[♡] #4 ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION !

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.

polarity | 01 yandere!jungkook au

pairing: yandere!jungkook x reader {f}

genre: yandere

warnings: unhealthy behavior, toxic relationships, cheating, manipulation, mentions of mental health (mc has pretty bad social anxiety )

summary: Your best friend’s new boyfriend becomes infatuated with you..

 Her glossy tinted lips stared back at her, raising her hand to touch up her last bit of makeup. Eunji was gorgeous , not like she needed much to make her stand out. But it wasn’t the good looks you admired about your friend, it was the oozing charisma she carried everywhere. Truly, you thought even if she wasn’t blessed with good looks, she’d still have every guy at her feet. Or anyone for that matter. It was just the aura she possessed. She pulled away from small mirror she had in her hand, raising an eyebrow towards you.

“You’re gonna love him.” She promised, and you shook your head. Eunji had said that about each one of her past boyfriends, but still each one didn’t manage to impress you much. For such a pretty girl, your friend seemed to love complete bums. A shame really.

“As long as you like him..” You trailed off, uncertainty clear in your tone. You two both sat at the corner of a small cafe that was located near your apartment complex, La Belle. The place was slow today, oddly enough but the silence was comforting enough for the both of you. You figured that was soon about to change since you weren’t the type to look forward to meeting strangers.

“Y/n I’m serious, I really like him. He’s perfect in every way.” Eunji insisted, leaning forward against the small table in between you two. “ Plus, he’s really hot.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling at your friend’s descriptions. As far as you knew, the guy came from a pretty wealthy background which already meant he wasn’t like the usual guys she went for. He was a bit older too, Eunji never specified his job , just that he worked in the same company as his father. You figured it must of been a family business. 

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┌─ “ ! „ DECAY

tw. ddlg, noncon, daddy kink, dom & sub themes, forced threesome, patronization, manipulation, objectification, size kink wordcount. 4.4k

a/n. ♡ i wish i could have done more about this idea but i gave myself a bit of a word count limit for kinktober but don't be surprised if i end up writing more for this in the future jhydgusgfy i wanted to go more extreme but i was a bit bummed by the self imposed limitations kHdyugs iT IS What it is ily thank you for reading

miya atsumu x fem!reader x miya osamu

You’re pouting somethin’ fierce, and thick crocodile tears bead your lash line like diamonds.

Osamu’s not entirely sure when it started. If it started at all. Maybe things just happened to play out this way, and it was entirely coincidental, a whisper in the grander scheme of your relationship with his brother - all too small to mention. Maybe safer to say, he’s not sure when he started noticing it— but once he began, there was nothing to keep him from seeing it too vividly in every interaction.

You’ve been with Tsumu since your last year together in high school. Stuck with him through thick and thin, every busy month, each and every match and scandal and fallout - and Osamu’s nothing but grateful for that. You make him happy, Hell, even a blind man could see how the blond blossoms open when you’re around. Becoming a more grown, dependable version of himself. Some days Osamu blinks and it’s like his mirror image has far surpassed his own grounded maturity, leaving him behind in the dust. And it’s definitely you that brings that out in him - and he’s grateful.

But — he remembers the early days. More than maybe anyone else, Osamu remembers that it wasn’t always this way. You were definitely more soft and gentle than they were as teens, but you were no shrinking violet either. A decade ago, Atsumu would’ve been caught dead underestimating ya like he does with a glitter in his eye now. Like it’s a game the two of you are clued in on. Osamu’s eyes glide over the scene painted before him, sipping his beer from the couch.

“Aw, pet, you’ve gotta watch where yer goin’. C’mere, did that hurt?” Atsumu is knelt before you, cupping your face between two rough palms, as he kisses up and down your face. Your wobbly sniffles get hidden in his chest when he pulls you in, and rubs your back like you’re a toddler with a scraped knee. Your hands fist into his shirt before you take a deep breath, going up in his warmth. And his twin beams like he’s the happiest man on the planet, before going to pick you up with a bit too much practiced ease.

Osamu’s not against the pda. You’ve always been touchy, and Tsumu’s a clingy bastard at the best of times. “‘M so sorry, baby. Daddy almost walked straight over ya.” It’s more that he has a problem with. He looks away when Atsumu’s hands slide down to grip your ass and squeeze you extra close, looking down for another kiss that you give like it’s been practiced a hundred times. He’s not sure if the slight pout you have on is truly the pain though, or more the embarrassment he can see creep up your ears and cheeks.

“I’m sorry for getting in the way,” you whisper back, and by the time Osamu looks up Atsumu has made it back to the couch with a fresh beer, with you now positioned on his lap and wrapped around him like a baby koala. You don’t look over at him though, barely acknowledging the strange situation. Almost makes him feel like he’s the one that’s out of place, even though he came over on Atsumu’s request. Even though he was invited.

Samu takes another chug of his drink, before raising his brows, leaning in with an attempt to catch your eyes. “Yer not gonna have any? ‘S yer fridge we’re looting.” You only disconnect yourself from Atsumu’s chest to look at him with heat on your cheeks, perfectly treated hair shining as it falls along your shoulders.

“No, thank you. Atsum- uhm- d-daddy doesn’t let me have any unless we’re going out. It makes me get all bloated, so ‘s better I don’t.” Your long lashes flutter, before you smile again, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Samu.” There’s a beat of silence where his twin seems to give him a look -one he can’t really make out- where Atsumu puts his own beer aside to pull you closer by your hips and wrap his arms around you like you’re best molten to his front. “Hey,” you whisper then, and Atsumu looks up, “can I move? My knees hurt a little like this.”

“‘S that right? Ya wanna turn so you can look at Samu too?” His brilliant smile is almost bright enough to make him ignore the possessive hands that travel too far down when helping you turn, or the almost-subtle groan he lets out when you wiggle back onto his lap. Osamu stares off into the kitchen instead. “You wanna sit ‘n look at someone else ‘cause I won’t do anything. Is daddy not good ‘nough? Maybe I spoil ya a lil’ too rotten.”

“‘M not rotten~, I do like sitting in your lap,” you squeak out almost sadly, starting to leave little pecks all over Atsumu’s lips as if to shut him up. That would probably be good, Osamu thinks. He doesn’t want to consider the possibility that you’re actually tempering him, but it sure does seem like it. “I’m just tired.” And though your voice drops to an almost whisper, he’s too aware of your pouted, glossy lips to not hear every word. Your hands trail through his hair, sliding down his neck with each slow breath. “Just- Daddy, don’t be upset. I’m trying my best.”

You look almost pained to say it, not that his twin cares. “Please don’t get mad.” Anything else passes over Osamu’s head. He just places the empty bottle by his feet and tries to ignore the way you’re now draped onto Atsumu’s lap like you two will start dry humping any second.

“‘M not mad, pretty girl.” The blond grabs two handfuls of ass and rocks your waist against him, making you squeak, before he runs his tongue along his teeth with a noise. “I’m just thinkin’ that I don't want Samu ta see ya like this.”

You whimper when Atsumu’s mouth glides along your jaw and throat, falling back into the couch -crown brushing Osamu’s thigh- when his twin pushes and presses a few kisses down your throat and chest. “Alright, let’s go out.” Then he pulls back flushed, and gets you up along with him. “Before daddy ends up fucking that pretty pussy with a live audience.” He ushers you towards the door with a few pats on your butt. “Go an’ get yer shoes, I’ll tie yer laces for ya, little girl.”

“I- I can really do it myself, ‘s fine.”

It only makes Atsumu puff out his chest, and stare you down with a hungry stare. “Go on, baby. Yer little enough to need my help.” You don’t say anything, but there’s a tense breath of silence that covers the room before you look away with shame written all over your expression.

Osamu’s too speechless to do much but just stare at the side of his brother’s face, who barely shows any emotion other than enjoyment at all. Seriously. It’s not like you to let someone just walk all over you. Or at least, it wasn’t like you, as far as he was concerned. Things have clearly changed. He frowns. “Do ya really have ta talk about ‘er like that when I’m around, stupid Tsumu? Keep it in yer pants, wouldya?”

Instead of the normally snappy reply that he’d expect, the blond just shrugs, tugging at his waistband like the tightness is a little uncomfortable. “Can’t help it. She’s so fuckin’ cute whinin’ and crying out for me.” Brown irises find Osamu’s, and he smiles. “You’d feel the same if ya saw what she can do.” He pats his thighs when you come back from the hall, and holds out his hands. “Come ‘ere, little princess. Daddy’ll dress ya right up.”

+

Your frilly little implication of a dress is bunched around your hips as he lets you down from another bear hug, and puts on a slight pout. “I’ll be back soon, baby. They need an emergency setter for just an hour of practice. Maybe two.”

“It’s never just one hour.”

The overly whiny request only makes Atsumu glitter more, as his eyes flick down your body and his tongue is caught between his teeth. Truly, the guy has absolutely no decency. This was supposed to be a fun weekend away from work for the three of ya. Not that Atsumu seems bothered by that. After a few seconds he kisses your forehead though, letting you lean into his arms and looking ever so teenie tiny compared to your boyfriend -they’ve both filled out in both size and muscle since high school after all- and it becomes even more apparent when Tsumu squeezes you under his chin. “If ya need anything ya’ll ask Samu, alright? Just pretend he’s me.”

You bat your lashes at him, but let your grip on him slowly be peeled off. “... Okay. Can I have dinner while you’re gone?”

“Hm, sure.” The blond runs his fingers through his hair. “Daddy’s gonna miss ya. I’m not gonna be gone fer long.” Then he eyes him with a grin that Osamu kind of wants to slap off of his cheeks. “Thanks for ‘sittin ‘er.” He doesn’t reply with a smart remark about him treating you like a dog, and just gives a vague hum instead. With that he gives the brunet a quick wave, and gathers his phone and keys on his way to the door. You linger around the entrance a bit longer, before slowly returning to the dinner table with slightly heated cheeks. You tuck your knees to your chest when you sit and reach for one of the side dishes — and he can’t help but say it when the door falls into lock.

“So, what’s all that about?”

“Hm?” Your head drops to the side slightly as you put some pickled radish in your mouth and hum. “Mm, this ‘s really good, Samu! Can I have some?”

“Help yerself,” he nods, and also slides the plates you can’t reach closer. It’s not like he doesn’t understand it at all. You’ve got that sort of puppy-eyes look down, big and round and soft wherever you look, no matter who you’re talking to. It’s the kind of gentleness that calls for protection, and he’s not even the possessive type, but despite that the feeling of being needed sits on his chest and longs to come out. But still. He can’t help but think Atsumu’s overplaying his cards. “Seriously though. You know ya can tell my shitty brother no, right? I’ll straighten ‘em out for ya.”

The words seem to process for a moment, before you load some more food onto your utensils and swallow it with a little noise of thoughtfulness. “I- I don’t know. Atsumu says he likes being the provider. At first it was just little stuff he helped with, and I thought it was nice to be cared for.” You fumble a little with the chopsticks when a piece of fish is extra slippery, and smile when he helps you out and picks it up, carrying it towards your mouth. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve fed myself instead of Tsumu doing it for me,” you softly mention. That’s weird, ain’t it? That’s definitely weird.

Still he’s carrying the food to your mouth, and be it instinct, or habit, you look too fuckin’ sweet waiting like a puppy for him to help out, big, doe-eyes and all.

You let the piece onto your tongue, before wrapping those pretty lips around and gratefully humming and — fuck. You don’t notice the way his brow ticks, but his stomach rolls with the realization. Instead of lingering too long on the implication that he might feel the same exact way as his twin, he lets you talk, after chewing for a while. “I just- I don’t like that he doesn’t ever take me seriously anymore. He thinks I can’t do anything by myself, even brushing my own teeth, or picking out clothes! It’s so- so frustrating-” you continue until you run out of air, and seem to suddenly realize who you’re talking to. “Oh, don’t tell Atsumu that. Please don’t tell him. He gets so upset and I don’t like it when he’s mad.”

Samu can’t help but just nod in agreement, not sure what else to say. He doesn’t think his brother would ever hurt ya. Then again, Samu also didn’t think his brother was much of a kink lifestyle sort of guy until the last few months— so clearly he doesn’t know everything anymore. And you seem… okay with it, right? He’s not sure, really. Would he even have the guts to tell Tsumu off if he was sure you weren’t? Instead of lingering on that uncomfortable possibility, he pivots. “Let’s watch somethin’? What do ya wanna see?”

Your eyes shimmer when they flick up, and you swallow before smiling. “Can I choose?” You wiggle in your seat. “Atsumu -w-well- daddy doesn’t let me watch scary stuff, but I’ve been dying to watch the Ring again.” You then lean into his space a little more, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “I assume I don’t have to snuggle up to you though? He did say to pretend you’re him but…” You wrap your thin sweater a little closer. “I’ll hold your hand? He can’t get mad that way.”

How can he say no when you’re staring at him with those fucken stars in your eyes? His fingers find yours on the table, and your hand feels way smaller and softer than his own work-worn ones. “Yeah, sure. But ya shouldn’t watch nothin’ ta give ya nightmares though…” The urge to pick you up and wrap you nice and safe in his embrace becomes stronger by the second, and his eyebrows furrow.

+

Atsumu is quick to descend on you in the safety of the separate room. His hands glide down your sides and hike up your shirt over your arms, before running his fingertips down the valley of your breasts. “Samu was nice to ya?”

“Mhm,” you bop your head a few times, shivering when the cooler air peaks your nipples and Tsumu brushes his thumb over them. “He was- r-really- ah daddy, that tickles.” Your voice trembles when he eyes you down, before letting his fingers trail down to your shorts instead. He motions your butt up and you lift yourself politely, letting him slide those down your legs too as he lifts one and starts placing kisses down your ankle up your leg. “You said we’d get ready for bed~”

“We are gettin’ ready,” his smile goes a little crooked when you bite your lip, “just curious ‘s all. Ya think Samu likes ya?” He lets you fall back onto the plush covers before walking into the ensuite and coming back with some skincare that he places unceremoniously onto the bedside table- and you frown. If your boyfriend asked you a few years ago, you’d assume he was just genuinely curious. About you getting along with his family, his twin, his other half. But now, there’s an agenda woven into the words. Always is.

“We get along well. Why?”

His lips jerk up, and with a simple shrug he continues. “He’s good too ya, ain’t he? An’ I’ve been thinking I want Samu to watch us some time.” You’re too shocked to say anything, but your mouth drops open. No.

No, it’s already embarrassing how he makes you whine and whimper like a pet for him when you’re alone. It’s embarrassing when he makes you call him daddy when there’s people around with no shame- like he gets off on it. But this- his hands find your face with a soaked cotton pad to start cleaning you with gentle motions, and you find your eyes starting to water. You hate that you’ve become this fragile little flower that can’t speak up when it matters. You’d like to think you’re still the same. But your lip wobbles too easily as Atsumu continues, and your voice cracks.

The mortification is too much to bear, it swallows you up whole. He couldn’t possibly make you. “I don’t want that.”

“What’s that?” he coos, eyelids hooded. He leans down to you more.

You push his hand away from your face and frown, but tears still spill over. You fucking hate being such a crybaby. “I don’t want Samu to watch us.” You still frown though, doing your best to blink away the waterworks. And instead of taking you seriously - of course - Tsumu tilts his head in that sort of understanding that you’re throwing a tantrum like a toddler might. But you’re serious. You mean it. His freshly washed hair falls over his brows, but his hands still find your shoulders to keep you in place below him.

“Aw, baby. Poor girl.” The soft rubbing of his thumb along your skin only makes you more shaky in that feeling, his eyes roaming your body before he pushes you back onto the bed and crawls onto it beside you, pulling you into his touch. It doesn’t escape you that you’re already naked and he’s still dressed, keeping you tight. “I didn’t mean to upset ya. Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.” You swallow, and push against his chest with a slight whimper - why can’t he take you seriously?

“I mean it, Atsumu.”

Before you can say anything else he pinches your cheek hard, and his dark brows lace together. “Don’t be rude.” The darkness fades quickly, but he still doesn’t show any intention of letting you go. In fact, because of his strength against you you’re only forced deeper into his embrace, head pressed to his warm chest. “Daddy’ll take care of you. Always do, don’t I?” You open your mouth to retort, but he interrupts again, and squishes your cheeks together before placing a few patient kisses onto your pouty lips. “Listen to daddy. It’ll be fine.”

It’s so frustrating.

You want to move. You want to remove yourself from the situation he’s putting you in, or put on some fucking clothes, and instead you’re being mocked by him. Once more you try to give him a push for some space, but because he barely feels it or pretends not to, you don’t make a dent. “Tsumu, I don’t want to have sex with your brother watching~” you end up crying out, feeling the tears well up again. “Get off of me.” You start wiggling, as his hand wraps around your wrist and forces it to wrap around his body, clamping your hands together behind his back as he rolls over and starts kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be okay.” You want him to leave you alone. “My sweet little girl. You don’t gotta fight me, ‘m not doin’ nothing. I’m here for ya.” His heartbeat is so steady against you that it makes you want to shove him and scream in his face to fuck off, but of course you don’t. You don’t scream. You don’t push, or fight, or make yourself clear. All you can do is cry into his shirt as his smell wraps around you and you struggle to make the waterworks stop.

“Let go~” you sniffle into his shirt, and shiver when his hands start sliding down to pull you back onto him, forcing his thick, strong thigh between your legs. Your straining muscles give up after a while of pushing back, and his embrace still stays.

“Shush, little baby. I got ya, don’t worry yer pretty little head.”

“Daddy~” you whine softer this time, and don’t fight him when he nudges you face up to kiss him. He groans for a moment in what can only be satisfaction at winning the fight, before rolling over so you’re trapped under his heavy body, chest rising and falling against him. And as you try to stop crying, Atsumu has the nerve to rub your head like all of this isn’t his fault.

+

You can’t escape the heavy gaze anywhere you look. It’s suffocating. Not that you have much room to think about it between the way Tsumu’s taking up your space and forcing one of your legs over his shoulder so he can spread you open. It’s a brief reprieve from the prying eyes blocked by his broad back, but you know it will end. Because Tsumu didn’t just drag his twin here to know that someone’s watching. He wants to make a show of you. To show off the type of power he- oh. Your half-lidded eyes flutter open wider when his fingers spread open your slick and your pussy clenches around nothing.

And Atsumu grins. “Yer so quiet, baby. Are’ya shy?” You don’t answer that, instead trying to chase after his hand when he moves away, wrapping comparatively small hands around his wrist. You can feel the heat of Samu at the foot of the bed, uncomfortably perched onto it with his knee before he dips the mattress further, and your blinks get more rapid.

“Daddy… I- I don’t-”

“Hush,” he moves your other leg aside more, leaving you spread embarrassingly open before he dips his body and glides both hands under your ass, lifting you a few inches. His mouth descends without thinking, kisses and then tongue making you whimper as he eats you out. Not gently, but possessive, demanding licks that drag your split attention right back to him - only until Samu leans forward a little to get a better view. This is so fucking embarrassing. “Mh- Taste good, pretty thing.” Atsumu’s eyes have that same cocky, knowing look he always does when he gets you like this. You won’t do anything back, and he knows that. “Yer droolin’ all over my chin.”

