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desired-victim · 3 years

Note

Helloo! I wanted to request hisoka with corruption kink. Just write however you want to lolol i dont mind any freaky🏃

Ha *wipes sweat off forehead* I hope this hard work pays off. I put every ounce of effort in writing this 😮‍💨. I didn’t do any bullet points on this one but it does have about four thousand words! Please ignore the possible grammar mistakes, I do have trouble writing dialogue. I worked on yours all night long and I’m exhausted. My fingers sure are. I kept your request deeply in mind. You can see poor, little (Y/N)’s innocence melt right off her like ice cream ;). Anyway, here’s your request, my love 💕

I wanted to honor the divine feminine so you will see my appreciation for the female body below 👇

💕TW: The content below contains: degradation, domination kink, submission kink, dub con, threat of forced anal intercourse, pure smut, corruption kink, possible bad grammar, loss of virginity, dirty talk, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, corruption of innocence, Oh, and Hisoka is a TW itself.

Enjoy…

He’s tall.

God, he is so tall. Such long, strong legs - slender yet thick with muscle. Despite being erotically pleasant, his legs weren’t the best part of him. The best part of him was what your eyes followed. From his shins, to his knees, to his thighs, to his hips, to that beautifully sculpted torso of his, to his neck, and then you reached his eyes.

Those eyes. Those sharp, golden eyes of his.

His eyes unsettled most people. It was as though they could pierce your very soul, and see how weak and worthless you truly are. He's a predator - always keen, always aware, and always watching for a reason for you to be his next target.

Hisoka… how did you get those eyes?

She wondered how she caught his attention. He was the type of man to overlook girls like her. A blushing, doe eyed dolt, who could barely speak to strangers without stuttering a storm.

Why? Why would someone like Hisoka find her worthy of even being near him? Of being in his bed, of being by his side, of being between his legs. He is so very special, and I'm…

“My Little Slice, you look delightful when your down there~”

His voice shook her out of her thoughts. She looked at his teasing gaze and meekly lowered her sight to his lips. There, she saw them curl up into a grin. She tensed up and covered her naked chest with her arms. Just then, she realized how unbelievably exposed she was to his scrutiny.

“Oh, nervous now~,” he laughed out, sitting up from the headboard and closer to her face, “isn’t that sweet…”

More red than ever, she turned her face from Hisoka and leaned back. Instead of letting her move away, his hand wrapped around her wrist and thrusted her towards him. She yelped out as her cheek pressed against his hard chest, her face embarrassingly hotter than his cool skin. His chest rumbled as he let out a chuckle.

She put her hands against his chest and attempted to pull away, but his arm wrapped itself around her. She struggled to shove herself away and her efforts were all for nothing; he hadn’t moved an inch.

Perhaps it was foolish to pursue a 200th floor fighter. Where was her older brother to protect her now? He had lectured her beforehand about the dangerous people here and she laughed him off and teased him about being some sort of guard dog. Now, she needed him more than ever. She had never been in a situation like this before.

“No boys allowed, Y/N!” he usually shouted out, a vein practically popping out of his forehead. It almost seemed like he loved saying that as it was repeated over and over throughout her life.

All she wanted to do was explore a place she never ventured to. To seek the thrill that felt so curious and good, yet hidden like the inside of a flower that hasn't bloomed yet. A buzzing heartbeat that formed when she laid alone at night and gently ran her fingers up her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and shivers.

Please help me, B/N…

Her struggles came to an end as she huffed, breathlessly. Hisoka’s hand trailed down her shoulders to her waist and to her hips. His hand was met with the pleasant plumpness of her bottom. She squeaked out in shock as his hand roughly squeezed her ass and kneaded it like dough. A loud crack reverated across the room as he slapped it, leaving a red blur behind. She gasped and her face converted into an embarrassed cringe. Frustrated tears pricked in her eyes as her fingernails dug deeply into his skin.

Once again, she attempted to wiggle away. Instead of his arm wrapping around her shoulders once again, she was swept over and under him. He was hovering over her and there was no way to escape. Her previous attempts at fighting back were a failure, and she no longer wanted to fight, only to flee.

Her eyes shot out towards Hisoka’s face only to find him smiling down at her. His warm breath fanning her face and his hips between her thighs.

The glint in his eyes shook her to the core. His facial expression was teasing and playful, but his eyes told a completely different story. She’s seen that look on his face before. The same expression on his face as he killed his opponents. He looked like an apex predator who was about to break the neck of his prey with his jaws.

“You’ve never been fucked before, haven’t you?” he asked, his finger trailing down her cheek, rubbing off a tear she hadn’t noticed fell.

Her face scrunched up at his vulgar language.

“No, I’ve never been f-“ she paused, hesitating before quickly spitting out, “no, ive never been f… fucked before.” Another tear came out of her eye. She never cursed - She wasn’t allowed to.

