 

“Does it bother you?” You blurt, realizing this is the third time he’s brought up your ex boyfriend. “That I dated him, and I don’t,” you catch yourself, “Didn’t like you.” He snorts at your obvious attempt to cover up the sentiment. 

“First of all, you do like me, you like me a lot, you’re gonna fix up my ankle and then I’m gonna hear you tell me how much you like me over, and over,” the elevator dings and he takes your hand, leading you into a hallway with only two doors, one on each side of it. He takes you down to the one labeled Penthouse A, and it’s hard to contain your reaction when he swings the door open. It’s beautiful, huge, and open concept with a wall of windows, a gigantic slab of marble that makes up the table, and the cabinets are black and gleaming. He grins at your reaction, slipping out of his shoes, and patting your head. “This is why you date first string, dummy.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head before collapsing on the plush leather couch, putting his foot up on his dark wood coffee table. It’s a huge tree stump covered in the varnish that only serves to highlight its natural imperfections in it. It’s a little uneven, and the stack of books on it looks purely decorative and untouched. “Get to work.” He says, and you nod, striding over and kneeling next to him, an action that makes him sit up just a little straighter. You take his foot in two hands, peeling his sock off. 

“It hurt while you were running?” You ask, and he nods. 

“Like a bruise. Soft pain rather than sharp. I can’t believe you noticed I was favoring it.” You nod, giving him a little smile as you press gently, looking for the tendon that was the usual culprit of these kinds of pains. “I was trying to hide it.” 

“I’m an excellent study of movement as well as character,” you straighten your shoulders. “I didn’t see you favor it, I saw you lead with it, which is not really your modus Operandi.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I took Latin, ya know.” 

“Ah yes I’m sure your fancy private school had Latin,” you press softly on his foot, grateful it doesn’t smell like the locker room, “French, Italian-” 

“And English.” He says, a smug smile on his face. “I’ve read Shakespeare.” He leans back. “Some poetry.” 

“Oh,” you look up, “Some poetry huh?” He grins even wider. “Bet that makes the girls swoon.” 

“It does.” He confirms, “What’s up with the ankle though?” 

“You have to rest it, it’s a repetitive stress injury.” You say, and he groans loudly. “If,” you hold up a finger, “If you rest it this weekend you can go to practice on Monday like nothing happened.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Wrap it for me.” He demands. “Then get up here.” You take your time, ensuring that the bandage isn’t too tight, and he sighs when you tuck it in. You climb up onto the couch next to him, and he wraps a huge arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He hums softly. “Actually,” he lifts you by the waist and settles you in his lap, so that you’re straddling him and facing him. He reaches for a throw blanket and tucks it around the two of you, then frowns. 

“What?” You ask. 

“You’re wearing too much.” He yawns. “We’re gonna nap, so go get one of my t-shirts.” He points down the hallway. You hesitate, and his eyes darken. “I don’t wanna have to make you,” he complains, shoving you off of him and standing. “Now you’ve gotta wear one of my jerseys.” 

“Nagi,” you start, and he waves away your words, lumbering down the hallway and returning a few minutes later with one of his extra game jerseys. 

“Is your skin gonna burn,” he says, shoving it at you good-naturedly. If you hadn’t essentially been kidnapped it would almost be cute. “Go change in the bathroom, I’ll see you naked soon enough, I know you’re not ready and I,” he yawns again, “Don’t feel like arguing.” You nod and disappear into his bathroom. It’s just as enormous as the rest of the apartment, even though it’s a guest bath, there’s a full tub and a beautiful sink with lots of counter space. You open his cabinets, generally snooping, finding some generic stale-dated antibiotics and an uncomplex skincare routine. You change quickly, swimming in his jersey when you step back out into the living room. He flicks his chin, some of his hair flopping out his face to look at you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and you obey, letting him fold his huge warm body around yours, “This is my favorite thing.” He sighs, locking his arms around your body, trapping one of your thighs between his. He spoons you, but only after ensuring you’re both covered by the blanket. 

“Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re still shaking a little.” He feels you nod, your face resting on his arm, your back pressed right against his chest. “Not cause you’re cold?” You shake your head. “You hate it when we yell that much?” 

“You don’t yell.” You say quietly. 