You are. The slick’s coating his lips when he pulls back, trailing kisses up your thighs, before he slides two fingers inside your squelching pussy traitorously slow, and watches your face scrunch. He’s big. He always is, and knows it too, big hands, big thighs, chest, shoulders. Most of all, he’s fucked you enough times now to know that you can’t take him easily without prep, and even that is embarrassing. You could have gone a whole lifetime without having Osamu know that. Why did he even agree to this?

“Little brat,” Tsumu says after a few seconds, flicking your nipple painfully as he stares, clenching his jaw. “Don’t be rude. Samu came all the way out here to see ya, ‘n yer gonna lock up the whole time?” You swallow, and try to talk, but he instead curls his fingers inside your pussy and slides them deeper. Right where you can’t handle them, until you have no choice but to curl and wiggle away from him, mouth pulling open to moan.

“Ah, agh, daddy! Daddy, daddy.” Samu’s broad shouldered figure being barely dressed in a tank and boxers, along with Atsumu’s almost godly physique hanging over you is too much. You shut your eyes. “I can’t- f-focus.” You hold onto his arm as he fucks his fingers in and out of you for long enough that your entire body starts tingling, before he peels you off and turns you over. Rough hands hike you onto your knees, and your ass up in the air before his rough palm lands hard and sends a stinging heat through your legs. “Ow, ow~”

“That’s more like it. I know yer a noisy little bitch.” He rubs your lips up and down with his thumb a few more times, before you hear the sound of boxers being peeled off. “Now, what do ya say when daddy will give ya something ya want?”

He presses the hot head of his cock against you but doesn’t push in yet, and your poor pussy clenches around nothing as tears fill your eyes and you grip two fistfuls of pillow. You can’t say it. Not with Samu sitting right there, judging you both for- another sharp spank makes you shiver, and you whimper into the pillow. The sting aches until heat blooms under the damaged skin, and you unclench your teeth. “Please, daddy? Please fuck me.” You doubt you’re stretched enough to take him comfortably, even with the fingering and all the wetness coating your puffy pussy and the inside of your thighs. “Pretty please?”

There’s a few moments before his hand presses down on your back and his cock slides inside, and you do your best not to gasp too much feeling him force you open. It aches though, and you have to widen your knees to make room and— God it feels so good. You’re not sure whether to cry because of the feeling, or because you can’t stop yourself from moaning high pitched and whiny like a whore putting on her best performance. You really can’t help it. “Agh, ah- d-daddy, move, please.” The heavy weight of his cock bottoms out and he presses his heavy balls against you for a few seconds, before pulling out with a groan.

The motion pulls your entire body back, only stopped by his hand, like you’re some cocksleeve— and you cry harder. “Ah, ah, ugh— Atsumu,” you pout, and he pets your head.

“I’m right here, doll. Does that feel good?” You nod, and cling on, before opening your eyes to look at him with his thighs right next to your head and stroking his cock with an almost torturous pace. You whimper when being bottomed out into, and then your eyes shoot open. You can’t turn, but the low groan Samu lets out when you clench hard around him, says enough— and Tsumu laughs as he watches you panic and your bottom lip wobble, petting your head. Like this is all some big game, keeping you down under his hand while you shake your head.

“No, no- you said- you said he’d watch- agh, daddy! No, no no no, you promised! You promised.” You can’t stop yourself from moaning when he hits deep inside, fucking you much too well. Your mouth falls open as you try to stop the sound, but Tsumu’s touch only gets more demanding as his twin picks up the pace.

“Shhh, shhh, Samu likes ya so~ much. It’s just this one time. And then daddy’ll take good care of ya, promise.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

KUNIIII<3

brooooo kuni's so fine omllll

Genuinely the best thing i have ever read!!!!

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."

Aberration - Chapter 9

MHA!Various x Fem!Reader

Thriller/Horror/Drama

Criminal!AU

Words: 2.6k

A/N: After 1000 years, chapter 9 is FINALLY COMPLETED. I hope it’s good enough. It’s a wee bit shorter than the last but I wanted to leave this on a specific cliff hanger~ Enjoy!

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Mentions of murder, torture, abuse, blood, felonies, bullying, swearing, death and description of dead bodies.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of MHA, just this story. In no way does this reflect the characters, writers or VAs of the show/manga. MINORS DNI.

~~~

Aberration Masterlist

~~~

Move your legs, Y/N!’

It’s like time slowed down as you notice the inmates have been freed. Fear rises inside you knowing each and every single one of these people are dangerous.

‘Move your fucking legs, Y/N!’

You couldn’t move, couldn’t flee. Your body is frozen in pure terror. You KNOW you need to move. You KNOW you need to back out of that goddamn room or you will not survive. But no matter how much you will your legs to move, they’re practically paralyzed underneath you.

“MS. Y/N, YOU NEED TO LEAVE! NOW!”

Keep reading

i. LETS GO TO SHIZUOKA!

miya atsumu x f!reader

── next: ii. Just me & you | series masterlist

synopsis: What better way to de-stress post-semester than going on a trip with your close friends? It’d be nothing but smooth sailing if you weren’t wedging some distance between you, and a certain blonde. Though, whether you liked it or not, the universe had its ways.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff, a hint of angst if you squint, atsumu might be a dumbass, mutual pining, requited unrequited love, forced proximity, slow burn, my poor depiction of japanese geography, reader can’t ride a bike for the sake of plot, not beta read, a little tame for now!

word count: 3.8k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. weeeee first chapter :> !!

‘You never really know when you’ve fallen in love. One day you just wake up and realise that it’s more than just shallow feelings.’

A phrase you’ve heard countless times growing up. You never really understood it well as a believer of love at first sight, thinking that the cliché ‘time slowing down as you see your lover before you’ was all there was to it to fully grasp the concept of love.

Kind of like in romantic movies where the camera dramatically pans around the main character after seeing their love interest—every person around you disappearing until all there was left were the two of you, heart racing a little too fast, the nervousness settling in—the whole shebang.

Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t as climactic as they ought to be in movies—not one soul magically disappeared until it was just the two of you, the time did not, in fact, slow down. If anything, your heart stuttered like crazy, threatening to leap from your rib cage and onto his hands as if they were its home. At least the movies got that one thing right.

It was down right frustrating leading up to the feelings you now had for none other than Miya Atsumu.

Some days were filled with fluttering heart beats, and dreamy sighs—tucking your chin on your palm at the blissful feeling of being infatuated with the blonde. As if on cloud nine, drifting along the feathery scenery atop a huge ivory cloud, cupid’s bow comfortably pierced right through your heart.

Other days were extremely unbearable, plagued with the ache of yearning, and unwanted jealousy—painfully digging your nails into your palm at the sight of someone else shamelessly flirting with Atsumu. It almost felt like a curse weighed upon you the day you were born, being smitten with a ladies’ man. On days like these, cupid’s bow uncomfortably dug into your heart like a painful itch—awkwardly poking out from your chest like an unconcealed badge saying, ‘Hey, look at me! I have a crush on someone who doesn’t even like me back. How stupid of me!’

Never mind that because the day it finally settled uncomfortably in your bones—that your feelings weren’t mere infatuation—you felt like you were in deep, deep shit. Absolutely fucked with a capital ‘F’ because suddenly the way Atsumu’s laugh sounded was like a sweet, sweet melody; an external stimuli to get your heart racing. The way his eyes crinkled, lashes kissing his cheeks as he laughed at a funny joke, oh, you were weak in the knees.

Your lovesick gaze unceremoniously bore into his handsome face, blissfully unaware of your raging feelings for him. You knew right then and there that love was what you felt for your close friend.

An uncharted territory that you swore to never step foot on, until now.

“You brought your passport?” Kita stared at the mini scarlet document resting between Atsumu’s slender fingers, brows raised with slight amusement. His expressionless question halted the quiet conversation amongst your group, all turning to look at the flustered blonde—his face now matching the colour of the passport in his hand.

“Y-yeah? Are we not supposed ta or somethin’?” Atsumu looked around at the growing amusement between his friends, except for Kita who only closed his eyes in defeat. The former looked over to you for help, honeyed eyes projecting a mix of slight panic and embarrassment, you could only look away in second hand embarrassment, cheeks heating from the eye contact.

“It’s a domestic flight, dumbass!” Osamu lightly smacked his twin on the back of his head, clicking his tongue at the lack of common sense. Before the two could even start their endless bickering, the line moved, signalling the group’s turn. Kita pulled the latter away with him to the check-in counter, saving everyone else’s ears being talked off with the twin’s petty arguments.

Winter break, a convenient time for you and your friends to get together and de-stress from the pressure of university. If anything, it was a purely spontaneous getaway trip to Shizuoka. The trip included a little pit stop to Tokyo for some much needed splurging—totally not your idea—before taking the train back down for Shizuoka.

It all started in the group chat with a lone screenshot from Suna, an on-going deal of inexpensive domestic flights from Hyōgo to Tokyo. There wasn’t even a message attached to the picture, just a wordless tactic in hopes to get the group together for an exciting winter ahead. First to see it was Atsumu, who immediately approved of the idea with an unnecessary amount of exclamation marks tied to his message. Then, it became a domino effect where the rest of the group voiced their interests, including yourself.

Next thing you knew, the five of you were holed up in the twin’s apartment—you and Kita sat on the chairs while the rest hovered behind, laptop on the table with a tab of the itinerary opened, and affordable accomodations in Shizuoka. With a quick transfer of funds from one bank account to another, you all looked forward to spending 4 days outside Hyōgo, 379 kilometres away from home.

Now, the five of you stood in the domestic terminal during the early hours of 7 AM, bound for Haneda Airport. Albeit, a bit sleepy, you were excited, deeming this trip as a little treat for making it through a rather tedious semester.

Sitting in between Suna and Kita, who respectively sat in the window and aisle seats, you took a moment to close your eyes as a muffled announcement from the pilot filled the speakers, the deep hum of the plane’s engines roaring as it moved up the runway, preparing for takeoff. Low murmurs of passengers, and the twin’s deep chatter behind you filled your ears like white noise, focusing on calming your racing heart.

You recounted a few minutes ago where Atsumu had opted to sit next to you, preferably on the window seat before Suna beat him to it, telling the latter that they had designated seats on their ticket, a teasing tongue poking out. ‘Like that matters.’ The blonde muttered, followed by a string of silent curses aimed at his friend before being ushered onto the next row behind by Osamu.

It was always like that with Atsumu and his spontaneity—he had no qualms sitting a row behind when you all had booked your tickets, even saying that he didn’t care wherever he sat as long as he landed in Tokyo in one piece. What drove him to change his mind was beyond your understanding.

Though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t grasp onto that little hope of possibly sitting next to Atsumu for the whole flight. To your dismay, it dissipated the second you held onto it—all thanks to Suna Rintarou. Nonetheless, you would’ve felt awkward anyway, now that your heart weighed heavy with the burden of being hopelessly in love, and shamelessly pining.

You wouldn’t know how you would’ve acted during the span of 1 hour and 10 minutes; arms touching one another, albeit, covered in thick layers to fend off cold, and knees dangerously close—your cheeks heated at the thought. Sure, it was nothing intimate but that was Atsumu’s effect on you, and it absolutely drove you up the wall.

It wasn’t like this before, and you felt pathetic.

Gone were the days where you could hold a solid conversation with Atsumu without stuttering, and fidgeting like an idiot—where you were able to freely speak to him without any inhibitions weighing your shoulders. Come to think of it, the last time this probably happened was way back in second-year highschool. You were in second-year college now.

If you were being completely honest, you caught yourself unintentionally placing some distance between you and Atsumu, just a tad bit for the sake of your sanity. Could you really blame yourself? With the way he has been acting indifferent, it did some damage to your poor, poor heart—everyone had their limits and you were bound to reach yours soon enough. Especially with the coming days ahead, seeing him after you wake up, and before going to sleep. All in his glory.

Heavens above, have mercy on your heart.

Suna nudged you awake, head resting on his shoulder for the duration of the flight. You muttered a small apology as he let out a small groan, fingers digging into his padded jacket to massage the tense muscles of his shoulder. “We’re in Tokyo, sleepy head.” Atsumu prodded a finger at your head, poking his tongue out as you turned to face him, as if on cue, your heart beat picked up, only able to playfully roll your eyes in response.

Disembarking the plane, and claiming luggages proceeded without a hitch; thankfully, all your hard suitcases were still intact, and not shattered from the rough handling in the airport. After conveniently hailing a jumbo taxi, you were on your way to the heart of Tokyo. Naturally, Kita sat at the front passenger seat, having no trouble exchanging polite conversation with the driver. You and Osamu sat in the middle row while Atsumu and Suna were at the back.

You had to stop yourself from climbing to the back right after Atsumu did so, letting the brunette happily go instead, earning furrowed brows from the former—one that you tried your best to ignore.

The sound of wheels rolling along concrete filled your ears, along with the hustling and bustling of Central Tokyo as the group searched for the nearest luggage storage. A sea of bodies clad in layers of business casual outfits, men and women alike hastily walked to their destinations. The beloved city was adorned with Christmas lights and decorations, radiant hues of red, green, and gold standing out against the dark winter coats locals donned.

That was to be expected, the start of winter break being only a day after Christmas. It always cheered you up in every sense, seeing all sorts of novel decorations put your mind in a better place.

“Alright! Now that’s done, let’s get somethin’ ta eat.” Osamu locked the storage behind him, quickly tucking his hands back inside his trench coat, puffs of white fog leaving his lips with every word spoken. This earned a handful of hums from the rest, without a doubt there were no arguing when it came to eating food.

Atsumu fell into a step beside you, letting out an exaggerated noise as he shuddered from Tokyo’s early morning winter breeze.

“Hey. Seems like I haven’t talked ta ya in forever. Y’ avoidin’ me or somethin’?”

The blonde teased, all smiles with a tinge of crimson painted on his nose, and cheeks—from the cold, you presumed. The lack of seriousness in his tone put you at a slight ease, at least you didn’t have to start explaining why you were kind of avoiding him.

You shook your head, a genuine laugh leaving your lips as his honeyed eyes met your own, “Me? Never.” This earned a proud smile from your friend, chest puffing in absolute pride underneath the thick layers of winter fabrics.

“Good. I dunno what I’ll do if ya start avoidin’ me.”

His saccharine gaze lingered on your own a little too long for your sanity, all you could do was blink in response, mind flying off into the unknown as your heart picked up its pace yet again. Atsumu’s velvety stare was intense, it was like standing under the blazing sun on a scorching summer day, making you feel all sorts of emotions from A to Z.

Suddenly, the cerulean scarf around your neck felt a tad too restricting, the puffer jacket you wore became awfully warm, and the crisp morning air of Tokyo seemed too thin. Everything felt weird all of a sudden—your skin prickled under his honeyed eyes, getting lost in them as each slow second passed.

“Oi! Are you two coming or not?” Suna’s voice sharply sliced through the enchanting trance you and Atsumu were under, jolting you both back into reality. The rest of them were already far ahead looking into shops for a quick bite, indicating that somewhere down the line, the two of you had stopped walking just to stare into each other’s eyes. How embarrassing.

The latter cleared his throat, embarrassment settling in upon realising the situation at hand. He muttered a quick ‘Let’s go’ before starting a slow jog over to the rest of the group, acting like he didn’t just stare into your soul for god knows how many seconds. Slapping your cheeks, and letting out a puff of breath, you headed towards your friends, navigating through the crowded footpath and making sure not to accidentally bump into anyone.

The next few hours consisted of wisely spending money—per Kita’s words—in the heart of Tokyo. Despite endlessly complaining at first, the twins and Suna were soon sucked into the shopping fever.

Though, the four of you had to worry about your luggages back at the storage, resulting in only buying items that you desperately wanted, and essentials. This unfortunately led to almost being late to the scheduled Shinkansen you all had previously booked, the only option was to quickly run back to the luggage storage, and up the train station just in time before the train departed.

Everyone did their best to keep their heavy breathing in check, trying not to come off as rude to other passengers as well as saving yourselves from the embarrassment of unsolicited stares. You relaxed on the azure seat beneath, situated between the window and Kita—who sat in between you and Atsumu, the other two were on the next row over.

Your gaze turned to the large window beside you, overlooking the opposing platform as the engine of the Shinkansen quietly whirred, signalling the impending departure. Due to the non-rush hour at the quiet time of 1:57 PM, it wasn’t packed at all, only a few commuters coming in and out of the station to get on with their day-to-day routine.

As the Shinkansen slowly advanced to full speed, the outside view quickly turned into a mix of blurred hues; tall buildings decorating Central Tokyo gradually turned into greenery and suburban areas.

The afternoon sun peeked from the winter ivory clouds, seeping into the window to cast a radiant, warm glow upon the three of you. A subtle reflection of Atsumu’s peaceful profile projected on the glassy panel, allowing you to carefully trace each and every detail of his handsome features—the slope of his nose, flaxen strands framing his face, and those rosy pink lips you’ve always longed to touch with your own.

Tucking your chin atop a palm, you shamelessly stared at your friend’s reflection through the window—you watched as his honeyed eyes focused on the scenery before him, angling his head your way to get a good look of the view. Atsumu’s lips ever so slightly pursed with pure fascination, his Adam's apple bobbing with awe, you presumed with the speed of the Shinkansen.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Staring a little hard, aren’t we?”

You were met with Kita’s warm gaze as you whipped your head around, albeit, rather quickly as if caught doing something you shouldn’t be. His stare held a hint of mischief—something that rarely ever occurred which caused your cheeks to shamelessly heat up. The man wasn’t even fully teasing you or anything—not that he normally did so—but it roused quite a reaction from you: fidgeting at the hem of your jacket, gaze avoiding Kita’s expectant ones, the slight part of your lips, not to mention the small stutter your heart did but you weren’t going to let him know.

Absolutely not.

On the other hand, Atsumu stared out the same window, albeit, not directly at the view outside but rather at the reflection of your side profile on the glassy panel as you animatedly explained yourself to Kita. He couldn’t hear what the two of you were talking about as he resorted to using earbuds a few moments ago, blocking out the white noise.

Atsumu let out a small chuckle—one that was drowned by the hum of the Shinkansen—as he admired you from the window, a subtle smile involuntarily forming at the look of your flustered state. How adorable. Naturally, his eyes drifted down to your plush lips as it moved with every spoken word; Atsumu could only fantasise the feeling of it against his own.

The blonde swiped his tongue across his bottom lip before letting out a small huff, and closing his eyes shut—stubbornly depriving himself of your beauty.

More than a few times in the past, Atsumu has caught himself shamelessly wandering along the borders of ‘friends’ and ‘lovers’, brazenly walking along the fine line that split the two territories—as a matter of fact, in his eyes, the line was so damn thin that it almost appeared blurry. Dangerously blurry. But Atsumu was a thrill seeker, and would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to venture out into the uncharted territory called ‘lovers’.