Hisoka giggled, his smile twisting even further. He looked down at her precious expression and felt his arousal rise.

“You're utterly adorable, you know that? I almost feel a little bad about this. Almost. But you wanted to play, and don’t be a spoiled brat when the other player is better at the game than you.” He mocked, his sardonic gaze on her. It made her want to shrink into the mattress and never come out.

“Now, now,” he said, sitting up, “I’ll make it as comfortable as I can.”

He spread her thighs and examined her high waisted shorts. He grabbed the zipper at the top and unzipped it. Down and down it went, until her underwear was revealed to him.

“After all, the first cut into the cake has to be perfect.”

Her shorts were suddenly off her and on the ground. She was only in her underwear now, more exposed than ever. Most naked she’d been since that time she went to the beach. She’d gotten sunburnt that day. At least then she had a top, now her whole body was on display to him.

Hisoka hummed as he tugged his own bottoms off, revealing the thick length of his cock. His cock looked magnificent combined with the rest of his body. That sexy v-cut of his looked like two arrows directing me to look at his big dick, so large it almost dangled under its own weight. It held its own though, refusing to droop over.

How is that thing going to fit inside of me? she thought.

He spread her legs wide open and examined the thin material of her underwear as the form of her vulva showed through. The flimsy material was practically invisible.

Hisoka’s big hands grabbed her behind her knees, pushing her legs up while also spreading them even further. The bed squeaked out as Hisoka crawled on his knees over to her, placing himself over her.

Hisoka’s claws clenched themselves around her legs, indenting the soft flesh, “You have such a soft, innocent face,” he said, his face hovering over menacingly. “But I know a hungry little whore lies beneath the surface… let me feed that little whore~❤️.”

Hisoka let go of one of her legs and let it fall against the bed. Her loose leg was between his two thighs and her other leg was still being held. The top half of her body was still on the bed. Hisoka’s strength was maintained as he carried half of her body weight into the air.

He’s so strong… of course he is, that’s to be expected of a top floor fighter.

The bed let out a groan as Hisoka pushed himself onto her covered cunt, rubbing his dick between her labia majora. His cock stroked the sensitive heat over and over again, he could feel her hotness tightening and then softening as her pussy throbbed to the beat of her heartbeat. The head of his cock stroked her hard clit over and over again, the little bump riddled with sensitive nerves. Her underwear was sopping as her pussy leaked out sweet nectar. The tip of Hisoka’s cock was also leaking with precum, mixing in with her own sweetness and creating an erotic cocktail.

“Yes, don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop - I want to cum so bad. Please let me cum, please!”

Hisoka let out a breathy laugh. “If you want to cum so bad, you need to beg for it. Only good girls get to cum. Are you a good girl~?”

“Yes! I’m a good girl! I’m your good girl, Hisoka!”

“Aw, you're so cute when you beg. But I don’t think you're a good girl. No, I think you're a naughty, little slut. Little sluts only get to cum when they're being fucked.”

The sensitive head of Hisoka’s cock pulsated with pleasure as he rubbed it against the soaked underwear. If he kept doing it, he was going to cum way too fast. He couldn’t let that happen. Not before he stretched her virgin pussy with his cock. He’d be damned if he let himself orgasm before biting into her innocence.

His nails dug into her thigh as he pushed himself further into her, making sure there wasn’t an inch of space between their heats. He was going to blow and If he didn’t stop, he wasn’t gonna see that shocked expression of hers when came in her for the first time. The longer he waited, the better.

(Y/N)’s pussy clenched and her breathing sped up. She was going to cum.

I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to-

Hisoka pulled back.

“No!” She yelled, kicking her leg in frustration. She let out another yell as her leg didn’t even move an inch in Hisoka’s grip. His grip was too strong. There was no way she could force her way to freedom.

“I was so close!” she shouted, a tear threatening to fall from her eyes. “Why did you stop! I felt so good!”

Hisoka threw his head back and let out a loud, sadistic laugh.

“Haha, you're so cute when you're feisty! I’m glad I’m the first who gets to fuck you.”

He let go of her leg after getting over his giggling attack. She found herself embarrassed as she blew out strings of her own hair out of her own mouth.

As she was pulling strings of hair out of her mouth, she was suddenly pulled back onto the bed by Hisoka’s hands around her hips. She gulped as she saw Hisoka’s face hovering over her crotch.

The part of her underwear that directly covered over her cunt was a darker shade than the rest of her underwear from when they grounded against each other like animals in heat.

She watched nervously as he adjusted his position. She let out a whole body shiver as both of his thumbs opened her lips like a little book.