“And you still didn’t like me.” He tightens his grip on your waist. “You gotta know I could kick any of their asses.” He grumbles. “And that you’re safe here, right now.” You hesitate but in mind only, nodding outwardly. He kisses the top of your head. “Relax then.” He says, and you close your eyes, nuzzling into him. You’re not sure when you fall asleep, a few minutes before him, but when you wake your face is pressed to his chest, and he’s got one hand in your hair and the other around your waist. You’re warm, and deeply at peace, feeling loved and held for the first time since Kunigami left. He hums needily when you move, holding you in place. “You’re so soft.” He mumbles, and you see a slight flush on his cheeks from how you’re sleeping. He turns you away from him again, reaching under your shirt and palming your chest through your bra. You let out a soft sigh and he presses his cock against your ass with a groan. 

“Nagi,” you breathe, fuck it, fuck it, this was stupid, he was a dick, but he was here, and if he was here you didn’t have to think about work, about Kunigami, about- he cuts off your train of thought by reaching under your bra and pressing a burning kiss to your neck. 

“Like that,” he mumbles, lips moving up the column of your throat, “Sound so desperate when you say my name.” He reaches between your legs, into your panties, “Say it again.” He parts your folds and easily finds your clit, rubbing at it softly. 

“Nagi,” You breathe again, his free hand coming to rest on your throat. “Nagi, I-” He tightens his grip, cutting off your breath completely. You squirm, eyes watering at the pressure, and the mounting pleasure in your body. 

“Desperate,” he grunts, “How bad do you fucking want it?” You gasp, he doesn’t let you have enough air to breathe to respond. “So stupid already,” he tightens his grip and then you feel him push two fingers inside you, “Soaked. Thought you hated me?” You make some kind of noncommittal gurgle and he gives you a break, letting you suck in a sharp quick breath before the pressure returns. He fucks you with his fingers first, scissoring them and watching you gasp and squirm, but when tears prick at your eyes he groans, yanking you roughly underneath him. He tosses his shirt off and pulls his cock from his grey sweatpants. It’s long and thick, matching his sculpted frame, and the tip is a soft pink, leaking a little as he pumps it, running his thumb sover the tip. 

He lets out a short huffy breath as he eases inside you, cupping your teary face with one hand, bracing his weight with the other. Your legs are tossed over his shoulder, and when he leans down to kiss you with surprising tenderness. He watches your eyes shoot open at the stretch, your lips part as he starts to fuck you, leaving you so empty when he withdraws, that you dig your nails into his muscles back. 

He moves slowly, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you lazily, teasing your clit with his hand, bending down to suck and bite at your nipples, delighting in your glassy faraway expression, and he’s almost surprised when you cum, when you clench down on him, walls fluttering. 

“Next time,” he says, growling into your ear. “Ask me. I’ll tell you if you’ve earned that shit.” You whimper in response, you’re soaking, and he can feel it, can feel how badly you need it, can feel the way your nails are digging into his back, can feel you kiss him back when he leans down. “Tell me you like me,” he murmurs, and you squirm. “Tell me how much you like me.” 

__

He leans down and kisses you, blissfully exhausted, draping his body over yours. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his arms lock around you. You sense that he’s about to drift off to sleep, so you start to squirm. 

“What?” He mutters. “Stay still.” 

“I have to pee.” You whisper, and he groans, reluctantly letting you stand on trembling legs and walk to his bathroom. You splash some cold water on your face after washing your hands. You look at your reflection, disheveled, eyes wild, hands shaking. You run your fingers through your hair, the entire experience had been deeply disorienting, did Nagi expect you to come back and cuddle with him? After that, after choking you like that? Your mind flies again to your ex-boyfriend, and then you swallow, feeling the dull pain in your throat. Nagi would let you leave, you decided. As long as he let you leave, that means you had a choice, that means you could think of this as a mistake, as a weak moment. You swallow, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, pressing your palms to the counter, it’s cool and grounding. You straighten your shoulders and step back out into his luxe apartment, sighing with relief when you hear Nagi’s soft snores, see his huge frame draped over the couch. 

You tiptoe past him, stepping back into your clothes gingerly, feeling more and more like this is something you could rationalize. You’re halfway dressed when he opens half an eye, frowning. 

“What are you doing?” He says, glancing at the coffee table where you’ve folded his jersey. 

“Ah, just heading out.” You say, heart rate picking up a little. He raises his eyebrows, standing and stepping back into his boxers. 

“Nah,” He towers over you, it’s impossible not to note the difference in your size, even when he’s a few feet away. “Stay,” He reaches for you, pulling you back into him by the waist. “I’ll order us takeout.” You pull gently but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Nagi,” you say softly, coming back to honesty. “I feel a little weird, about this.” He cocks his head. “Like, weird about us hooking up.” 