For as long as he could remember, Atsumu has been patiently sitting by this uncharted territory—endlessly waiting for the day where he’d finally be able to cross that line without any hesitation in his bones. It was delusional of him, really, because at the very back of his mind—carefully tucked and hidden—Atsumu knew he probably didn’t stand a chance. That one day, he’d helplessly watch another man effortlessly cross the line.

He could only hope that was him.

Fortunately, the rest of the train ride was peaceful until Mount Fuji came into view from the distance; the stratovolcano proudly stood in all its icy glory, looking over Shizuoka and Yamanashi—its snow-capped tip slightly peeking from a blanket of clouds. The five of you didn’t hesitate to pull out your phones to start taking photos of the famed mountain, all amazed by its conical form.

After a few more clicks of the symbolic Fujisan, with selfies here and there, the train finally arrived in Shizuoka Station—greeted by the city’s skyline surrounded by impressive sights of nature. Hauling your respective mini luggages, and shopping bags from Tokyo, the five of you, surprisingly, made it to the hotel—located in the heart of Shizuoka—only a stone’s throw from the train station.

Greeted with a homey view, the hotel’s vast foyer was warmly lit, decorated with artificial plants here and there along with lots of comfortable spaces to sit on. Faint jazz music filled the rather deserted place, footsteps along its marbled ivory floors echoing loudly. Kita, and Osamu made their way to the counter—the latter only trailing behind to inquire about amenities—whereas Suna beelined for the nearest toilet, leaving you and Atsumu on luggage duty.

Great.

The blonde unceremoniously plopped down next to you, cream-coloured couch groaning beneath his weight as he yawned, pairing it with a full body stretch. How cute. It reminded you of a cat stretching right after waking up, face scrunched and all. Atsumu sat way too close for your liking, the heat of his right side spilling onto your left—it wasn’t even a comfortable kind of warmth, no, it mirrored the intensity of a hot, sunny day. Despite the lack of skin contact, his touch lit your body with a searing blaze. You scratched at your neck, the familiar prickling sensation coming back for the nth time.

It was awfully quiet, the crisp winter air turning thick, and awkward as each slow second passed. All of a sudden, the wooden coffee table before you looked rather interesting, eyes tracing its natural surface pattern. It didn’t look this cool a few seconds ago. The faint jazz music still played from the hotel speakers, a mocking symbol of the lack of conversation between you and Atsumu.

The latter awkwardly cleared his throat, hand coming up to rub at his nape—a nervous habit he’s picked up, and you knew that too. He turned his mind upside down, and inside out to think of anything just to clear the somewhat awkward air between the two of you but his thoughts fell short. For the first time in a while, Atsumu was rendered speechless. When did it get like this?

“We should do a bike tour. I saw an ad for one outside just before we came in.”

Suna strode over to the two of you, hands snug inside his pockets. What a life saver. “I think it's like a 3-hour tour, though.” He muttered before pulling his phone out, mindlessly scrolling on it.

“Won’t it be snowy?” Osamu replied from behind, Kita trailing closely, room keys and a pamphlet in hand. “Shizuoka has very little snowfall. I think we’ll be fine.” The ivory-haired male interjected, earning a hum from Suna. Before the group could further discuss today’s plans, you spoke up,

“I can’t even ride a bike.”

“Ditto.” Atsumu groaned.

“Well. Technically, I can. Jus’ a bad experience from childhood. Haven’t gotten on one since then and not about ta start now.” The male beside you shrugged whereas his twin chuckled at the recollection. Must’ve been quite a memory for the two, you presumed.

You shook your head, reassuring the group, “Don’t mind me. I can rest up a bit while you all go out.” It wasn’t much of a big deal, anyway. Plus, a good 3-hour nap sounded like absolute heaven to you right now, especially after waking up early this morning. It was only the first day of the trip, and there were more planned activities ahead with the group so you didn’t mind.

The door to the hotel room opened up to a cosy, expansive suite inspired by traditional tearoom elements in Japanese-style—gasping at the intricate vases and traditional scrolls that decorated the room. The suite included two Tatami rooms—excluding the small kitchen, and living room—adorned with cosy futons. Overlooking the vast city of Shizuoka, it gave a sense of luxury amongst the homey vibes of the room.

A few shuffling here, and there, the group agreed to part ways for a bit, and reconvene for dinner—Suna, Kita, and Osamu headed for the bike tour whereas you and Atsumu stayed behind for a much needed peaceful rest.

If peaceful was even the word to describe it.

“We’ll see ya at dinner. Have fun.” Osamu shot his brother a look, one that made you stop in your tracks. A subtle smirk plastered all over the former’s face which looked just like the usual expression Atsumu always wore, it didn’t help how Osamu looked exactly like him.

What the hell?

A resounding thud reverberated throughout the walls as the door shut behind the silver-haired male. There was a slight pause, a heartbeat of silence before Atsumu turned to you, hands on his hips, mirroring the smirk his brother gave just a few seconds ago. You gulped, meeting his honeyed gaze.

“Looks like it’s just me and ya with three hours ta spare, huh?”

Three hours with Miya Atsumu. Alone. How convenient.

—

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tags: @ushijimaschubbs @tsumudoll @starlitsawamura @littlemiyastars (kind reminder to turn your mentions on!)

© atsumou 2024 | don’t plagiarise, repost or steal my gif

Glitter and Rot

What better way to bring in the new year that with my favourite, degenerate twins. Happy belated new year, y'all <33

Miya Osamu x female reader x Miya Atsumu

w.c 6.8k

tw: extreme dub-con, themes of infidelity, major character death, smut lite, slight gore/violence, somnophilia if you squint, murder, and, as always, yandere themes

The rain comes heavy, soaking the dirt beneath your bare feet. 

The cotton of your nightgown, drenched, plastered to your skin, does little to keep the chill of the midnight air from seeping into your bones. Raindrops fall from the leaves of the trees above you, dripping onto your shoulder, clinging to the ends of your hair, your eyelashes. 

In the mountains, away from the city lights, the night glitters with stars, streaks of soft moonlight spilling through the canopy on clear nights. Tonight, though, with the rain clouds looming ominously overhead, there’s no light beyond the sole beam of torchlight, steadily making its way closer towards you.

Your toes wriggle in the earth. Run. 

He calls out your name, twigs snapping in the undergrowth behind you. 

How… how did you get out here? 

The wind picks up, biting at your soaked, exposed skin. You shiver, and he calls your name again. This time you can hear a note of concern – not quite panic, though. Not yet. 

Run, that quiet voice urges.  

You take a step. Another–

And the torchlight finds you. Squinting under the sudden bright light shining on your face, there’s only a sigh, and the beam shifts downwards.

A familiar countenance peers back at you through the rain; dark hair, grey eyes, a strong jaw. Your husband. 

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack one’a these days, sweetheart,” Osamu says, with a wry sort of laugh. “C’mon, let’s get’cha home.”

Holding an umbrella in one hand and the torch in the other, he passes you the latter so that his arm can snake around your middle, tucking you into his side and out of the rain. Unbothered by the dampness of your skin, he presses a kiss to your temple, his thumb rubbing at your side.

“… I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t know– I don’t remember–”

He squeezes you side, offers you a crooked smile as he helps you back through the trees. Back home. “It’s fine, the Doc said this could happen, remember?” 

You do, vaguely. The Doctor had said a lot that day, most of it lost to the ringing in your ears. 

Neither of you say much as you make the trek back to the house. There’s a gentleness to the way he helps you peel off your sodden nightgown, letting the shower heat up before ushering you in. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him again, when he passes you the big, fluffy towel to rub yourself dry. 

Sorry for causing him to worry. Sorry for making him chase after you in the rain in the middle of the night. Sorry that you can’t remember what came before, the life you built with him and all the happiness surrounding it.

You feel like a shell, hollow and useless. You don’t know why he keeps putting up with it, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a nasty voice whispers that he won’t for much longer.

But Samu just shakes his head with a snort, “Don’t be stupid. You’re my wife, ya don’t apologise for anythin’.”

You muster a weak smile in return, quickly glancing away. He’s only being polite, you remind yourself, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. Accident or not, none of this is ideal. It’s been weeks now, and you haven’t gotten better. Your memories are still gone, and no one can tell you with any degree of certainty when or if they’re going to come back, not to mention that tonight officially marks the third time you’ve wandered off in your sleep.

What if your memories don’t come back? What if you never return to the person you used to be? 

Before this you had a family, friends, a history. Likes, dislikes, funny stories from your childhood and weird habits. The things that shape who you are from where you’ve been. You’re just supposed to slide back into the life you had, but how can you when you don’t know who that person was?

What kind of man would want–

“Hey,” he says, catching your jaw to coax your face back up. Grey eyes appraise you, a frown pulling at his features. “I mean it. None of this is your fault. Not the accident, or your memories, the sleepwalking, none of it. And I’m not going anywhere either, alright?”

He holds your gaze, surveying you intently until you bob your head in agreement. 

“Good girl. Now are ya comin’ back to bed or are ya planning on leavin’ your poor husband high and dry for a second time tonight?”

Your cheeks heat, the heaviness between you easing somewhat as amusement dances across his face. He’s handsome, almost intimidatingly so – striking features and excellent bone structure. Something coils in your stomach as the weight of his gaze bores into you. Taking your face in his palms, his thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone. Slowly. 

Your mouth parts then, but whatever response you have is lost as his lips descend on yours, kissing you deeply. 

When he pulls away, when you’re breathless and slightly dazed, satisfaction and more than a touch of pride gleams from his expression.

“Though we might have to invest in some better locks. Don’t want ya wandering off too far on me.”

—

Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you.

As if you’ve woken in someone else’s life, or a dream, and it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down and you’re whisked away back to reality. A handsome, devoted husband, not one but two houses – the mountainside retreat you’re staying at while you get better, and a place in the city you haven’t yet seen – even the ring on your finger, the bright, sparkling diamond that sits next to your platinum wedding band. 

How can it be real? 

He tells you that the two of you work together in his restaurant back home, and that too  sounds sweet in an oddly domestic way.

And looks can be deceiving, you know that. Money, success, the image of a perfectly happy couple, it doesn’t mean anything. Façades can crack, rot can fester beneath the surface, slowly eating away. 

Everything he tells you sounds so… good.

You’re happy. In love. Fulfilled with your job and comfortable enough financially for the both of you to take the time off while you’re still trying to fix the broken pieces of yourself.

Accident aside, no one gets everything they want. Surely no one can be this happy. 

There’s a niggling sense of unease that bites and gnaws. No one can be this happy. 

There’s a woman who keeps calling Osamu’s phone. You know because those are the calls he lets ring out, ignoring them until he thinks you’re asleep or busy, distracted by whatever task he’s set you on for the day. 

He calls her Hikari. No, that’s not entirely true now, is it – he calls her Kari. 

“Kari, you know I wanna be there, but I can’t. Things are just– it’s not a good time right now, s’all.”

And the house is quiet enough that you can hear her desperate sniffles on the other end of the line, “Samu, please, this is important. I need you back here.”

He huffs, running a hand through his sleep mussed hair, pacing the length of the living room. “I can’t,” he repeats. “I’m sorry, I am, but after everythin’… it’s too much.”

She cries again, and it’s a strange thing but your heart squeezes in response. She sounds so broken, so lost and scared, a fragile, pitiable thing. “… I know… “ her voice trembles, “Despite what happened, I know you still care about her. I need you to come back. Please, Samu.”

You slip away then, unable to bear it anymore.

Sliding back beneath the covers of your bed, you let out the shuddering breath you’d been holding, trying to process the conversation you’d overheard. 

There were perhaps other explanations beyond an affair, but as you lie there, mulling it over, none come to mind. If she were a friend–

‘I know you still care about her.’

No. You’re not that naive. Maybe you were before the accident, or maybe you had suspicions, hell, maybe you’d physically caught him in the act – you suppose none of that matters anymore, does it? All that matters is what you’re going to do with this new development.

And as your husband returns a few minutes later, crawling into bed beside you, an arm hooked over your waist, the warmth of his muscular frame pressed up against your back chasing away the winter chill, you wonder if he sees this as some kind of atonement.

Osamu exhales, nuzzling closer in an effort to get more comfortable, and amidst the strange heaviness in your chest, you close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep. 

—

If Osamu knows that you eavesdropped on his call last night, he gives no indication come morning. Although, admittedly, that might be because of your visitor.

The day the Doctor came to the house, he’d said a lot about what was happening to you. A result of head trauma, there was no telling if or when your memories might return. 

He’d spoken to Osamu, taking your concerned looking husband aside just before he’d left.

“What did he say?” you’d asked when he’d returned dutifully to your side.

He hadn’t answered straight away, choosing instead to reach out and take your hand in his. For a moment, his focus remained on your entwined fingers, and then he’d said, “To take things slow. Too many people, too much it might… might overwhelm ya. Until things are better, it’s best if it’s just you ‘n me.”

Today, apparently, marked a change to that, because his twin brother was arriving to stay for a little while. 

Which, shortly after mid morning, he does. 

Naturally, you’ve seen pictures, you and the twins back in highschool, posing with a friend of theirs, grinning toothily and laughing at the camera. Seeing the two of them in person, though – it’s a whole other ball game.

Next to each other, they’re a mirror image, but… not. Tiny, subtle differences that weirdly make them appear more similar than less. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and yet you have no other way of explaining it. 

Osamu stands at your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as his brother pulls up front in a fancy, fast looking car. Atsumu, however, pays him no mind,  eyes – a few shades browner than his brother’s – fixed solely on you, a familiar, smirking grin broadening across his handsome visage.

Osamu tells you that the three of you are close, yet with only a faint, glimmering recognition and your husband’s words to fall back on, it’s hard to know how you’re supposed to greet someone you once knew and loved.

With an arm loosely wrapped around your front, you settle for a smile. 

Atsumu notes this with a raised eyebrow. “Aw, c’mon now, that ain’t no way to greet your favourite twin, is it?”

Before you can stop him he’s on you, yanking you away from Osamu so he can pick you up into a near crushing hug, spinning you around for good measure. You shriek and bury your face in his neck, clinging to him while he laughs, eventually setting you down on wobbly feet.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, ignoring Samu’s disapproving scowl in favour of taking you in, hands settling on your waist. And there must be some giveaway, a hesitance he notes because his demeanour turns curious, head tilting to the side, “Still nothin’, huh?”

You shake your head, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Feels like that’s all you’re capable of saying lately. 

“Nah, don’t be. Not your fault.”

While you don’t necessarily agree – it’s hard not to think of any of this as some kind of moral failing, as though the only reason you can’t recover those precious memories is because you’re simply not trying hard enough – it’s… nice having someone else around to help fill in the gaps a little.

Not that you aren’t endlessly grateful to Osamu – more than you actually know how to convey to him, and you have tried. It’s just that when you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, being watched over by a man you didn’t recognise, and with no memories of who you were or what had happened, you hadn’t reacted well.

Being your husband (the issue of fidelity aside), he’s supposed to be the person who matters the most to you, and you assume that’s a two way street. In a sense, forgetting him is its own kind of betrayal, with that comes the heaviness of expectations and fears and awfulness.

Plus, things have been… strained between you two, lately. 

So yes, having Atsumu here as a sort of buffer between you two is a relief. Having someone else to help fill in the gaps in your life, to tell you about the person you used to be – the one you’re trying to fit back into – even more so.

“That year we made it all the way to the finals before gettin’ knocked out.”

His finger draws across the picture; the volleyball team, sweaty and defeated, bowing before the roaring crowd. All these years later, now a pro playing in arguably one of the best teams in the country (according to him), a two-time Olympic medalist, and he still sounds pissed about it.

You bite back a giggle, following when he turns the page of the year book. “I dunno, second in the nation when you’re still in high school doesn't sound too bad to me.”

“You were there that day.” 

Glancing up, you find Osamu considering the two of you from the kitchen, elbow deep in food prep for dinner. “I was?”

He nods. “Yeah. Ya came to all our games, right from the start.”

“There,” Atsumu taps on the next page, a picture of a younger you cheering wildly from the stands, hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your shouts, maroon ribbons in your hair. “Our cute little cheerleader.”

“We begged ya to become our manager, but ya kept turnin’ us down,” Samu adds, then smirks, “Said you couldn’t stand being around Tsumu for another ten hours a week.”

The dig reaches its mark, Atsumu sneering as he flips Samu the bird, while his other arm slides from the backrest of the couch to drape over your shoulders. You hardly notice, utterly transfixed by the book on Tsumu’s lap. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how weird it is to be seeing these pictures, like peering into some alternate universe; you, but not you. You look happy, though.

It makes your heart ache a little.

Did you like sports, or was it more of a school pride sort of thing, you wonder. Or was it them – him, really – who drew you into it? If you watched a game now, would you feel anything, some glint of recognition? Excitement?

Flipping the page, you study the various pictures until one in particular catches your eye – only after a second glance. To be fair, the photo isn’t of you – well, it is, but you’re not the focus. Rather it’s of two girls who appear to be in the same year as you, posing cutely with each other on the school’s courtyard. Behind them, though, in the background there’s a wooden picnic bench in the shade of an oak. Perched cross-legged atop it, sitting amongst piled up books and notes, there’s you – and you’re not alone.

Shoulders back, eyes closed, soaking in the rays of the sun filtering through the leaves sits another boy. Not Osamu, one of his teammates, a dark haired kid you recognise from a bunch of the old photos they’d shown you.

The image itself might not be so remarkable – you’re not doing anything all that interesting, one of a number of people captured in the background, and slightly out of focus at that– if not for the one tiny detail that has a strange feeling racing through your heart.

Barely visible but for the way you study it, your hand is curled in his. 

“– listenin’?”

“Huh?”

Mid-way through scraping out his rice, Osamu fixes you with an odd expression. Atsumu, however, just snickers and flicks your forehead. “Ya always were a little spacey.”

Halfheartedly, you chuckle along with him.

The smart thing to do – perhaps the right thing – would be to leave it. 

Samu told you the two of you dated right through high school, so it can’t be anything like that. There’s a possibility the two of you were just close. Good friends, judging by how often he appears in the photos with you and the twins. He’d told you your parents, the only family you had, died in an accident years ago, but Samu hasn’t really spoken much about your friends. You know why, and understand it to an extent – he doesn’t want to stress you out unnecessarily, not while you’re still so fragile.

‘The doc said we gotta take things slow, baby.’

Nevertheless, your lips part, the question burning on the tip of your tongue–

Suddenly, as has become a frequent occurrence in the past few days, Osamu’s phone blares to life, the loud vibrations against the marble countertop startling all three of you. 

He doesn’t answer it, by this point you no longer expect him to. 

—

You dream of fingers running through dark hair, of lips smiling lazily. Someone laughing, ‘You’re an idiot.’

There’s a warmth, a slow burning heat that ignites in your body, trailing from your jaw, down the slope of your neck, dancing along delicate collarbone, another unfurling deep within your core. You chase the pleasant sensations, a soft, pretty moan drawn from parted lips. 

Only when teeth bite down, a tender nip to sensitive flesh are you roused from your dreams to find your husband straddling you, his mouth now between your breasts, dark eyes that glint in the low morning light taking in your visage as you slowly come to. 