Hisoka licked the side of her cunt - not directly stimulating her but gently teasing her. While not directly pleasuring her, the motion relaxed her from her last intense session. A little between-the-main-courses snack, if you will.

She sat up on her elbows and watched as Hisoka lapped at both sides of her lips. She felt a swell of affection begin to grow in her chest as she watched Hisoka’s cheek press itself onto the inside of her thigh. She realized how bold she’s gotten since they began to play with each other. In such a short while, Hisoka had corrupted her - denting that once-perfect surface with his perverted nature. To think ten minutes ago she was so shy she could barely even curse. In such a short time, she’d cursed more than she had in a year. A pang of guilt filled her as she thought about how her older brother would react. But he wasn’t here, and he never had to know.

In her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Hisoka’s face twist into a mischievous smile. Her eyes widened in terror as she felt his tongue on her covered asshole.

“Hisoka!” She shouted out.

How can someone be so vulgar?

“Oh, I’m sorry, my Little Slice~. I just love it when your sweet, angelic face turns into one of horror. It turn me on so badly~❤️”

Hisoka only smiled and slid his tongue upwards towards her pussy. He pushed the tip of his tongue against the entrance of her vagina and wiggled it there. If it wasn’t for her underwear, his tongue would have been inside her pussy.

The nerves around her hole were ablaze and her legs were shaking - with fear, excitement or pleasure? Perhaps all three, she did not know. All she wanted was to be pounded by him; she didn’t care how big and thick he was (from what she saw earlier, his cock had to be as thick as her forearm). Though she was unexperienced and naive to the acts of sex, this feeling was primal and indispensable. She needed it, she needed it like a runner needs water.

His tongue dragged itself from her entrance to her clit.

“Yes, yes,” she moaned out and spread her legs wider without an ounce of shame.

It was overwhelming in the best way possible. It was the most electrifying thing she’d ever experienced and she never wanted it to end. She wanted to be there forever - in that limbo of titillation and erotic reality that was unlike anything she could recreate with her imagination.

Hisoka rapidly moved his tongue against her clit. She squealed out loud and attempted to move her hips but his hands grabbed her hips and pushed them to the bed and continued to flick her covered clit with his tongue.

She lifted herself up to her elbows and looked down at him. A hint of fear aroused in her as she made direct eye contact with him. She was so caught up in her own pleasure she didn’t realize how deeply she was looking into his eyes.

As she continued to lock her eyes with his, her pussy began to relax, getting ready to tighten and cum on his tongue. Her heavy breathing paused and she caught that expression in her eyes.

Then her panties were ripped in half and her bare cunt was revealed to him. In a split second, his entire tongue was inside of her.

She screamed as her virgin cunny squeezed itself around his long, wicked tongue. Hisoka laughed out and wiggled his tongue - messaging and caressing her inner walls as she cummed.

The wetness of her aroused cunt seeped out and dripped down to her asshole, to which Hisoka slurped up and continued his assault on her cunny again. He did this over and over again until I couldn’t handle it anymore. My hands tried to push him away but he didn’t even budge. It wasn’t until my legs began to kick out in panic did he pull away.

“Ah, ah,” she panted, body completely limp. Hisoka observed her body. Her soft stomach was gleaming with sweat and the inside of her thighs were also gleaming.

“You might be the sweetest candy I’ve had since I first tried Bungee Gum all those years ago. I knew the moment I popped it into my mouth it would never leave me, marking me with its sweet syrupy taste just like a Scarlet Letter. Would it be a bold thing to say that you're just like Bungee Gum? You get so pink when you're played with. The pink on your cheeks is almost the same shade as my favorite snack.”

Hisoka let out a sudden dramatic sigh that startled (Y/N) for a second. “Unfortunately, the company who used to make Bungee Gum went bankrupt so now I have to search far and wide just to get a taste. Luckily for me, something similar is always nearby for me to stretch and pull at.”

He paused, looking directly into (Y/N)’s eyes with his own yellow ones. “You are, my sweet little slice~”

Hisoka grabbed her ankles and slapped her legs together. The loud smack of her thighs' sudden connection reverated across the room.

Hisoka wrapped his big hand over both of her ankles and grabbed his cock, stroking back the foreskin to reveal the pink, sensitive tip and a pearl of precum forming. He placed the tip of his cock on her clit, rubbing it in little circles before sliding it down her slit until it reached her entrance at the very bottom. He felt tempted to slip it into her ass before deciding it wasn’t worth the screeching. Even though he could easily cover her mouth and sodomize her tight little ass, he couldn’t just jump into completely breaking her; It would be a better idea to slowly lower her into the fire. A slow burn would be ten times more satisfying.

Putting both of my legs onto one side of his shoulders, he used his weight to push his entire cock into her pussy until his ballsack was resting against her ass.

She hissed through her teeth and threw her head back. She was filled with his cock. So full. So, so full.