“Oh,” He says, as he understands immediately, “Oh,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “Oh of course, of course, you do.” You blink a few times, stunned at his sudden burst of self-awareness. He gives you a soft, genuine smile, “I didn’t mean to like, make you feel used or weird,” he leans down, cupping your face with his hand, stroking your cheek, and your heart drops to your stomach. “It’s not just a hookup to me, don’t worry.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I get it, you’re a relationship person. I’ll take you to dinner, just nowhere too loud because-” 

“N-nagi,” You stammer his name, genuinely pulling away from him, and he lets you go, confusion flooding his features again. “It’s not that I feel used,” you say, embarrassed as you lose your cool, your voice rising in pitch. “It’s, it’s that you pinned me to the wall by my throat and then, then told me to get in your car and I did, and then we had sex, and I don’t,” you start to get dizzy, the panic pulling you from reality. “Nagi, I, I don’t feel good.” You draw in a shaky breath, suddenly you’re freezing and burning at the same time, face hot body cold, and then they switch. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” you hear him say, but it sounds like his voice is miles above the surface of your mind. You try to swallow, and try to breathe, and find neither is a reflex you have control over, tears burning in your eyes. You barely feel him pick you up, laying you on the couch and lifting your legs in the air, rubbing a soft circle in your calf. “I’m here,” He says, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice as he feels his cock twitch in his pants, but there’s more too it. He feels it, that clawing ache, he wants you to reach for him, to be comforted by him, “I’m here,” he wants to be enough for you, to restore your breath, even though he’s the one with the power to take it away. “I’m here, and I’m real, I’m here for you.”

His voice carries in your panicked state, and your brain struggles to interpret the sentiment behind that information, a statement of a fact, or threat, or reassurance. It takes a few minutes of gasping, but your body, something physical latches onto his presence because when you sit up you reach for him. Something brittle inside Nagi breaks as your little hands fly out and reach for his, as he pulls you into his lap, kissing at your tears. 

“Tough day,” he murmurs, “Lots of yelling, right?” You nod, and he squeezes you. “I’m here, you’re mine now, I’ll take care of ya.” You shiver at his words. 

“I don’t,” you look up at him, “I’m not ready to date really.” Your teeth are chattering, you’re still visibly trembling. He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m s-serious, you have to let me leave.” 

“I mean,” Nagi shrugs. “No I don’t actually, I don’t have to let you leave, and actually,” his grip on you tightens. “You like me, remember?” 

“No-,” you squirm, still half crying. “No I don’t.” 

“Shhhhh,” he rocks you back and forth, “You’re so cute, but you have to breathe okay, just focus on breathing for a little and don’t think so much,” he kisses your head, “Shhhh.” You sniff and focus on breathing. “That’s my girl.” He tips your head up so that you can meet his grey gaze. “So we’re gonna clean you up, I’m gonna order us food from somewhere nice, I’ll take ya out tomorrow, we can go anywhere you want.” He senses your hesitation and leans down, kissing you tenderly on your trembling lips. “C’mon,” you hear him say, speaking right into your mouth, “Kiss me back.” At the moment, you obey, and he hums softly, feeling you move your mouth against his, concocting some kind of pseudo rhythm that your body keeps to much better than your mind does. “I’m here,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, “I’ll keep ya safe,” he starts to tug your blouse off, and feels you stiffen. “You wanna stop?” He pulls away from you, and you shake your head a little, getting whiplash from the way he suddenly respects your consent. He holds you again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Just breathe for me, I’ll uh,” he laughs, “You did already make me cum, but fuck, seeing you like this, I could go again. You wrap your arms around his neck, making a decision. 

It was nice, nice to be held, and if he would make things easier for you at work, you could figure this out. You could ride whatever this was out until the end of your rotation and then bury yourself in another job. He cradles you to him until your heart rate calms. 

“Jeez,” He laughs lightly, standing while still carrying you in your state of half-dress, walking into the kitchen. He sets you on the counter. “Guess I gotta be careful with you, yeah?” He squeezes your waist before pulling back and wetting a paper towel under warm water. “You want a safe place to land,” he says softly, “That’s okay,” he starts to wipe your face with the warm towel. “We’ll use a safeword, alright?” You swallow. “You just say yellow, if you want me to slow down,” he takes his time wiping your smudged mascara. “You say red if you want me to stop, alright, and I’ll stop,” he pulls away, setting the paper towel on the counter. “And if you really wanna go, you can go, I guess.” 