“S-Samu, wha–”

“Shh.” He chuckles, your stomach flipping at the deep rumble, “Relax. Gonna make ya feel good, baby.”

Whatever protests you might have (if you have any at all) are lost when you realise that the heat pooling in your guts is due to the two digits Osamu has curled up inside of you, slowly easing in and out.

It isn’t the first time the two of you have been intimate since the accident, and while you hadn’t fought him those times either, there’s a slight niggling sensation, nearly lost to the burgeoning pleasure, that twists and knots at the thought of what’s to come.

There’s no possible way of knowing how often you’ve had sex with each other in the years you’ve been together. For him, this must be old hat. For you though, with no frame of reference, no past partners to call to mind, there’s an edge of vulnerability you wish you could get rid of.

A hesitance you don’t give a voice to – not that Samu offers you much of an opening to do so. 

Pushing up the hem of your nightdress, your husband lifts your hips enough to ease off your panties, dragging them slowly down smooth legs until they’re dangling from one ankle, and you kick them aside.

Spreading them either side of his broad frame, Osamu stands briefly to rid himself of his own underwear, crawling on all fours back between your legs – gripping one thigh to sink his teeth into soft, delectable flesh – his tongue quick to soothe the hurt when you cry out.

“A-Atsumu, he’s gonna wake up,” you murmur as he once more takes you by the waist, hefting you forward so that you lie flush against him, your legs hiked up over his hips. 

The very last thing you want right now is an audience.

With one hand, he strokes his cock with the fingers that had been buried inside your pussy, spreading the glistening mix of your slick and his pre over the thick member. The other’s planted near your shoulder, keeping him stable while he rolls his hips forward, slowly bullying his cock into your warm, tight little cunt. Osamu grins roguishly, lowering his top half down to hover above you as you fist at the sheets, your spine arcing, ankles locking over his back.

“Maybe–” he grunts, relishing in the sounds of your sweet cries and gasps as he inches his way into stuffing you full. “Maybe I want him to hear.”

—

A heavy weight drops onto the couch beside you. “Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You fiddle with the rings on your left hand. How many times now have you caught yourself toying with them, completely lost in contemplation, their weight on your finger almost foreign? 

A few times now you’ve taken them off to wash up and forgotten about them entirely, not noticing their absence until Samu himself comes to take your hand in his and slide them back on. 

Did you used to do that before the accident?

No… no, you probably spent days marvelling at them, wiggling your fingers to make the diamond sparkle in the light. You were probably enthralled by the pretty thing. Blissfully in love. 

Happy.

“I think Osamu’s cheating on me.”

You don’t dare raise your eyeline when you say it, afraid of what you’ll see. You might be his wife, however poor a job you’re currently doing, yet the one person Osamu’s closest to is undeniably his brother. 

Since Tsumu arrived three days ago, all they’ve done is bicker between themselves, and yet without either of them saying as much, the writing’s on the wall. It’s in the looks they share, full of silent conversations you’re not privy to and won’t ever have a hope of understanding. In the way they move around each other, that implicit, frankly unnerving trust they have with one another. 

There are things Osamu can’t share with you – or won’t, maybe – but there’s not a doubt in your mind that if Samu were sleeping with somebody else, if he loved them as he claimed to love you, Atsumu knows about it.

It’s not confirmation that you’re searching for, though. You doubt he’d admit it to begin with – between you and Samu, there’s no question of which side his loyalty falls. This isn’t about that.

For days now, weeks, you’ve had this gnawing pit in your stomach that keeps getting worse, and worse and worse. 

With each day that passes, you should be making some kind of progress towards regaining your memories or, if not that, then at the very least becoming more comfortable around him. Yet you still feel like a stranger inhabiting this body, and to make matters worse, your marriage might be failing before you can try to adjust yourself to it. 

Atsumu’s really the last person you should be saying this to. It’s the sort of thing you accidentally let slip to a friend after one too many glasses of wine, letting them comfort you and offer advice, commiserate, even.

Yet Samu won’t so much as bring up the friends you had before for fear of making things worse – because you’re fragile and weak, and you haven’t shown any signs of getting better. From the complete and utter radio silence on their ends, you can only assume none of them bothered to fight him on it. 

Again, rationally speaking you can understand it – that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in its own bitter way.

Beside you, Atsumu laughs. Actually laughs. 

Indignation – hurt – burns, heating your cheeks as your hands curl into pathetic little fists in your lap and shake. Much to your dismay, tears prickly uncomfortably at your waterline. You go to say something, only for a lump to settle in your throat, blocking all noise. You didn’t think he’d spill the truth just like that, but to laugh at you?

In a split second decision you start to rise, planning on stalking off to go lick your wounds alone in your bedroom until Samu comes home, when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

He chuckles again when he’s met with your poisonous glare, “Hey, c’mon. Don’t run away, I wasn’t laughin’ atcha.”

Raising an eyebrow, you scoff. His lips curl into a smirk, hands coming up in a peaceful gesture. “Okay, okay, I was but… s’just funny to me that you think Samu’d ever look twice at another girl. He’s been in love with ya pretty much from day one.” 

The words should be more of a reassurance than they are. Your shoulders rise and fall, a tight shrug as your gaze dips once more to your lap, to the rings that shine mockingly on your left hand. 

Atsumu, however, isn’t so willing to drop the subject. 

“Nah, you don’t get to say some wild shit like that ‘n then go all quiet on me. Explain.”

If you got up and left, would he follow you? Probably, you muse. If anything, Atsumu’s proven over the past few days that he’s nothing if not persistent. He’s clearly amused, at your expense, mind you, yet the way he scrutinises you now, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that reminds you of a dog with a bone. 

No, he won’t let this go.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you shrug again, “There’s this girl– woman, I guess. She keeps calling him… Samu won’t talk to her if I’m around.” You swallow tightly, “I–I overheard them, the last time she rang, and…” 

“What’d ya hear?”

You fiddle with the hem of your skirt as that tell tale prickle stings at your tear ducts. After your early morning tumble in the sheets, you’d thought that things might’ve been different between you two. But Samu still left, some hollow excuse about running errands, and all you can think is that he’s with her now, that whatever you gave wasn’t enough and–

“Look at me.” Atsumu’s no longer laughing. If anything, he actually looks mildly pissed off by the whole thing, his jaw tightening even as he tries for a reassuring smile, scooching closer and touching your shoulder again, “What did she say to him?”

“She told him she needed him, begged him to come home.” Your voice breaks, just as the dam to your tears do, tumbling down your cheeks as your shoulders shake and crumple inwards. 

Atsumu runs his tongue over his teeth before muttering a quiet curse, and you suppose that that’s confirmation enough. Without a word he pulls you into his arms, your face held to his chest while he strokes your back and you cling to him in turn, letting all the frustration and grief and confusion of the past few weeks spill out  of you in horrid, trembling cries. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, half cradled in Atsumu’s lap before he finally speaks, “I don’t care what ya heard. Samu loves you more than anythin’, we both do. He ain’t gonna throw that away for nobody.”

Drawing back, he takes your cheek in one hand, cupping it in his palm, the broad pad of his thumb sweeping away the remnants of your tears with a tenderness that near breaks your heart. 

“I mean it,” he says. You’re close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles your skin, that you can count every last one of his eyelashes. Your stomach flutters. “You mean everything to us. Nothin’s gonna get in the way of that.”

And before you can stop him, before you can blink, Atsumu’s closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours. 

Like a computer short circuiting, there’s nothing you can do but freeze and falter as he kisses you, wholly unbothered by your lack of participation. His lips are surprisingly soft, warm as they move against yours, and while his tongue brushes along your lower lip, he makes no real effort to deepen it, seemingly content with the contact he has. 

Your heart pounds against your ribcage so violently that it drowns out all other noise. Your stomach twists, flips, churning as he moans softly into your mouth, but for the life of you, you can’t move, can’t stop this. You’re frozen. Shellshocked. Only when Atsumu breaks away, pupils dilated, eyes slightly glazed over, wearing a stupid, self satisfied little grin do you finally gain control over your body again.

By that point, he’s already shifting to settle you back on the couch, rising himself. “Samu and I love ya. We aren’t goin’ anywhere, stop worrying your pretty little head about it, yeah?”

And then he’s walking away, whistling as he goes.

—

A little while later, Atsumu calls out that he’s going for a run. You don’t acknowledge it. 

The front door opens. Closes. The sun moves across the sky, minutes tick by, and eventually he returns, sweaty and panting, popping his head in the door to make sure you’re right where he left you.

The whole time you sit stationary on your bed, staring vacantly out the window to the forest that lies beyond. Numb, just numb.

“Gonna go have a shower, then I think you ‘n me should talk before Samu gets back.” He waits and you don’t acknowledge him. Shrugging off his shirt, something wicked enters his expression, “Unless ya wanna come join me?”

That, finally, gets a reaction; your head jerking back to regard him with wide, scandalised eyes, “What?”

He winks, snickers when your gaze drops briefly below his shoulders, eyeing his muscular chest, the well defined planes of his stomach. A bead of sweat rolls from his neck, you track its path with a rapt focus, down to his navel, the smattering of hair there, the cut of the V shaped muscles that draw your attention towards– 

Abruptly, you force your attention upwards, cheeks burning as blood rushes to your face.

Atsumu, grinning smugly, missed none of it. “Next time, then.”

And with that, he waltzes off, leaving the door ajar.

… What the hell?

What the actual fuck?

Head reeling, you have no idea how you’re supposed to process this sudden shift in… well, everything. Had this – you and Atsumu – happened before? Did Osamu know about it? 

Were you cheating, too? 

Was that what your relationship with Osamu was; two deeply unhappy people screwing countless others to avoid fixing whatever it was that festered between them.

Your mind jumps to the picture you’d seen in the year book, you and that boy on the picnic bench, your hand wrapped around his. Osamu told you that you’d been dating ever since your high school days, had you been unfaithful that whole time – spreading your legs for his friends and brother until he gave up trying to be loyal in return?

You feel sick at the thought. 

What other option is there, though? What explanation? Either Atsumu’s being particularly cruel and messing with you, or he isn’t and you’re apparently more than okay fucking not only your husband but his brother as well.

‘Despite what happened, I know you still care about her.’ Hikari’s words ring mockingly in your head. All this time you’ve been so bent out of shape over the idea of Osamu with another woman, and it’s now occurring to you that maybe you might’ve been the one to drive him to it.

Despite what happened.

You draw in a shuddering breath, you bring a hand to your lips, either to stifle a sob or to keep yourself from throwing up, you’re not entirely sure which. 

And as the sound of running water filters through the room, so too does a sense of calm clarity. 

For weeks now you’ve been trying to make this work, trying to slip back into the person you were, a life that you don’t truly remember.

And it isn’t working. 

You still don’t feel normal around Osamu. You don’t remember anything, and despite what you’d been told from the start – despite fighting it every step of the way – you have to accept the possibility that that might not change.

Your spine straightens, the grip you have on the duvet easing as you take another, calmer breath in, letting it fill your lungs and clear your head.

The answer’s been staring you in the face this whole time. If you can’t find your way back to the life you led before you got hurt, perhaps rather than clinging to a past that doesn’t truly belong to you anymore, it’s time you cut it loose and walk away.

A clean break doesn’t sound like such a bad idea when the current situation promises nothing but messiness, hurt and heartbreak for everyone involved.

Even if the thought of going it alone is a terrifying one. 

Even if it means leaving the one – now two, you suppose – people who stood by your side in the aftermath behind.

And as if the universe senses the tumultuousness inside your head, the sharp, trilling sound of a ringtone shatters it, snapping you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. 

You figure that it must be Atsumu’s phone and despite being startled, you’re content to let it ring out – after all, it’s not your phone, not your business. 

Atsumu’s a professional athlete, an incredibly successful one at that, there could be any number of important people on the other end of the line, and if it’s critical, whoever it is can leave a message. You’re not his receptionist.

After a few seconds, the ringing stops. And begins again.

Frowning, you push yourself up from the bed, heading towards the dining room. Atsumu’s still in the shower, you can hear the faucet running, your only thought is that if it’s Samu and it’s something urgent, he won’t mind. 

Except when you find it, lit up and vibrating on the kitchen bench, the caller ID isn’t his twin’s. Again, the ringing stops, and again, after a short beat, it begins anew. 

The picture that fills the screen is of a pretty girl with dimples, her arms looped around a familiar looking brunet.

Not Osamu, but the boy from the yearbook. Older, of course, smiling lazily at the camera while she pokes her tongue out and throws up two peace signs. 

Little Suna, the caller ID tells you, and in brackets next to a sun emoji; Hikari.

Your heart squeezes, a thick lump settling in your throat as you survey the image of the two of them. But it isn’t dismay, or the hurt you’d felt earlier when Osamu was hiding her. You can’t put a finger on what it is exactly, only that looking at that picture fills you with an incomprehensible and near overwhelming sense of grief, like someone’s clawed their way into your chest, taken your still beating heart in their hand and slowly, agonisingly, ripped it from you.

Without consciously choosing to do so, you slide the little bar across, answering the call and clicking on the speaker icon.

“H-hello?”

The silence you’re met with is heavy. Pregnant. Why did you pick up? Why the hell did you answer?! Panic and common sense sets in and you silently curse yourself for being so stupid, your finger moving to hurriedly tap the end call button. 

And then you hear her gasp, a tiny, sharp little thing that spears right through you. Hikari stutters your name, “You… Wha– they… they found you?”

She starts to laugh then, or maybe she’s sobbing, it’s difficult to tell exactly. 

“You’re okay?” she asks, the sound muffled by choked, ragged noises. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re okay! A-after they found Rin, I-I thought–”

White noise drowns her out.

… Rin.

Rin…taro. 

Suna.

Your knees go weak, giving way beneath you. Pain sings through your kneecaps as they collide with the wooden floorboards, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that overtakes your chest, spreading with every beat of your frantic heart until it’s the only thing you can feel, and you cling to it. Desperate. Gasping.

There’s a frantic noise somewhere, Hikari calling your name; it’s lost to the pounding haze. Nothing more than the buzz of a gnat flittering around your head.

Every thought eddies from your head, only him. Only that name; Suna Rintaro.

And suddenly–

“You’re an idiot, you know?”

You laugh, throwing an arm around his shoulder as you wriggle your fingers in front of his face, admiring the sparkling ring. “But it’s so pretty, don’t you think? It suits me.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow when you turn to cheekily grin at him, “Considering I was the one who picked it, yeah, that was kind of the idea.”

Giggling, you stretch up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

………

“Gin can’t make it. Somethin’ about his girlfriend and the baby,” Rin mutters, appearing in the doorway of your bedroom. “So it’ll just be us and the twins, I guess.”

“Well geez, no need to sound too excited about it,” you say, eyeing your boyfriend – fiancé now, you have to keep reminding yourself – from the mirror as you battle with the clasp of your necklace. “It’s fine, we’ll see him when we see Kita and the others next month.”

A few seconds pass with no sign of victory, and Rin rolls his eyes, “Let me.” 

He comes up behind you, taking the delicate gold chain from your fingers and nimbly clasping it shut in what feels like a mockery of your struggles. Adjusting the pendant so that it falls better, he exhales, letting his arms fold loosely around you, his chin coming to a rest atop your head. 

The faint crease between his brows, the set of his jaw – to anyone else he might appear bored, annoyed even. You aren’t so easily fooled. You know Rin, know better than to push. It’s not hard to guess what’s bothering him, though. “You think it’ll be weird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugs, “I think it’ll be weirder without Gin.”

“It was years ago, they’ve both moved on – a long, long time ago. They’re our friends, Rin. The only thing they’re gonna be is happy for us.”

………

A hand covering your mouth, another roughly shaking your shoulder, rousing you from sleep. “Shh, shh, it’s just me. There’s someone in the house,” Rin’s voice whispers in your ear. “Get under the bed and don’t make a sound, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Rin–”

“Not a fucking sound!” he hisses, and quietly slips from the bed. As if on cue, a loud shattering noise cuts through the room, and terror, absolute terror, grips you. You do as he bids, limbs shaking and clumsy, the sound of every breath enhanced in the quiet stillness Rintaro leaves behind. You clamp a hand over your mouth to try and muffle it.

You wait, and wait, trembling in the darkness.

And then a crash, heavier than the last one. Rintaro’s yelling, more voices raised, more muted thumps, grunting and howling bellows of agony that have every hair on your body standing on end, and abruptly–

Silence.

It rings in your ear, echoing.

Your pulse thunders, every beat of your heart pumping a paralysing mix of fear and panic through your body. You’re shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down your cheeks as you try – try so desperately – not to make a noise like Rin told you to.

The footsteps that approach have your blood running cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wheezing terrified breaths as you choke back sobs and pray that they won’t find you. 

You aren’t that lucky.

You aren’t that quiet.

They stop at the foot of the bed. Two of them. One bends down, a hand finding your ankle and with a snickering laugh, yanks you out into the open. 

You scream and fight against the figures clad head to toe in black, thrashing like a wild thing for all the good that it does you. You’re determined not to go easy – at least, not until they carry you out past the living room, the mess they left there.

Rin, but not Rin. Not with his face brutalised like that, his skull all caved in, limbs broken and splayed out all wrong.

No.

No, no, no, no.

One eye, empty and lifeless, staring back–

It’s too much.

You blink, jerking back to the present with a heaving gasp. Glancing up, your gut tightens into a knot as two things become starkly apparent. 

One; Osamu’s finally returned, standing half frozen in the doorway, appraising you with an uncharacteristically cold expression.

Two; it’s deathly quiet. Turning your head, you find that the call with Kari’s gone silent, a shirtless Atsumu, hair damp, a towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips, gripping his phone, jaw tightly clenched.

It twists into an awful sort of forced grin when he notices you’ve come back to them. 

“I really, really wish ya hadn’t done that, baby.”

jeon jungkook fic recs!

❁ romantic dreams | jeon jungkook - @kooktrash (he’s always dreamt of finding his soulmate in some romantic way, bells ringing, birds chirping, maybe even a shine of light over their head. he never imagined to find them living next door to him with absolutely no clue to the extent of the growing infatuation he has toward you until it’s a little too late. hypnotized by your entire existence he finds his dreams and delusions of love to be a little too intense for anyone to bear.)

❁ Toned, Tanned, Fit & Ready - jungkook - @thvhoe (Jungkook loves acting like the word "Pain" doesn't exist in his vocabulary.)

❁ redamancy - jjk (part II) - @lesgetittkookie (jeongguk is just a normal dude with a simple routine. wake up, go to the gym, work his job as a waiter at this posh upscale restaurant in the heart of gangnam before coming home to a night full of video games and ramen (it's delicious and cheap). that routine gets disrupted when he accidentally taps the back of an expensive sports car of one of the richest men in south korea. considering he's broke, he couldn't afford to pay for the damages so the man makes a deal with him by offering him to work at his house as one of the gardeners. jeongguk takes it but wasn't prepared to meet this beautiful young woman who's constantly lounging by the pool, you, the rich man's daughter.)

❁ guys my age | jeon jungkook - @kooktrash (a summer spent at your friend’s place wasn’t something to be anything to look forward to. her hot, young dad would seem to change that for you when you decide a game of teasing would suffice your boredom. you got more than you bargained for when you realize he’s not a fan of games.)

❁ perfect timing. - jungkook - @delugguk (one night in a city full of life; what it's supposed to be a friendly and fun dinner date, ends up with a night full of unrevealed secrets and unexpected pleasure.)

❁ ⤷ seven days — jjk - @jvngkoos (jungkook does everything to make you forgive him for seven days, will you pity him and accept his apology?)

❁ visions - jungkook (yandere) - @trivia-yandere (you’re convinced by your friends to go to a party and let go of the memories of your ex just for one night. unfortunately for you, jungkook doesn’t want to be let go.)

❁ ⤷ got her skippin’ work — jjk - @jvngkoos (trying to go to work is an everyday challenge for you with a boyfriend like jungkook, and it’s one of those mornings where he does anything and everything to keep you in bed with him)

❁ ego season masterlist | jjk - @sparklingchim (your ex-high-school crush is now your fuck buddy. you just gotta make sure that your older brother taehyung, jungkook's best friend, doesn't catch you red-handed.)

❁ Devoted to Trouble - @jeonsweetpea (In which the whole world finds out Jungkook is Spider-Man, but he doesn’t care about anything but you. OR Can you survive seven days of Jungkook pining over you while his identity is exposed to the world?)

❁ RAINY DAYS | JEON JUNGKOOK - PART ONE - @rklve (your life choices left not only yours, but jungkook's heart broken in peaces. now you're back in town, and just like pluto, even if it's cold and dark, he tends to orbit around his sun forever.)

❁ seven days a week | jjk (m) masterlist - @jjkeverlast (jeon jungkook has always had crazy ideas, but wanting to fuck you every day of the week was the last thing you expected.)

❁ blueberry haze | jjk - @caelesjjk (he had been eye fucking you from the stage all night. but you never expected anything to come of it. but when you run into the beautiful blue haired drummer after the show, you decide to let him show you some of his other talents.)

❁ cabin fever | jjk (m) - @jeongi (trapped in a cabin with your ex-best friend jungkook, you’re forced to overcome the fallout between you two.)

Something About You (04) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, an aggressive man, minor injury (18+)

Word count: 16.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

Spending the holidays in Busan brings about unparalleled comfort, as Jungkook fills his days with video games, hangouts with Jimin in their favorite spots, riding his motorcycle, and home cooked meals. 

Whenever he’s at home, he feels like a child where he does whatever he wants and where he’s doted on by his parents, which he can’t really argue with as an adult.

It grounds him somehow. It reminds him of how he felt growing up - wanting to be valued and taken care of but also being trusted and respected. He knows that his students feel the same way as middle and high school kids who are just starting to figure things out. It’s always a good start to his year, and it gives him clarity and that sense of direction.

That’s probably the only good thing about being home this year because other than that, he’s reminded of his physical distance from you, the time you’re not spending together, and the conversations and banter you’re not having. 

You’re back in your hometown, too, and he knows that the holidays with your relatives is your favorite thing in the world. You’ve always been close with your cousins, as most of you spent your childhood at your grandparents’ farm. Only you and Hayoung are based in Seoul so it’s a celebration every time you visit. It’s busy times, too, as you spend the days playing with your nieces and nephews and driving around the surrounding towns.

Jungkook knows this, so he looks forward to your or Hayoung’s messages in the group chat, which would usually just be photos or a funny story or a little accident that involves you. It’s the only time he actually reads the messages and that itself is an indication that he misses you terribly, much more than he expected he would.

The Sapporo trip suddenly feels like a lifetime ago. He spent everyday with you - seeing you in the morning, teasing you throughout the day, being in your little bubble of weirdness, talking about serious and mundane things, and falling asleep to your adorable soft snoring. 

He thought that spending it how he did was his way of settling into his feelings for you - just feeling it, trying to figure it out or understand it. He still doesn’t know how he got here, even if he could point to some moments where things started to change. 

Perhaps he’s only thinking about it as much as he is because you don’t think that could just happen to you - that you could just one day feel differently about a person you’ve known for years. You feel intensely, instantaneously, and he supposes if you were ever to like him, you would’ve done so a long time ago but that ship never sailed and he’s unsure if it ever will.

That still doesn’t stop him from thinking about you though. He sees your photos and reads your sometimes short and sometimes long narrations of what you’re doing and he imagines your pouty face or constant complaints and it makes him smile. 

He thinks of teasing you about stubbing your toe or getting followed by bugs or your slow walking and that makes him feel giddy, too. Even the thought of you talking about current events and the pervasiveness of patriarchy in every aspect of social life is something he seeks. 

And then there are the puppy eyes and sweet smile when you want something that makes him want to just give it all to you. But there’s also the affection - your hugs, your playful smacking, your shoulder leaning, and the occasional hand on top of his that makes his heart take a leap just reminiscing about it. 

He feels a little silly, as he’s perhaps had hundreds of those moments with you in the past but he’s never thought much about them until recently. Until after your trip to Chungbuk, if he’s being specific. 

And now he replays them in his head over and over again just because he wants more, even if he’s the one who’s not texting nor replying, and he’s slowly losing his mind.

It’s been two weeks and other than your messages to the group, both of you haven’t spoken. He knows you’re busy and he’s the one with spare time. He could easily reach out to you and you’ll probably reply, but given all this yearning, he’s nervous he’ll overdo it, that he’ll say or do something out of the ordinary and you’ll see right through him.  

It’s the day of his trip back to Seoul. He and Jimin will drive out in the afternoon and they’re spending their last few hours in his living room, just playing games after a morning of riding his bike around town. 

His best friend’s phone rings and he puts the call on speaker while trying to score a goal in a game of FIFA. 

“Jiminie!” your voice cuts through the crowd cheering sound effect. “How’s my annoying best friend doing without me?”

The surprise from hearing you causes Jungkook’s mind to go blank. It leaves Jimin free near the net and he scores a point. 

“Finally!” Jimin yells. “Did you see that, Kook? You sucked and I kicked a goal.”

Jungkook waves him off, his pride not too hurt because only he knows his momentary lapse was because of you and not for his lack of skills.

“You’re with Kook?!” You chirp.

“Yeah, we’re playing video games in his house,” Jimin replies.

“Kook! How are you?! I miss you!” You shriek. “I didn’t know if you were alive because you weren’t reacting to my messages in the group chat. Did you know that I almost slipped into a gutter? And that we went hiking with my cousins and I slid down my butt?”

“He knows because I told him,” Jimin says. “It’s not like he reads messages.”

“Hey, I do,” Jungkook corrects. He really does though, very rarely. Recently, all the time when it’s from you. “You also rode an ATV and got stuck in the mud.”

“So you read my messages! Why didn’t you reply then!” You whine. 

“It’s pointless to laugh at you if you can’t hear or see me,” he reasons. “But yes, I saw them. Everyone was posting about how their holidays were going so I read through them.”

“Well, you would’ve laughed hard if you saw me.”

“And then you would’ve smacked me for doing so,” Jungkook points out.

“That is very true. Then you would’ve scolded me but then proceeded to treat my wounds,” you giggle. “As expected. Anyway, what have you bums been up to?”

“What do bums do, ___?” Jimin replies after making a defensive play. “We literally just eat and play and ride around when we’re home. And it’s been perfect.”

“Sucks I’m not there to piss you off though,” you say.

“Right? This is what peaceful living is like,” your best friend responds. “But I’m gonna deal with your annoying ass soon so let me savor this.”

“You better,” you hum. “Did you get enough rest, Kook?”

“Lots of it actually,” he half lies. He spent much of these two weeks agonizing over being away from you. “But I guess I’m ready to get back to work. I’ll start coaching the taekwondo team next week.”

“Already? Isn’t it still the winter break?” You wonder.

“Training starts early because of the competition in March,” he answers.

“Ooh, new kids to cheer for?” you excitedly ask. 

“If you’re free on Wednesdays and Saturdays, sure,” Jungkook says. “But no pressure, ___.”

“I’ll make time,” you promise him. 

“Okay, then,” he hums, doing his best to keep his smile from forming over the thought of spending time with you again.

“Anyway, I just wanted to check up on my friends. Gonna go play with the kids at the park now,” you say. “Careful when you drive to the city! See you guys soon!”

“Miss you! I’m going to your place right when you get back!” Jimin sneaks in.

“Don’t hurt yourself!” Jungkook adds, and you respond to him in laughter, a sound he definitely misses.

Jimin drops the call and shifts his full focus on the game.

“Well, she sounds jolly. Glad she got her joy back,” Jimin comments. “I remember last year, I begged her to take a longer leave and spend another week with her family so she could deal with her burnout.”

“Did she stay?”

“No. She said she’d be more stressed with all the backlog.”

“How’d she get through that, by the way?” Jungkook asks, immediately being reminded of how uninvolved he was at certain points in your life.

“Mo-eum and I convinced her to talk to her manager and apparently others were feeling it, too, so there was a restructure that happened and it helped with her workload,” Jimin explains. “But she would also take her leaves because she barely did, and she tried her best to switch off once she clocked out and that also helped a lot. She didn’t talk about work when we were in Japan, didn’t she?”

“Nope, which is good. At least she got the help she needed,” Jungkook hums, content that even if he didn’t know the extent of your stress that time, you were able to deal with it properly. 

As an educator, he knows enough about burnout, especially when he has to deal with his students’ problems on top of just teaching them. He’s always tried to manage his emotions and compartmentalize. Working out and going back to playing the sports he loves helped him tremendously with that. 

“Yeah, she did. But she’s doing so much better now and I guess having Tae back and doing our trips again lifted her spirits even more. Like, she gets to take actual breaks and be around us,” Jimin shares. “I guess watching your students’ matches gave her something new to do, too. She really enjoyed that.”

“She did,” Jungkook smiles, realizing now how those afternoons of you cheering for his team was also beneficial for you. “And well, there’ll be other matches for her to watch.”

“Yeah, it should be fun,” Jimin nods. “Anyway, one more game. I’m beating you this time.”

Jungkook drops Jimin off at his place and spends the drive to his apartment thinking of you again. He knows that even with your ability to express yourself, there are some things you don’t share with everyone. There were times when you were open to him about your thoughts and feelings though, and he takes them as a sign of your feeling of comfort around him and of your trust.

He looks back at the instances where you’d thanked him for making you feel good about yourself, and while he thought it was a natural thing for him to do that, he realizes it probably meant more to you than he expected. He hopes he continues to make you feel at ease around him, as he realizes that that’s what he feels when he’s with you. 

There’s assurance and trust that you understand him. There’s comfort in your words no matter how playful or cheeky they are. There’s that affection over the things he does and his fondness over the things you do. And then there’s that desire to take care of you, to make you feel comforted and understood just the same. 

He takes a deep breath before he exits his car. Two weeks of being away from you and he’s settled into his feelings. He knows they’re not fleeting. He also knows they’re not just because he wants to be a better friend to you. 

As he checks his phone and sees a message from you in the group chat asking him and Jimin if they got home safely and tagging him to reply, Jungkook thinks that now is when he starts wanting more. 

And he’s not exactly sure how to go about it. Or if it’s a feeling you’ll even reciprocate.

It’s been three weeks since Jungkook returned to Seoul and two weeks since you did. You apparently had to use up your remaining leaves until mid-January so you decided to stay in Gwangju for a few more days. He knew that because he sent you a message after you announced it in the group chat, and you’ve sort of been texting each other since then. It’s not an all-day nor daily type of thing but it’s much better than not hearing from you at all. 

He told you that he got assigned to accompany the high school table tennis team to a competition in Sokcho for a few days after one of their assistant coaches got sick. You told him that you started working on your operations plan on your first day back at work and that you had to stay in Daejeon for a weekend to attend a conference because one of your managers couldn’t go. With that, he missed your friends’ Sunday lunch out, and then you missed dinner and drinks the Friday after that.

It’s now the end of January and Jungkook’s been living off of the occasional text messages from you and nothing more. As it’s the Saturday before the end of the winter break, he takes this time to relax and decides on making himself some bulguri noodles and then going for a jog later in the afternoon.

On your end, you intend on cleaning up your apartment after over a month of barely being around. You make a checklist in your head of what to do first when suddenly, your light turns off and for the briefest moment, you think you’re being haunted. But you remember it’s just past lunchtime and ghosts won’t appear until the evening.

You just paid your bills so that’s not the issue. You call your neighbor and find out that she has her light on, so it’s probably just you. So you ask for help. 

[to: My Elders] How do you change a lightbulb?

You know that searching online would lead to multiple results, which ironically is going to overwhelm you, so you ask your very adult, very capable friends for advice. Surely they’ll be able to instruct you properly.

[from: joonie] I’d tell you if I knew 

[from: uncle yoon] DON’T. TOUCH. ANYTHING.

[from: suhyeonie] please be careful!!

[from: jiminie pabo] someone pls get to her right away before she burns down her apartment or electrocutes herself

[from: my taetae] kook?

[from: bunny kook] coming

You sigh in relief once Jungkook confirms that he’s on his way. And while you think you can follow instructions had your friends called or sent them in - which they didn’t - it’s probably better if someone does it for you. Jungkook just happens to be the one who lives the closest. 

You try to clean up whatever you can while waiting for him but you only manage to fold some of your clothes before the intercom is ringing and you’re granting him access to come up. He rings the doorbell and you greet him immediately.

“My savior,” you chirp, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Yah, I’m already here,” he playfully shakes his head. “No need for puppy eyes or whatever that is.”

“It’s my thankful face!” You correct him. “Not that I expected anyone to be empathic to my plight but wow, our friends were not helpful. Except maybe for Tae, who asked you to come.”

“You know you can search online for this, right?” Jungkook chuckles as he gets your stool and starts unwinding your old lightbulb.

“Yeah but AI will tell me one thing, WikiHow will tell me another, so will TikTok… I just didn’t want to be overwhelmed.”

“You… a researcher… didn’t want to be overwhelmed with… information?” 

“Kook, since when did basic things make sense to me?” You pout.

“I’m pretty sure they’re not that hard to comprehend.”

“Look, if it didn’t involve a possible fire or electrocution, I’d manage,” you argue. “I mean, I can do other things. Just not… this. I’m scared to make a mess.”

You say it so softly and Jungkook hopes he didn’t make you feel bad or anything. It’s not that you expect people to just do everything for you because you actually watch others do them - like now, as you stand close to him and observe him as he replaces your old bulb with a new one. He just thinks there are things you can’t really grasp because you weren’t exposed to them. He knows you can manage yourself on a farm because you grew up going to one but when it comes to household management, you always had the rest of your family to do them for you. 

He finishes and turns on the switch to see if it’s working, and you squeal in joy when it does. 

You even go to him and give him a hug, which catches him off guard. He returns it though, and a part of him wishes he’d prepared for this so he wouldn’t act so nonchalant about it.

“___, it’s just a lightbulb,” he points out.

You let him go and laugh, not seeming bothered one bit. He was a little worried that he might come off as snobbish to you though, even if he thinks it’s something he’d totally say.

“It’s a belated hug, Kook. I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long,” you say.

“Because you haven’t. It’s been, what– 5, 6 weeks since Sapporo?”

“Yeah, that feels like a lifetime ago,” you sigh. “I wanna go back! But yeah, you haven’t been around to make fun of me and to take care of me so it feels that much longer. I kinda missed you.”

You say it so casually yet you have no idea how much it’s affecting him. Again, it’s something you’ve said to him so many times before. But it sounds different to him now, only because he wishes it carries a different meaning than you probably don’t intend. 

He can’t bring himself to say it back, only because he’s worried about how it’ll come out, so he expresses wanting to hang out with you instead… in a not so direct way.

“Well, I’m here and I changed your lightbulb, although I suggest getting an LED one so it’s more efficient and it’ll last long,” he advises, given that what you have is the incandescent one. “Do you wanna get one at the store? I can replace that already so you won’t have to worry about this one again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you smile sweetly. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe we can get a few more things?”

Jungkook chuckles to himself as he nods then sits on your couch while you change your clothes in the walk-in closet. He hoped for a quick run at the shops and maybe grab something to eat, perhaps talk more about how your past few weeks have been. 

But now, you’ll probably have more time together and that satisfies his desire of being around you. It truly has been so long that he was close to wondering if the Japan trip had been a dream.

The “things” you wanted to get turn out to be Pilates clothes. 

You and Jungkook arrived at the mall an hour ago and quickly got an LED light bulb at the home store. But then you dragged him to the other floor and into a shop full of leggings and tank tops and sports bras that he just looked at you blankly and you responded with a giggle.

He now awkwardly stands by one of the shelves with hoodies and has to act unbothered when he sees you pick up a few things, willing his mind not to go to places.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you say.

And you do keep it. He expected you to be in the fitting room for at least 30 minutes but you were done in 10. You say that you just need to try the size and you’ll get it in different colors. Efficient, and something he also does.

“Hayoung convinced me to get into Pilates,” you share as you grab the bag from the counter. “She said it’ll help with the stress. And getting my weakening body moving because I’m just in front of the screen most days. I thought I should give it a try so I signed up at the studio near my apartment and I just need to get the proper outfit for it.”

“That sounds good,” he smiles, softening at how you’re truly trying to manage your stress levels so as not to feel burnt out again. “I know that’ll help. When do you start?”

“Next week! So I just have to get these washed and then I’ll be good. I hope I don’t fall on my face while using the machine,” you suddenly frown.

“You won’t. Just don’t force yourself with the tension of the strings,” he advises. “You’re there to exercise and relax, not to get hurt. Yeah?”

“I’ll try. I’ll tell you how it goes,” you smile. 

“Can’t wait to hear it.” 

You mindlessly walk around and Jungkook just follows, not knowing what else you have in mind. He’s about to internally sulk at the thought that today might just end here when you stop in your tracks and turn to him. 

“Did you have anything else planned today?” You ask.

“Just a jog,” he shrugs, quickly adding that it’s something he can do tomorrow once your face falls a little. “Why? Did you want to buy anything else?”

“I don’t have an outfit for our all-white college reunion party,” you pout. 

“That’s in three months” he says. 

“Two and a half,” you correct. “I wanna get a dress already because I’m definitely gonna forget it. And so I have time to have it dry-cleaned. Do you have something to wear?”

“Uh, a white shirt?”

“Boo, corny,” you chide. “It’s gonna be at a Club, Kook,” you remind him, referring to the one owned by Jihyo, your friend from university who also organized the event.

“What else am I supposed to wear?” Jungkook laughs.

“Well, you can show up in a tank top and you’d still look nice,” you say nonchalantly as you head towards another direction.

“Did you just compliment my looks?” He jogs after you. “You’ve never done that!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. I always praise your cute nose.”

“That… that was never a compliment,” he frowns.

But you don’t mind him, as you quickly enter a store and start looking around. 