“You guess?” You whisper. He shrugs. 

“You’re not gonna be the first woman who doesn’t want it from me,” He makes a face, “Not when I can tell how bad you want it.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“I don’t care.” He informs you. “I like you.  You admitted you like me.” You swallow. “Come on,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, and then pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve liked you forever. I’ll be nice, I will be.” You nod and he hugs you tightly. “You okay?” He asks and you shiver. 

“No.” You whisper. He nods. 

“Will sitting on the couch with me holding you help, maybe?” He asks, and your chest aches, your heart aches, your throat aches, you’re hurt, and your tired. You nod dumbly. You could do this. Could take advantage of this. Just till your rotation with his team was over. You could make the best of this. He plucks you off the counter and carries you to the couch, letting you cry softly on his chest until you fall asleep. He tangles his fingers in your hair. 

“All mine,” he hums. “All mine.” Your jaw tightens, and you think of the real owner of your heart, at this hour he'd he hard at work at the gym, stretching carefully, talking to his teammates. "Shh," Nagi breathes as he feels you tense up, "Shhhhhh. Relax."

encore | jjk | teaser

⇥ pairing: game-designer!jungkook x reader

⇥ genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors au, fluff, smut

⇥ rating: 18+

⇥ warnings: an absolutely fluffy little piece, he is an ambivert but so hot too, talk about music and it’s really wholesome!!, coffeeshop dates and movie nights, cursing, pov switch, flirting, (okay how do i avoid c*mmunity labels uhhhh), s*xual tension, s*xual content (like: or*l, big d*ck and dom kook, s*x toys, unprotected s*x, fumbling around, m*sturbation, he can be cocky if he wants to, more when the fic drops)

⇥ wc: around 10-12k; 979 for the teaser!!

⇥ author’s notes: my friend said he looks like your next door neighbor who’ll lend you stuff and all, and of course my sick brain came up with this wicked thing. teaser is unedited!! fic still in the works which i’m so excited to post as soon as it’s doneee!<3

⇥ summary: The new guy next door seems an awfully lot like your ideal type. You might be in serious trouble.

–

When you look up from your shoes, meeting his eyes, you realize for the first time that Jungkook is staring at you.

Your eyebrows shoot up in question, humming a curious little, “Hmm?”

Keep reading

↳ a very yakuza christmas

summary. injured after an ambush from a rival gang, Mikey finds himself stranded on a local farm with a girl who shows him the true meaning of this holiday season and what it means to finally let all his walls down.

pairings. bonten!mikey x farmer!reader + all of bonten makes an appearance

genre. hallmark christmas feel good romance, kinda a reversed crash landing on you 

overall warnings. fluff, angst, explicit sex, language, mentions of weapons, mild crack, injuries, mention of strippers, Bonten works on a farm, suggestive content, canon typical violence, off screen death, male objectification, romance, christmas themes 

a/n. I wanted to end this year with something fluffy and sweet as a big thanks to all of you for sticking around with my little writing blog <3 ALSO! a huge wet kith to my irl sibling @neetro for helping me give life to this idea bc mikey deserves his happily ever. merry christmas, everyone 💓 (psst feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated!)

wc. ~ 27,000+

listen to. i need you christmas- jonas brothers • luxurious - gwen stefani • here i am again - yerin baek

Bastards.

A false lead. That was what found the stoic, powerful and indomitable Sano Manjiro in the middle of a 30 men free-for-all; blows, punches and kicks delivered swiftly but not swift enough that their faces blended in a mash of jeers and leers. His limbs weighed tiredly by his side, and despite how much he tried to reign in his exhaustion, the Bonten leader was fatigued from the stream of violence that just would not stop.

They had cornered him at his weakest, and he could tell how the fight would turn out—most likely with a mortal wound on his end and these bastards going scot-free, bragging about how the mythical unstoppable Bonten leader had folded to a bunch of small town hillbillies.

“He puts up one hell of a fight, huh,” one of the country hicks chortled, swiping some blood from his broken nose where Mikey had managed to land a debilitating blow. “Let’s sweep him up, boys.”

Attacking him all at once, Mikey felt for the first time in his life a powerlessness that pervaded every pore in his body; not even being surrounded by a hundred men with only Draken at his side during his delinquent days could match to the bleakness he was currently experiencing.

The last thing he felt before white-hot pain lanced through his head was a glob of spittle hacked onto his face, dripping down his swollen eyes that slipped shut on their own as the world around him started to fade into black.

Let’s finish him.

Keep reading