He follows you and observes how you shop. You touch the items hanging on the shelf as you pass them by even if it’s not what you’re looking for. When you see something you think you like, you stare at it for a good five minutes before deciding to either try it on or put it back. When you do try on something, you’re quite expressive, as he could hear you groan or yelp even when he’s outside the fitting room area.

You leave another store empty-handed and you apologize for dragging him around and possibly boring him. He insists he’s fine and that it’s not like it’s something he hasn’t done before, clarifying that he’d accompanied Mo-eum to look for clothes a few times before as well. Obviously, he doesn’t want to imply anything by saying that he’s done this too many times with his ex-girlfriends but looking back, he wasn’t as entertained with them as he is with you. 

Though you tend to hyperfocus when you’re doing something, surprisingly when it comes to shopping, you’re very engaging. You ramble, like you often do, but you also ask him things and try to get his opinion. 

It’s been over an hour of looking around but you still haven’t found anything. The ones you like are too pricey and the others just don’t fit right. You find a newly-opened store and get excited when you see the clothes are your style and you quickly choose a couple for you to try on. He’s mindlessly looking around when he hears you call for him.

He sees your head peeking out of the curtains. With the sales person attending to another customer, you ask him to help you tie the straps of the dress you have on.

“They’re supposed to be ribbons but I can’t tie them properly,” you say. “Can you fix them so I can see if it’s nice?”

He nods as he works on them, trying his best to make the knot look pretty. You turn around so he can work on the other side and he does his best to not fall into the temptation of looking at you while he does. When he finishes, you face the mirror and smile.

“It looks pretty,” you beam.

“It does. So are you getting that?”

“Hmm, probably the other one,” you say, gesturing towards one of the several dresses hanging on the hook. “That one looked nicer.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. You already look pretty in this one so that could only mean that the other option is much prettier. “Okay.”

“Mission accomplished,” you smile at him now. “I’ll get dressed and get that!”

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you finish, and you’re reminded that you’ve only had some sweet bread all day and you’re starving, something Jungkook learns when your stomach starts to grumble.

“So… early dinner?” He chuckles. 

“Yes. And we’re having Japanese.”

He suggests a hotpot place after you said that you miss the soup he made on your last night in Sapporo. He comments that you seem to enjoy his cooking a lot and you remark that they’re very hearty and that he should cook for you more. It’s a request he doesn’t mind fulfilling, especially if that’ll mean being with you again.

You order a similar-tasting broth from the one he made, and you sigh in delight at just being able to take in the scent of a restaurant that reminds you of your trip from a few weeks ago.

“That week felt so fast,” you say. “The days were long and slow but they somehow still ended so soon. Did you enjoy that trip, Kook?”

“Of course. Why’d you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I hurt your abs and smacked you with a pillow and you gave me a piggyback ride and dealt with my injuries,” you shrug. 

“But I got free beer and a nice bottle of whiskey,” he reminds you.

“True. And I didn’t elbow your face when I slept next to you,” you remind him as well. 

“Yup, that was a very big factor,” he nods.

“I couldn’t hurt the nose,” you sweetly smile at him.

He just playfully shakes his head at you and you clarify that you just find it adorable. 

At least you find him charming, he thinks to himself.

You sit across from each other as you devour your dinner and talk about more stories of your visit to your hometown and how his weeks of training his students have been. You reminisce about Sapporo once more and mention the places you want to travel to in the future. 

You’re laughing about a memory from your Hong Kong trip years ago when Jungkook gets a call. When you find out it’s Taehyung on the other end, you ask for the phone to say hi.

“___!” Taehyung greets. “I was just asking Kook if he got to save your ass from being electrocuted or something.”

“Yes, he did,” you playfully roll your eyes. “Thanks for telling him to go to me though. I would’ve waited for him to pity me before I asked him to come over.”

“Nah, he would’ve gone to you either way,” your friend laughs. “Where are you now?”

“Having dinner out,” you say. “We bought an LED light bulb and I ended up running errands and I dragged him with me. Poor guy had to deal with my annoying ass today,” you add, as if lamenting on his behalf. “I at least didn’t trip or hurt myself.”

“That’s new,” Taehyung hums. “But I’m sure he doesn’t mind it. Anyway, I was just asking him to send me something. I’ll leave you two to your dinner. See you on Thursday after work?”

“Yes, at 5 PM,” you say, referring to this string quartet charity event you asked him to watch with you. “Here’s Kook.”

You give the phone back to Jungkook and slurp the remainder of soup in your bowl.

“Yeah, I’ve got all the ones you asked for. I’ll give the hard drive tomorrow. Bye!”

He drops the call and you ask him what Taehyung needed. 

“He asks me to download movies for him,” Jungkook says. “Like, the black and white Hollywood kind. They’re kinda hard to find.”

“Aww, Kook. That’s sweet. So you’re who he gets them from,” you smile. “So wait, can you download movies for me, too?”

“Sure, just tell me what you want. I can give you the hard drive on—”

“Saturday? There’s no rush. I won’t get to watch until the weekend, anyway.”

“Alright, then.”

“Thank you,” you smile at him again, the kind that’s meant to express your appreciation for all the things he does for you.

And the thing is, he doesn’t mind doing them. Even if he didn’t have these developing feelings for you, it’s something he’d still do. He’s never minded doing you favors or being collateral damage when you hurt yourself or having to take care of you when you do. He’d always done them willingly because it’s what he does for all his friends.

He supposes that the difference now is the anticipation of seeing you again when he does. It’s the excitement over knowing you’d ask him to do something and your accompanying smile and laughter. He supposes there’s more attachment in how he looks after you and in how he returns your affection. 

And now with every spontaneous day or planned weekend you make him share with you, he enjoys each minute of it. Not just through your ramblings but through your silence, too; not just in your moments of triumph but in your instances of doubt as well. 

It’s like settling into the feeling but more. It’s as if somewhere along the way of your friendship, he learned to settle into you. 

“I thought you wanted to watch this,” Jungkook mumbles as he munches on some popcorn. “Why are you covering your face?”

“Because it’s scary, duh,” you bite back as you wrap one arm around your folded legs while your other hand makes slits over your eyes. “The spirit's gonna kill the sons now!”

“Well yeah, that’s what bad spirits do,” he deadpans. “Why did you want to watch this in the first place?”

“Because I heard it’s a good mo– Ah!” You squeal. You wait for the next scene and try to catch your breath. “I heard it’s a good movie. Plus, I like horror. Didn’t you know that?”

“I do, I mean… you’re always up for it whenever I suggest watching one. You just scream a lot. I guess you could like something and not enjoy it all the time.”

“I enjoy it though,” you correct him. “Getting scared and stressed and yelling is all part of the fun. Just like how in rom-coms, the frustration over the two leads being dumb is part of the experience. You take it all and that makes everything so satisfying.”

Jungkook merely nods in agreement but lingers on what you just said. The more he spends time with you, the more he learns how contradictory you are as a person, which is something he admires so much about you. 

As a professional, you’re intellectual and decisive. You’re passionate and intentional and every single thing has a purpose or meaning for you. Outside of that, you feel intensely, whatever it is - fear, joy, wonder, anger, but you take them as part of a whole. You’re clumsy and disorganized sometimes. You’re affectionate and transparent yet there’s always something more that you feel and want, something that he’s unsure you’ve figured out yet. 

And as he sneaks a glance at your wide eyes and anxious face over the next scene, he can’t help but smile at how open you are to feeling what’s out there for you. It’s quite captivating to watch, as he’s one who prefers to feel things more moderately, and perhaps it’s why it took this long for his feelings for you to develop.

His thoughts are disrupted with your gasp, followed by milder curses than he expected, and then another shriek. He focuses on the movie now, as he’s sure you’re gonna wanna talk about it after, and it ends with your deep exhale and your satisfied smile. 

“That was good,” you say, as you grab a can of beer from your fridge and hand him one. 

You rehash the whole two hours while you sit next to him on the couch then conclude that you’re still a little creeped out so you state you want to watch something else. 

“The Thai movie about the grandmother,” you say, choosing from the long list of things you had him download.

“Are you sure?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes, I heard it’s good, too,” you shrug, already getting comfortable. 

“Okay, then.”

As it turns out, it’s as emotional as it is good. And you can’t stop the tears as they waterfall down your face, to the point that you can barely breathe through your nose. You, in fact, wail, and you can hear Jungkook stop himself from laughing, even if despite your glassy eyes, you can see him tear up as well. 

“You can cry, you know?” You turn to him, prompting him to pause the film. 

You’re sniffing and distorting your face and he chuckles in response. 

“I was about to but you started sobbing. It felt like your tears were good enough for the both of us,” he hums.

“It’s sad,” you pout. 

“I know, and you wanted this,” he points out. “But hey, part of the experience, right?”

You nod because it’s true. You’d rather watch comedy dramas that make you hurt so good or horror movies that make you jump off your seat over ones that barely make you feel anything at all. But you suppose that’s how you’ve always lived your life. 

People think you’re driven by logic and ideas all the time but you surprise yourself with how much you feel and how much that motivates you. But then again, that’s exactly why you’re in the field you’re in, and not everybody gets to understand or even see that.

Your tears remain and Jungkook scoots closer to wipe them off your cheeks with his paw sweaters. You meet his worried doe-eyes and you didn’t realize how innocent-looking yet expressive they are. You suddenly hiccup and he playfully shakes his head in response.

“I wanna laugh now,” you mumble.

“We’re going through the emotions of the wheel now, aren’t we?” Jungkook chuckles while proceeding to check his movie list again. “I’ve got–”

“What if we just watch Running Man reruns? I kinda don’t wanna be invested in characters again but I just don't wanna be sad anymore.”

“Then we go with that,” he nods. “And… uh, do you have anything I could cook for dinner?”

You check the time and realize it’s almost 7 PM. You had lunch out with Hayoung earlier then started your movie marathon with Jungkook when you got home. You’ve been with him for hours and it feels like time is flying. 

“Ramen?” 

“Sure, I can get two packs ready,” he hums, standing up to find his way around your tiny kitchen.

“I’ll also order pizza because I’m craving. What about chicken?”

“Hey, as long as it’s good food, I’m all in.”

As it turns out, eating Jungkook’s creamy ramen, then some pizza, and then some chicken wings over beer while laughing your bellies off is incredibly satisfying. You’re in tears for half of it because not only is the show funny, but so are Jungkook’s ridiculous side comments and imitation of the hosts and guests. You have to beg him to stop and let you breathe. 

This is one of the most unhinged you’d seen him and you don’t care one bit that you’re snorting in laughter or close to drooling at this point. Once you calm down, you stretch your legs on the floor where you’ve been since you started dinner, and you breathe deeply.

“I needed this,” you smile then turn to look at him. “I needed to laugh and just… be comfortable.”

“Why? Work bugging you down? Pilates not yet working?”

“Work is always stressful and I’ve accepted that. Pilates is something I’m still getting used to but it helped that one day I needed to relax,” you say. “But I guess I just needed to laugh and cry and stuff myself with good food and not worry about the next day or something. Thanks for coming over with your movie library and watching and eating with me, Kook. It was fun.”

“Glad I could help you with having a worry-free day like this,” he replies. “And honestly, it feels good to just do whatever you want and not really have plans. It’s why I spend my weekends the way I do.”

“So it feels good being with me, then?” you smirk.

“Of course. You’re a little chaotic sometimes,” he teases. “But it’s part of the fun. I get to let loose and watch you be a weirdo.”

“Well I’m glad,” you softly smile this time. “You’re a little weird sometimes, too. I get to enjoy myself a little bit more when I’m around you. I mean, I say that about the other guys as well but I guess we haven’t spent as much time together.”

“We do now.”

“I know. And it’s fun. I hope you don’t get sick of me yet.”

He could tease you and say he already is, but he doesn’t want to lie to you like that. He doesn’t want you to think that even a tiny part of him would prefer not having you around. 

The truth is, he’s been finding it harder to let a day pass without speaking to you, and he reminds himself to do things gradually and naturally despite the fear that you’d freak out and think of him differently just because he’s treating you differently. 

“Just keep being that way and I won’t,” he says instead.

“Hmm. That’s a relief. I will, then.”

Jungkook sees you again the next Wednesday after Jimin messaged to ask who was free for dinner and drinks after work. A few from the group made it, including you, and even if Jungkook was a few seats away, just knowing you were okay and enjoying Pilates and eating well was enough to appease him.

He sees you again on Saturday for a late celebration of Hoseok’s birthday where you hog the mic during karaoke despite being tone deaf and unable to hold a note. Jungkook tries to remember all the times this had happened before and if he had found you as endearing as he finds you now. 

He tries to make sure you’re okay the next day, and he ends up grabbing you some hangover soup and drinks just to get rid of the headache. You sleep for pretty much the whole day but those two hours with you was enough to get him through the week. 

You’re off to a work trip overseas over the next weekend so Jungkook decides to preoccupy himself with a full day of gaming and probably an evening swim. But then Taehyung comes over to hang out and with his friend leaving in a few months, Jungkook welcomes the company. 

Jimin joins for lunch then leaves for a shoot. Mo-eum drops by then leaves as well for a family dinner. 

It’s during the second half of the FIFA game they’re playing when Jungkook’s phone beeps. A small smile forms on his face when he glances at your multiple messages, perhaps to rant about the food like you did last night, or to say that the bugs were biting you again, or maybe to talk about some research project you came up with while taking a shit - because yes, it apparently happens. 

He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice but his friend is quite observant, so he does. 

“Is ___ doing okay?” 

Jungkook misses a free kick at the sound of your name.

“What?”

Taehyung gestures towards the beeping phone. 

“___. That’s her, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook hums as he finally checks your messages and learns that yes, it’s the food. 

You also got a papercut and he can imagine you whining about it. 

“She’s just… you know, talking about the conference she’s attending,” Jungkook continues as he sends replies of memes and questions of how it’s going and if the annoying guy from yesterday is still bugging you.

“Hmm, I see,” Taehyung hums as he attempts a kick. “I was with her last week, right? She had that charity event she asked me to attend with her. We had dinner after and she was laughing while texting someone. It was you.”

“Oh, right.”

Jungkook instantly remembers what both of you were talking about then.

“I was just telling her this vacation story of one of the teachers. It was funny.”

“Wow, how trivial. And to think you don’t even reply to me,” Taehyung chides.

“It’s because you prefer to call me! Or randomly show up at my door just like you did today,” Jungkook counters.

“Because you literally don’t reply!” 

Jungkook just shrugs and focuses on the match, hoping his friend would just drop it. Instead, he pauses the game.

“Okay, Kook. I’m gonna ask you a question and you gotta answer me honestly. Just remember that you’re a terrible liar.”

Jungkook groans in response. “What?”

“Do you… like ___?”

Jungkook could easily deny it, but he also knows that he is a terrible liar and Taehyung would figure it out anyway. So he answers after a few seconds and understates the truth.

“I… I guess there’s something more.”

“It’s a yes or a no.”

There’s another beat of silence, as Jungkook is nervous about verbalizing something he’s been keeping to himself for months.

“I mean, between shopping with her, downloading her movies, driving her around… it should be clear, right?” Taehyung presses further.

“Hey, I do those things for you,” Jungkook tries to defend himself as he feels like he’s being called out.

“Yah! Do you think I’m stupid? Do you steal glances at me, too?”

“No.”

“Exactly, but you do it with her. And you let her squish your cheeks and you hate it when we do it.”

“She’s always been much gentler,” Jungkook reasons.

“She rarely is but sure,” Taehyung chuckles. “So, you really do like her, huh?”

“It’s something that just happened,” Jungkook sighs, knowing there’s no point in hiding anymore. “I don’t even know how. I mean, we’ve been good friends for years, Tae. We’ve seen each other’s highs and lows. We’ve witnessed each other’s relationships and breakups, and we’ve just… always been around each other.”

Jungkook looks back at the days when it was all so simple, then suddenly being hit by a train from out of nowhere. 

“There was no fuss, no drama, no expectations, no desire. Just friends,” he continues. “And then one day it was like… suddenly she looked so cute whenever she complained or pouted. And then it was fun just watching her tell stories and be weird and be smart. And then it felt nice when she would do something nice for me. And then I liked how she looked whenever I did something nice for her. And then… and then she stood up for me to my ex then hugged me later that night and I haven’t stopped thinking about her since then.”

“So it started that night, huh?” Taehyung smiles. “Was it seeing her angry and defending you?”

“Yeah… and then seeing her be so gentle after that,” Jungkook hums. “It’s how she’s always been - intense, loyal, caring. I guess I’ve always admired those things about her. I’ve always enjoyed having her around but that comfort, that familiarity, that desire for something a bit chaotic but also reassuring that I get with her, it just suddenly felt different. And I just wanted more of that, I guess.”

“Was it really all sudden, though?” Taehyung wonders. “I mean, how could something like her presence and her quirks and all these good things about her be there all these years and then just be different one day?”

“I was thinking about that because I couldn’t really figure out how I could just feel differently about her.”

“And?”

“I settled into her, I think that’s what it was.”

Jungkook has been pondering on it since movie night at your place. It’s like moving into a house then becoming familiar with it over time, and then it becomes comfortable, and then it becomes a home. 

Sure, the floorboards creak and the faucet leaks sometimes and there’s a stain on the wall that won’t get off but it doesn’t matter, because he’s already settled in and he likes the place. He likes its flaws and wear and tears… It's all part of the experience. And friends are like that - there’s no changing or forcing anything. Friends kinda just adjust their way around each other over time and just fit together a certain way. 

That’s how it was with you.

He tries to explain this and Taehyung nods, understanding what he means because all his friends feel like home, too. 

“What was it like when it changed, then? When did it become more?” He asks.

“When I realized that, hey, I think I wanna hold hands in this home, too. I wanna kiss and cuddle and get to know every inch of it. I… I wanna stay here. Something like that.” 

Jungkook smiles, thinking back to that night you hugged him after a tough night. And how every time you’d done it since then made him want you to do it again. 

He thinks back to the moments these past months of your hands or arms brushing, and him wondering what it’s like to intertwine his fingers with yours. Maybe have you touch his cheeks again but look deeply into his eyes this time. 

Taehyung feels comforted by his friend being able to express his feelings like this, something he’s never really been that comfortable doing before. 

Jungkook feels deeply, but he’s a bit more reserved than most of their friends. He tends to express whatever he feels by being dependable, by being someone they could be around and not feel judged, by being encouraging in his quiet way. Even in his past relationships, Jungkook just seemed to suppress what he felt - whether it was love or affection or hurt or anger. To be able to articulate all that he feels for you in this way is quite special. Maybe you’re rubbing off on him.

“Hmm. Sounds like a couple we know. And they’re getting married in a few months,” Taehyung smiles now.

“I’m not even thinking about that far into the future,” Jungkook frowns.

“I know but that’s not the point,” Taehyung corrects. “I just meant that it happens, Kook. That’s how some love stories go. Just like with my brother. He and Hayoung got along so well that we just kept secretly waiting for them to finally get together. And they did, seven years after they met. Because that friendship just naturally became deeper and blossomed into something more. I mean, it’s a natural thing. Like you said, you just learn to… settle into someone. You gravitate towards them, feel like they’re a person you can tuck yourself in and just be comfortable with and that’s such a beautiful feeling. I’ve witnessed it with them and I’m witnessing it with you, too.”

“Is that how you knew?” Jungkook chuckles as he shakes his head, unsure if his friend is just that perceptive or if he’s that transparent. “Because you’ve seen it happen with your brother?”

“Sort of,” Taehyung hums. “But I’m close to her, Kook. And I know how I am with her. I’m fond of her, I’m amazed by her, I want to take care of her, but she also drives me crazy sometimes. In a very sibling-like way because that’s how I treat her. That’s how I see her. I saw how you took care of her during the flight to Japan. I saw how you smiled every time she did. Even when she was being a brat, you just… wanted to be there for her. And it’s different from how Jimin or I treat her.”

Jungkook nods, thinking now that perhaps those times in Sapporo when his friend looked at both of you smiling, left you alone together, or even had him give you a piggyback ride was Taehyung’s way of figuring it out. But another thought alerts Jungkook.

“Shit. Do you think he knows? Or maybe Mo-eum?”

 “They haven’t said anything. But then again, you and ___ have kinda been treating each other the same way. I think I’m just noticing the subtle differences because I’ve been away for a while. And well, since I’m leaving again I'm a little bit more sentimental,” Taehyung laughs. “Why, don’t you want them to know?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“Because they might tell me to keep off or run for the hills.”

“Or tell you to get your head out of your ass and do something about it,” Taehyung exclaims.

“They could, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for any of that. I.. I want her to settle into me. Naturally.”

“I get that, but this is the same girl who meets someone and then gets attracted to them right away. Just saying,” Taehyung warns. 

You’ve always said you tend to act on your intense feelings immediately. It’s true that at any point, you could serendipitously meet someone and then pursue them the next day.

“___ is used to a life where things are clear to her, including the people in them,” Taehyung continues. “She’s always been honest about her intentions with others and doesn’t compromise who she is with them, and we all like that about her. You might wanna just let things happen because you don’t wanna rush or pressure her and I get that but a little nudge won’t hurt.”

“How do I do that?”

“Be intentional, I guess. Act on what you feel but gently, gradually,” Taehyung advises. “Put feelers out and see how she thinks about friendships and relationships and whatnot.” 

“I guess I kinda have been… unknowingly,” Jungkook shakes his head. “We’ve been having tons of conversations about how we dealt with our relationships and how we go about them.”

“And?”

“You know how we used to tease her with Namjoon?”

“Yeah, and she said that helpless clumsy people will burn the house down and so it was never gonna happen,” Taehyung laughs.

“There’s that. But she also wonders how someone could just one day decide to like a friend they’ve known for years. It’s a normal thing like you said but I guess it’s just not how she approaches relationships,” Jungkook says. “And there’s nothing wrong about that. It’s just… how do I make her see me as something more?”

“Show her that you could be? How would she know if you’re a home she wants to cuddle and kiss and hold hands in if you don’t show that potential?” Taehyung points out. “You don’t have to impress her or treat her so differently all of a sudden. Just be natural but know that you’ll have to be assertive when the time comes.”

“That is the most confusing thing but I guess that works” Jungkook sighs. “So… should I pick her up from the airport tomorrow, then?”

Jungkook picks you up from the airport on Sunday. Your conference wrapped up in the morning but your flight was delayed and you’ve been irritable since then, given that you weren’t able to eat a decent lunch.

You were texting with him last night and he kindly offered to give you a ride, reminding you that he likes long drives so it’s not a bother. You couldn’t say no, especially since an hour-long trip is much better having him to just talk with, something you’ve been enjoying a lot recently. 

Jungkook was never really the texting type, that much you knew. He barely replies in group chats and the rare times you would message each other in the past was about random, shallow things. It wasn’t until a few months ago when you started texting more frequently, and your conversations go from mundane to deep, and you appreciate them equally.

Outside of that, you’ve been spending more time together, too, and you like that as well. He’s just a calming person to be around, very chill and laid-back, and you suppose it’s what you’ve been needing. 

You know that he’s a reserved guy, often quiet and not very expressive compared to your other friends, unless he’s teasing you. He’s the kind to not let things bother him easily but also just does whatever he likes as long as he doesn't get in anyone's way. 

You suppose that’s one reason why you were always closer to Jimin and Taehyung - they’re uninhibited and a little crazy like you, always going off about something together, narrating things animatedly, and being dramatic about everything. Jungkook, alongside Mo-eum, would just sit around and watch the three of you do all of that, and then take care of any one of you when needed.  

While you still do most of those, you suppose that over time, you’ve all mellowed down a little bit. Over time, you’ve needed something else - a presence to calm you down and to contrast your often frenzied and chaotic state, a kind of energy that balances you out and grounds you. 

Jungkook has been that for you recently. He listens to you rant about everything. He reassures you about your thoughts but also offers a different perspective. He makes you laugh and teases you comfortably. He shows up when you need him and he takes care of you like it’s second nature. 

You know that’s the kind of person he’s always been. You don’t know though if you’ve just taken it for granted all these years because of that; you don’t really remember appreciating or even depending on him this way before. Perhaps it’s just time that’s passed and you grew up. Maybe at this point in your life, that’s the kind of person you need more of. 

You smile at the thought as you watch Jungkook load your luggage in the trunk then head to the driver seat. He asks you about the delay and how the flight was. You say it was fine but that you only got to eat a sandwich at the airport and now you’re hungry, which makes it worse because you didn’t even enjoy the food at the conference.

“Was it really that bad?” He asks. 

“For some reason, everything was spicy,” you frown. “And those that weren’t were just too intense and I just wanted something familiar. And delicious. Tae was sending photos of your suyuk from last night and I got so jealous. He said it was really, really good.”

“Oh. Do you want that, then?” Jungkook asks. “It’s not hard to make.”

“Wha–? Are you serious?” You look at him with puppy eyes, although this shouldn’t really be surprising anymore. 

“Yeah. We’ll just get back to Seoul late afternoon and then pass by the supermarket for the ingredients. Can you wait until then?”

“I could. I mean, I heard it’s a life-changing dish,” you wink.

“Well, Taehyung’s an easily satisfied guy but I think it’s one of the best things I’ve made, too,” he chuckles. “Not sure about it being life-changing but you can maybe tell me later.”

“I’m sure it’ll be, since I’ll be very hungry by then,” you laugh. “But we could also just eat at a restaurant or something.”

He cocks an eyebrow, knowing that when you set your mind on a certain dish, you need to have it. The fact that you brought it up is a hint that it’s what you really want and Jungkook won’t say no. 

He’s unsure if this counts as making a move on you but at this point, he’ll take whatever chance he can get to show you he cares and wants to make you happy. And that maybe, let you know in the most subtle way that something’s changed on his end without freaking you out. 

“Fine, I know you know I really want to try it,” you giggle at having been caught. 

You suppose he’s familiar with your antics at this point. 

“I do,” he playfully shakes his head. “And it’s fine, really. I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“Hmm. That means you aren’t sick of me yet!”

“Don’t think I will anytime soon.”

Jungkook says it with certainty, and not in a teasing or even shy manner the way you’d expect. But you don’t think about it much. You’re just glad your constant presence hasn’t been a bother to him.

You spend the ride talking about how your respective weeks have been. You’re in your neighborhood before you know it, and he’s stopping by a supermarket and getting the ingredients while you message your friends about having dinner at Jungkook’s place. The three of them quickly reply they’ll be on their way, with Taehyung offering to pick them up.

You watch Jungkook do his magic while you wait for them to arrive, and you’re amazed when he says that he just watched a video on it online then went by feeling when he made it himself. You’re left in awe; you know your clueless ass could never. 

Your friends arrive not long after, all of whom are just as excited to eat Jungkook’s dish, even if Taehyung just had it last night. He hypes it up and Jungkook calls him out for setting the expectations too high. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, he says.

Sitting next to him, you take your first bite. And your friend is right. This is incredibly delicious; you seriously don’t think any other version could top this.

You pinch the corners of your eyes in response, expressing dramatically - as you always do - how good it is. You take another bite with the kimchi, and given the unsatisfying dishes you’ve had the past three days, this quite literally tastes like heaven.

You reflexively lean on Jungkook’s shoulder as you close your eyes and savor it.

“Fuck, Kook. This is insane,” you moan.

“Yeah, well you haven’t even eaten it properly yet,” he hums. “Here.”

You turn to him and find him trying to feed you the pork wrapped in lettuce with rice and kimchi. You open your mouth and it’s even more delicious. This tastes like home, and in a way you didn’t expect. 

You curse under your breath again, like Jimin is, while Taehyung and Mo-eum quietly enjoy it. 

“It always amused me how Kook is the baby of the group but he never acted like it,” Mo-eum points out. 

“Yeah, it was always me,” you chuckle.

“Debatable. Tae’s the baby. You’re the princess,” Jimin corrects. 

“I agree,” Jungkook hums. “But we never minded, just so you know. At least, I never did.”

He says the last part softly, you’re probably the only one who hears it. Between his assuring words and this dinner he made, there’s not much you can do, so you prepare a portion of the meat with rice and side dishes, too, and offer to feed him.

He hesitates only briefly but lets you do as you wish. Your fingers graze his face and he feels the shiver on his skin.

“My thank you ssam,” you smile, and Jungkook praises you for making it well-balanced because that’s the only harmless thing he can really say. 

You spend the next two hours the way you usually do when you’re together, until Mo-eum yawns and says she’ll go ahead because her three straight 12-hour night shifts are getting to her. She just wanted to see you so she came, even if you have your usual post-work dinners on Wednesdays. Tuesdays are reserved for Jimin while Taehyung usually just messages you whenever. Jungkook, you realize, has become a staple of your weekends.

Taehyung then offers to take Mo-eum home, then drags Jimin along because they need to buy something.

“What about ___?” Mo-eum asks.

“She’s out of the way,” Taehyung answers. “Plus, she craved this so she’ll help Jungkook clean up, right?” He continues, smiling sweetly at you.

“Of course I will,” you answer. 

You bid them goodbye then start clearing the table of the dirty dishes.

“___, you don’t have to,” Jungkook says, taking them from you.

“This has always been my task,” you pout. “Plus, this is all I can do. You always do so much for me.”

You don’t wait for him to respond and proceed to washing the dishes. He stands next to you though and you continue talking, up until he drives you home then messages you good night. 

You end up seeing Jungkook pretty much every week after that, whether it’s because of a get-together - like karaoke night on Friday after work, or a special event - such as the screening of the movie that Yoongi composed the music for.

You see him on your own, too, like on nights when you crave something after work, when there’s a movie you ask him to download that he watches with you, when you have an errand to do that you don’t feel like doing alone, or to cheer for his high school taekwondo team, just like you promised. 

He’s always willing to join you even if he’s got things going on himself. He just says he doesn’t mind and deep down, you’re glad that he truly hasn’t gotten sick of you yet, given your tendencies to whine about things and complain about your work despite how much you love it. 

Jungkook shares a lot more about himself, too. Not that he never did but you notice him being more open and comfortable about things he worries about - like how his students will grow up to be and if he’s being a good role model to them. There’s the occasional mention of wondering if he’ll be a good enough partner to whoever he’ll end up with after you open up a bit more about your past relationships.

It’s always stuck with you how he says that being with someone means that you witness the birth of a different person every time and then celebrating that. It strikes you because you feel like somewhere along the way, even you failed to do that yourself - accept how you’ve changed then embracing it. But he says he’s also learning, and that being with someone means you learn together. 

It’s those conversations that have you appreciating your time with him even more. He’s there when there’s chaos in your mind, and even more so when it’s around you.

It’s near the end of April when you find yourself in Mo-eum’s apartment with Jimin, getting ready for your college reunion party. It feels like it’s been a while since you dolled up for something like this. Mo-eum, like you, only does it when there’s a special event. For Jimin, this is a norm in his line of work. 

Your best friend eyes your outfit, fixes your dress, then suggests a bolder lipstick color. 

“It’ll work with the guys,” he smirks.

“I’m not trying to get anyone’s attention, just to remind you,” you say, even if you go with the red that he hands you. “It’s a party and I’ll drink, watch people get shit faced, and then bury myself in the covers at night then lay in bed all day tomorrow.”

“You’re getting old,” he teases. 

“You’re gonna feel the effects of all this partying at one point,” you reply.

“Nah, I’ve got energy. I keep myself in shape, you know?”

You throw your pillow at him at the dig, but you do point out that you still do your Pilates session every week and that’s helped with your energy, amongst other things. 

“Plus, who’ll it work on? The guests are literally the same people from college. No one’s gonna go for me after all these years and vice versa,” you add. 

“You have such a narrow and simplistic way of looking at things sometimes, you know that?” Jimin shakes his head at you. “You think that attraction is only immediate and a one-time thing, as if it doesn’t develop overtime or something.”

“Well, if it wasn’t there at the start, then it won’t be there later on,” you shrug. 

“You only think that way because all your relationships have been that way,” Mo-eum says.

“Yeah, and they all ended right away,” Jimin points out.

“Ouch,” you say with no real bite, not like it’s something you haven’t thought about anyway.

“You want the feeling to smack you in the face at first glance,” Mo-eum adds, earning a nod from you because that’s true. “But it could also smack you years later, when you least expect it. Isn’t that intense and genuine, too?”

“Yeah, imagine one day realizing you like that cute ops guy at work that you have lunch with who’s so chill and unproblematic,” Jimin says. “Or your neighbor from childhood that you still talk with sometimes. Maybe Namjoon? He can already make ramen and you know how to slice fruits now. Who knows, it could be Tae. Or even Kook!”

“Jimin, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this,” you sigh. “I don’t really see myself liking my friends in that way. Things that are good and comfortable don’t need to be disrupted.”

“___, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this, too,” he counters. “You can. You only think otherwise because as much as you feel things, you don’t really pay attention to them. For you, things and people that are new are the only ones worth giving a shot because that’s what you’re used to. And I say this in the most loving way - I really think that the one who can truly handle all of you is someone who’s known you for years.”

You’re not offended, but it does intrigue you. So you ask what he means.

“You’re a lot of amazing things but that doesn’t mean every new guy you date sees that,” Jimin explains. “And I know you never said it directly but you always worried that your exes wouldn’t understand you, and so there were parts of you that you didn’t really wanna show them.”

You think about your best friend’s words and you agree. You weren’t the type who spent less time with your friends when you were in a relationship, and you always thought that meant you maintained your independence and social circles outside of your partner. Deep down, a part of you felt that there were aspects of your life you wanted to keep separate from the men you dated - your friends, your dreams, your bare and unfiltered self. 

With Jeong-su, you were the passionate student leader who was so sure of herself. So on the days when you were stressing about school or life in general, you ran to your friends and not him. You suppose that’s where all the fights about not making time for him stemmed from. 

It was similar with Seungho, as you were the independent and confident woman who worked hard for what she wanted in his eyes, and you felt like you had to keep that image up even if you had bouts of doubt or insecurity. He was aloof and wasn’t the type to spoil you. It was his lack of compassion that really bothered you, and you never really sought him for comfort.

There were many things that attracted you to them, but ultimately they faded away. During those years, you were focused on building yourself and your career, and they helped you in a way, because they were also attracted to that side of you - ambitious, polished, uncompromising. 

But once you became in tune with the more human and flawed, unfiltered parts of yourself, you pushed them away, perhaps fearing they wouldn’t understand. Or that they wouldn’t want to deal with that side of you at all. 

Maybe that’s what Jimin meant about you not paying attention to your feelings. You focused on how they made you feel, and not on what you felt about them, nor about how you felt about yourself because of them. As you grow up, you realize they’re not the same. 

“What does knowing someone for a long time have anything to do with this?” You try to deflect. “You can know someone for years and still be surprised by who they are once you learn more.”

“They’re not afraid of you,” Jimin responds. “They don’t want to tame nor fit you into an idea they have of you because they already know the many versions of who you are. They’ve… they’ve learned how to exist alongside you and have fun along the way. I think that makes the difference.”

“And what does paying attention to how I feel even really mean?” You wonder out loud, as you process more of what he says. 

“It means actually thinking about them, you know?” Jimin hums. “Like, giving yourself time to understand what you’re feeling, independently of what they do or say to you. You’ve always gone with your heart and we love that about you but the intense, genuine emotions that you want actually take time. I think it’s something you’ll figure out right away. It’ll be different from how it used to feel.”

“Okay, love guru,” Mo-eum chuckles. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“I listen to this podcast that talks about grown up stuff like relationships and I’ve picked things up,” Jimin shrugs. “But also I think I have a good read of people. I had a vibe with Seokjin and Hayoung long before they got together.”

“Is that why you keep pushing for Yoongi and Gyu-rim? Because you have a vibe about them?” You ask. 

“Yes. And I just really think they like each other but they don’t know it yet.”

“Hmm. Interesting. And what about Mo-eum and Tae?” 

“I asked her about it before but she didn’t answer me,” Jimin responds, triggering your other friend’s memory about that time. 

It turns out he was right about that, too.

“And now I’ll ask you,” Jimin turns to you. 

“Look, the Namjoon ship sailed a long time ago. You know how I feel about that,” you explain. 

“I wasn’t referring to him,” Jimin shakes his head. “I was gonna ask about Kook.”

“Oh,” you and Mo-eum say at the same time. 

Jimin watches your face distort, going from processing to wondering to somehow lost, and he chuckles in response.

“You know what, never mind. I’ll leave that for you to think about,” he smiles instead. “Anyway, come on. We have a party to go to.”

You get inside your booked car and decide to not think too much about what Jimin had asked you right before you left. Not that his question was completely out of left field because even you would say that you’ve been spending more time with Jungkook lately, but you suppose you hadn’t really thought much about what it could mean. 

You can chalk it up to that unspoken promise from months ago about being better friends to each other, but maybe that’s a big part of it, too. Was it really just about that? Or have your efforts naturally progressed to mean something more? 

You internally sigh at all these thoughts that your best friend unfortunately put in your head. Tonight’s not the time to be contemplating about this, not when you’ll be around people and around him. 

And just as the reminder that Jungkook will be here crosses your mind, he just happens to be the first person you see right when you exit the car.

He greets familiar faces as you and your friends meet him and Taehyung in line to the Club before he turns to you with a smile.

“Hey!” Jungkook greets, going in for a hug like what you do every time you see each other.

He smells like cotton. It’s so fresh yet so manly.

“Hey,” you return, taking in how he looks. “So, uh, what happened to the white shirt?”

“Tae told me to ditch it. He said this was better,” Jungkook shrugs, eyeing his outfit of white tank top under a simple white jacket. He gestures towards your dress. “So, this was the nicer option,” he hums.

“Yeah,” you nod, remembering that unplanned afternoon of shopping when he let you drag him around the mall. “Is it alright?”

His lips turn up and he leans closer, as you near the entrance and the music gets louder.

“Yeah, you look pretty.”

Your smile is immediate and you’re surprised at how much that affects you. You’re pretty sure he’s called you pretty before, but maybe it has a lot to do with how he looks right now because if you’re being honest to yourself, he looks really good.

You finally enter the Club and get properly greeted by Taehyung, who gives you a tight hug the way he always does. You end up talking about his cameo in this one show and his guest appearance in Running Man, which you and Jungkook watched together the other day.

Once you make it to one of the cocktail tables, you greet your other friends from university and take shots with them to jumpstart the evening. You don’t really intend on drinking a lot tonight so you pace yourself and catch up with those you haven’t seen for years, including Jihyo, who introduces you to the co-owners of the Club. 

It’s not really your favorite thing to do, as meeting people overwhelms you sometimes, but you go along with it. It’s still a night to dress up and kind of let loose, so that’s what you do, as you dance around with the ones you used to party a lot with once upon a time. 

Taehyung is jumping from one group to another, and you never really knew how the theater kid ended up knowing a bunch of people from every faculty and department in your university. Jimin is with his course buddies whom he hangs out with frequently, and you spot Jungkook and Mo-eum in the same area they’ve been since you arrived, chatting and taking shots with people you recognize from their pre-med classes. 

You finished university about six years ago and though it’s not too long ago, somehow seeing all these people you used to walk by in the halls, the library, or the clubs makes you feel like it is. There’s something about them that’s different than you remember, and it hits you just how much time can change many things - people, places… feelings, beliefs.

The initial exhilaration from seeing old friends again and letting loose quickly dies down as your energy starts getting drained and your legs begin to cramp up. 

Despite your low block heels and not-too-tight dress, you still feel a little bit uncomfortable. It’s a much different experience than the last time, which you suddenly remember was months ago when Taehyung invited you all to a night out. That was when Jungkook’s ex showed up, and the memory prompts you to quickly search for him, irrationally thinking she might be here even if she doesn’t have a reason to be.

You spot him at the same cocktail table, chatting with some girls. You look around to look for either Jimin or Taehyung but a bunch of rowdy guys dance past you and bump you as you make your way towards one of the couches. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

You turn around and find Jungkook’s worried eyes looking at you.

“Yeah, I was just… trying to find a place to chill at,” you respond. “I’m a little tired.”

He gestures towards his earlier spot. “I’ve been saving that table all night.”

You follow his lead and get introduced to the girls he was speaking with earlier. They were members of the women’s swim team that he used to train with. They leave not long after you greet them, then you sit on the stool that Jungkook offers.

“Did you see Mo-eum on her way out?” He asks, leaning closer so you could hear him over the loud music.

“Yeah, Jimin and I walked her to Taehyung’s car. She has a shift tomorrow afternoon and she wanted to get some rest tonight,” you explain. 

“Right, she did mention that,” he nods.

Jungkook offers you water as you talk about who you’ve been catching up with all night. You haven’t hung out with him much and you quickly feel at ease, reminiscing and giving updates on the other friends you’ve both been talking with.

It’s clear that at this point, people have had more to drink. There’s more screaming of the song lyrics, more cheering at the dance floor, and definitely more bumping from those drunkenly walking around. 

Including this woman who gets bumped and falls to the ground, right next to Jungkook. She’s unfamiliar so she’s probably from another course you didn’t really interact with.

He gets over his surprise and quickly crouches down to help her up. She eventually does but instead of just saying her thanks and walking away, she lays her hands on his chest and dazedly smiles. The music is still loud but you hear what she says.

“Oh my god, you’re so hot,” she mumbles. “Can I dance with you? Just don’t tell my boyfriend. He’s right over there.”

She giggles and it’s clear she’s had a lot to drink. But Jungkook’s not the least bit interested, especially given that she’s not single. It’s obvious why that puts him in a sour mood. 

Just as he’s letting her go and moving back, the said boyfriend makes his way towards where you’re sitting, and you get the feeling that things aren’t going to end well. 

He calls out for the girl, saying he’s been looking for her, and she just had to make up a story that she’s been dancing with Jungkook, which clearly didn’t happen. This enrages the man who turns to Jungkook, yelling at him to keep off his girl. 

Jungkook raises his arms, explaining that all he did was help her up after she fell but the man doesn’t listen. Surely by this time, he should be focused on ensuring his girlfriend is fine, but he seems quite drunk, too, so he probably isn’t thinking straight.

There’s a bit of commotion, as the girl starts whining. Taehyung, unknowing of what’s happening, sees the man walking closer to where you and Jungkook are, so he attempts to pull the man’s arm to get him away. That enrages him, too, so now he’s turning around and pulling on Taehyung’s shirt, which prompts Jungkook to now pull the man away from your friend.

Which ends badly, as the man tries to shove Jungkook away and ends up elbowing him in the face before he finally leaves you alone.

You shriek in response, shocked at the aggression and how fast everything happened. 

You’re just behind Jungkook so you walk to face him and see that he’s busted his lip. He tries to use his white jacket to stop the bleeding, but you gently pull his hand away and place a napkin over it.

“How bad does it hurt?” You ask, trying to sound calm even if you’re boiling in anger. 

All Jungkook did was try to help the girl, and though you’re unsure if she intended to deflect and place the blame on him instead, she still shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation like that. And the man definitely didn’t need to be that aggressive and unwilling to listen. 

“It stings pretty bad,” Jungkook responds, wincing in pain as he puts pressure on the cut.

This angers you even more, and you try to storm off with your clenched fist, pumped up with adrenaline that you think you could even do anything. 

But Jungkook pulls you back before you could make another step.

“Hey, hey. Where are you going?”

By this time, people around you have dispersed. Taehyung followed the guy, perhaps to make sure he gets escorted out of the Club. It’s just you and Jungkook at the table now, and somehow he looks calmer than you do.

“Give that man a piece of my mind,” you grumble.

“With your fist?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“With my words first. And then my fist,” you answer.

He smiles at you, softly, perhaps knowing the way you do that that’s a stupid idea but that he appreciates the thought regardless.

“You know you don’t have to,” he says. “I’m okay. It’s just a busted lip.”

“I can’t believe he elbowed your face. You were just trying to help,” you scowl.

“I can’t believe some stranger elbowed my face before you ever did,” he chuckles, earning you an apology after you reprimand him for joking about something like this. 

“Really, ___. I’m fine. The pain will go away soon,” he tries to assure you. 

You take his word for it and are willing to let it go. It’s that same time that Taehyung and Jimin get to your table, asking Jungkook how he is. They say that the man has been brought out and they found the girl’s friends for her to go home with. They wanted to make sure she was safe and being taken care of.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook assures them, too. “I just need to ice it and find a pretty good pain reliever for this one.”

“I have some at home that Mo-eum gave me,” you say. “They’re really effective but they make you sleepy.”

“That should be good, yeah?” Jimin asks. “___, can you clean his wound and give him the meds? Jihyo asked us to help with managing the rowdy guests so we’ll stay a bit longer.”

“Yeah, of course,” you answer, turning to Jungkook who looks a bit apologetic.

“Take my car,” Taehyung offers. “I’ll get Mr. Yang to pick you up.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you tiredly smile, the adrenaline from earlier now gone and you’re just exhausted and upset.

“Alright. Take care of him, okay?” He gestures towards Jungkook.

“Yeah, it’s my turn to,” you say. “Take care of yourselves. Let us know when you’re home.”

Jimin and Taehyung nod in response so you and Jungkook start making your way out of the Club. You come across Jihyo, who apologizes for not managing the crowd better, but Jungkook waves her off, saying it could’ve been worse.

You both wait by the street for Taehyung’s chauffeur, who’s just coming back from dropping Mo-eum off at her apartment. You move closer to Jungkook to assess the cut, frowning at the memory from earlier. The scene plays in your head and you’re hit with that feeling of anger all over again.

Jungkook sees your face contort and he can tell you’re being worked up thinking about what happened.

“I never asked you if you got hit or something,” he disrupts your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… you, you were blocking him,” you say, recalling how Jungkook immediately stood in front of you, his hands signaling you to move so you’re not close to the man. 

“He had a lot to drink and I was scared he’d do something to us.”

“Yeah well he did, to you,” you grumble. 

“Like I said, it’s fine, ___,” he smiles now to try to convince you. “My lip could've split even more with how built he was but it’s not. I’ll survive.”

“Why are you so calm?” You question him, wondering if it’s always been in his nature to be like this.

And you remember that it is. 

“If I’m not then who would be between us?” He chuckles.

You frown and bow your head because it’s true. He’s the one who’s hurt but you’re the one who seems to be so affected by it. 

But it’s in your nature, too. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever been angry at someone mistreating him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of you being upset,” he mumbles, as he gently tilts your chin up to face him again.

“It’s just… I get his anger, okay?” He explains. “I’m not justifying his actions or anything. I mean, I wouldn’t react that way. And I… didn’t. I’m just saying that yes, he shouldn’t have been aggressive but seeing your partner do something like that gets to you and you end up… doing unpleasant things. Plus, he had been drinking so that made things worse but I’m not mad at him. I’m not mad at anyone.”

His words hit you, as you can imagine that the moment the woman mentioned she had a boyfriend after trying to flirt with him, thoughts swirled in Jungkook’s mind at what probably happened that night when his ex cheated on him. You saw his face fall then, and it angers you all over again at the thought that he experienced all that before and now some stranger tried to make him the other guy because his woman got caught.

Jungkook sees you clench your jaw, seemingly controlling your emotions. It’s not just anger this time. It seems like there’s something more. 

“Hey, hey,” he says softly. “What else is bothering you?”

“People are just so mean,” you huff, close to tears at the overwhelming emotions. “And they’re mean to you. You don’t deserve any of that.”

And with your words, Jungkook knows - you’re not just talking about tonight.

He pulls you close to hug you, knowing that this is who you are. You feel things intensely, and while he’s not the type to do that, you’re doing it for him, and that comforts him somehow. 

He feels you slowly wrap your arms around him and sigh into his chest, as if this is helping you calm down. He also knows that letting you take care of him is one other way to do that.

He pulls away and tilts your chin to face him again.

“I know I don’t, so thanks for reminding me,” he says. “I guess I just easily accept bad things that happen to me because there's not much I can do about other people’s actions but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel upset. I don’t want them to win and they will if I put myself down because of it.”

You nod, understanding what he means. 

And he’s right. At least you get to be the one who’s mad about it. You get to expend that negative energy towards those mean people and let them feel even a tiny bit of it in one way or another. 

“I’ll let you treat my cut and I’ll take the meds, yeah?” 

“Sounds good,” you say, amazed at how he’s the one who’s still able to pacify you when he’s the one who’s hurt.

You wait a few minutes more with him until the car arrives. 

The ride to your apartment is quiet. You spend most of it looking out the window, occasionally turning towards him where he meets your gaze once he senses you’re looking at him. He gives you an assuring smile and you return it, as if to say that you just want to make sure he’s okay. 

You instruct him to take a seat once he enters your place and you immediately give him the pain reliever. You hand him a cloth-wrapped cube of ice to soothe the cut, which has thankfully stopped bleeding. But you see the blood stains on his jacket sleeves and offer to soak it so they don’t stick.

You leave him to prepare a vinegar solution that you search online then return to your dining room. He’s already rid himself of his jacket, and he sits there with his tattooed arm holding up the ice to his wound, wincing at the sting. That man was big, and you’re thankful that his elbow didn’t slice Jungkook’s lip completely open because that definitely could’ve happened.

“How’s it looking?” He asks, as he shows it to you.

“Still a bit swollen,” you sigh. “How do you feel?”

“Meds are starting to work,” he yawns. 

“And what do you have to do next?” You ask, remembering that he’s a PE teacher and he definitely knows about cut treatment more than you do.

“Just rinse and make sure I don’t irritate it.”

“Sounds pretty simple,” you nod. “It really could’ve been worse,” you shake your head.

“Yeah, he could’ve elbowed my nose instead. Imagine that,” he chuckles, knowing how protective you are of it, even if he really doesn’t know if you mean it or just say it to tease him.

“If he did, I really would’ve gone to him and smacked him or something,” you frown. “Nobody messes with that cute nose, I swear.” 

“I appreciate how it’s worthy of your protection,” he smiles, yawning again.

You note his glazed eyes and think of how tired he must be right now. It’s been a long night and you want him to just rest and feel better in the morning.

“Just stay the night, Kook,” you offer. “You can wash up and go straight to sleep. I’ll set up the sofa bed.”

Jungkook looks softly at you. You’ve been everything he’s needed all night. Even if he was barely with you, he kept glancing to where you were to see if you were enjoying yourself. And of course because you looked really pretty in the white halter dress that he just wanted to see more, and he’s glad he got to tell you that early on. 

But once he started to get tired from all the socializing, there you were. Both of you got to talking and he immediately felt at ease. And while that woman and her boyfriend disrupted his night, they didn’t completely ruin it, not when he gets to be with you at the end of it. 

Sure, he hopes he didn’t have a busted lip but him getting hurt is much better than you experiencing even a fraction of what he did.

So yeah, it’s not all bad. He gets to sleep knowing you’re around him again and that you’ll be there in the morning.

“Alright,” he smiles. “I’ll get myself cleaned, then.”

Just like before, you give him a towel and clothes to use. The spare toothbrush from last time is still there, you say, and he feels giddy knowing you hadn’t thrown it away.

You set up the sofa bed in time and give him something to further soothe his lip. You leave a glass of water on the coffee table, too.

He’s asleep by the time you finish taking your shower. The cold compress lays loosely on his hand so you kneel next to him and take that away. 

He looks tired as his mouth is slightly opened and he breathes heavily. But still, he looks peaceful and that assures you. 

He was never the type to be doted on, especially since he’s always managed to get things done on his own. Most times he doesn’t even ask for help, instead looking out for others who need him. You know this, but he also knows of your tendencies to panic and your need to know for certain that he’s okay. Perhaps that’s why he agreed to stay. 

You walk towards your bed but decide to look back, as Jimin’s words from earlier ring in your head. Leaning on your wall, you gaze at Jungkook and try to understand what you’ve felt this whole evening.

There was that sense of protectiveness earlier. He’s a good person who deserves good things, and whether it’s because of someone he cared about or a complete stranger, he gets hurt in the end, even if he was just trying to love and trying to help. 

You’ve always been protective of your friends but there was a different type of intensity when it came to Jungkook. You felt helpless but you also desperately wanted him to know that you were gonna stand up for him regardless of what it meant for you.

As you look at him tonight, it’s a similar feeling, just a bit more mellow. You want to protect him in whatever way you can. You want to see him enjoying life. You want him to know he’s cared for, that someone looks forward to his laughter and his presence, that he makes someone’s day bearable and fun. 

And as you lay in bed, you think about what else you’re feeling and it hits you. You want to wrap your arms around him and make him feel comfortable, like there’s a place for him to breathe and be himself. Because that’s how he’s been making you feel recently, and there’s no denying that anymore.

Jungkook is still asleep when you wake up the next day. You both slept through the morning and you’ve gotten hungry, so you search for the things he’s allowed to eat and decide on getting some cold noodles and milkshakes delivered. 

You reply to your friends’ messages about how he’s doing, and Mo-eum recommends that he just rest since based on your account, he got knocked pretty hard so that might still have an effect on him. 

You’re putting his soaked jacket inside your laundry machine when you hear Jungkook grunting awake from his sleep. You head to him immediately and ask him how he’s feeling.

“I feel fine,” he hums, rubbing his eyes as he gets used to the early afternoon  light. “That pain reliever knocked me out good. I needed that sleep.”

“That’s good to hear,” you nod. “I got us food delivered so just wait a while. I’m getting your jacket washed, too, if that’s fine.”

“Sure. I can also just come back for it so you don’t feel rushed.”

“Okay,” you answer. “I was worried about you last night. I know you know how I get so if you stayed to appease me, I appreciate it, Kook.”

“What if I also just wanted to spend more time with you, would that have been okay?” He asks, catching you off guard. 

He’s cheeky sometimes, but you don’t recall him being this bold. Your heart does a weird thing. You’re not actually sure if it’s stopped or if it’s just fluttering too hard that you don’t feel it.

Maybe it’s the way he said it with his low, gravelly voice. Maybe you're just overthinking what Jimin had said and now you’re putting meaning into everything. The last thing you want is to convince yourself that something’s there when there isn’t, just because your best friend assumed that there was. 

Your face might have made a dozen different expressions again because before you can answer, he’s already chuckling at you and standing up, seemingly not interested - or perhaps just impatient - in what you have to say.

“I’ll just wash my face,” he says.

Jungkook faces the mirror and scolds himself. What he said was way too bold than what you’re used to, even if it’s the truth. He truly could’ve managed on his own, even if he probably would’ve sleepily dragged himself up to his apartment last night.

But he stayed because he knew you’d be worrying. And he wanted to bask in that feeling, even if he fell asleep right away. But being here, seeing you first thing in the morning, and spending a few more hours with you - those are things he wants to do, too.

He recalls what he told Taehyung he’d do about his feelings for you. He’ll probably drop hints or be a little more forward, but he doesn’t want to overdo it nor be too different for fear of scaring you. Or worse, pressuring you. You’ll most likely tell him off.

He wants you to settle into him, like he’d said. He wants you to just feel your way around him until you’re comfortable - until you want to hold hands and kiss and cuddle. If that’s what you want.

You’re preparing the delivered food by the time he’s finished in the bathroom and he sits in front of you, acting like there aren’t a hundred things running through his mind. This domesticity is one of them; liking and wanting more of it is another.

You no longer seemed too bothered about what he said earlier and you both get into your usual banter while eating. 

Your phone beeps, so does Jungkook’s, and it seems that your friends have resumed asking how he is, now that you’ve informed them that he’s awake.

“Reply, please. They’ll wanna hear it from you,” you tell him. 

They eventually call. Jimin’s driving, Taehyung is working out, and Mo-eum is on her way to her shift. You let Jungkook share his account this time and you watch him from your seat, happy that he’s regained his energy. There’s that smile again. And your heart has seriously been so weird since last night.

You wonder if it’s always done that. Or perhaps this is an entirely new feeling that you’re slowly discovering. 

Jungkook scrunches his nose. He’s laughing and then asking if you’re full and then filling your glass with water. You’re reminded that yes, he’s always been like this.

It’s you that’s probably changed. And you’re not quite sure what to do. Keep your distance to sort your feelings out and see if you’ll miss him? Keep spending time with him and see if the sensation and giddiness continue? 

Just then, you get a notification from your other group chat, and it’s Hayoung who’s messaging.

[hayoung 💛] Hello friends! Less than 2 weeks until our pre-wedding party / send off trip for Tae in Jeju! I’ve got everything booked. Meet up at 11 in the airport!

[hayoung 💛] To Kook and ___ who can’t leave earlier because of work (boooo 😢), I’ve arranged an airport transfer to drive you to the house. I’ll send the details later. See you all! We can’t wait!

You’re reminded of the last trip before Taehyung leaves, the late afternoon flight you have with Jungkook, and the four days you’ll be spending with him.

Seems like you’ll have to go with the second option, then. 

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