She was bursting with new sensations. A new type of pain, a new type of pleasure. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt yet so primal and familiar. It was an instinct she never realized she had.

Bending over her with her legs still on her shoulder, Hisoka connected their lips for the first time that night. She could taste her own saltiness on his lips. It wasn’t the type of kiss she’d seen on romance shows (the ones her brother decided were appropriate enough to watch). No, this kiss was the complete opposite of those. This kiss was rough, unlike anything else.

She felt a burst of bravery as she slipped her tongue out and shyly lapped at his bottom lip. Hisoka let out a sardonic chuckle.

“Feeling brave now, are we?”

(Y/N) yelped as Hisoka slid his entire tongue inside her mouth, licking every corner of her mouth. Nothing was left untouched.

After completely violating her mouth with his tongue, Hisoka pulled away, smiling down at her.

“Are you ready?” He whispered. (Y/N) let out a shuddering breath and nodded. She braced herself by meekly grabbing onto the shoulder that didn’t have her legs with one hand, the other gripping onto the sheets.

Hisoka pulled back until only the tip of his cock remained in her, then he slammed into her with great strength. Her breath completely left her body with the slam of his hips. His hips smashing against her buttocks made a filthy sound that made her want to cum. The plop, plop sound that her pussy was also doing things to her.

Hisoka grunted with every hard thrust. She fit him just like a glove. It was almost like she was made for him. While the male penis did not have as many nerve endings as female genitals, a man can augment his sensations and cause it to heighten by being caressed just right. By holding her against himself, fucking her in a salacious dance, the more sensation builds up in his penis just like when a woman’s clitoris is tapped just so…

The friction of his cock pulling on her inner walls before being pushed inside once again left (Y/N) in a concoction of emotions. First, complete and utter pleasure. As he slammed his cock into her, dopamine bursted in her mind like an explosion of drugs. Second, regret. If her brother ever found out, how would he react to his own little sister getting fucked by the murderous Magician, Hisoka? She knew he’d feel like all his work to keep her safe were a waste of time and energy. Like all those years of pampering and protecting went right down the drain. She couldn’t let him find out. And thirdly, a rebellious energy. She was tired of being locked down by her own innocence. She wanted to explore the world. There had to be more to this world than just what she knew. There had to be.

From head to toe, she felt a symphony of pleasure as she came. Her toes clenched until they cramped. But she didn’t care, the pleasure outweighed the pain. Her fingers dug into his shoulder. She was sure there would be a five fingered mark there the next day. It would be a reminder of his clawed reach and her deflowering.

She screeched out as Hisoka went faster, overwhelming her. She hadn’t even gotten over her orgasm before he began to thrust into her twice as hard. She could feel his cock rub itself against the entrance of her womb.

It was primal to push into her beautiful, soft female body and pull back, only to push himself back. He could feel himself building up the height of his pleasure. The more he pumped, the higher the tower built, just ready to topple over and leave a big mess.

He looked at her closer than ever. Watching as her breast bounced and her lips glowed from their mixed saliva. He saw her eyes as she looked up at him, red from crying in complete pleasure. Her appearance increased his desire to come.

“Ahhhh,” he moaned out, feeling his orgasm in his very bones. It was a sensation he was familiar with. After defeating a powerful enemy, he sometimes glowed with the aftertaste of their fight and his victory. This was very similar - yet so different. More intimate, of course. His prey was still alive and he was still inside their body.

(Y/N) closed her eyes in bliss as Hisoka’s cum finally rested inside of her. Her breathing slowed down and the blush on her cheeks faded into softer shades of pink. The sun was coming down. Its orange tones highlighted her sweaty body like a canvas. It almost seemed like she was a freshly painted portrait. Divine Feminine tamed at last.

Both of them laid on their backs, observing the plain ceiling. It was relaxing to lay down after such an exhausting task. All she wanted to do was shut her eyes and rest.

Rest, rest, rest…

My brother! His fight is over!

(Y/N) shot up from the bed, practically tripping over herself as she gathered her things - putting them on. She didn’t even notice her bra was inside-out. More shockingly, she didn’t even notice cum was dripping down her legs.

Hisoka watched amusingly from the sidelines at her scattering around the room.

(Y/N) scanned the room for one final time. She groaned as she saw her wet panties on the bed, right next to Hisoka. She jumped onto the bed and reached for her underwear. As she pulled back, Hisoka grabbed her wrist.

“Tell me, (Y/N), how would your older brother react to hearing about how I ruined his little sister's innocence? How I fucked her and she enjoyed every second of it? I bet he’d try to kill me~.”

(Y/N)’s mouth opened and closed, not a single word leaving her starstruck mouth. Her body was paralyzed with fear. She forgot who she was dealing with in her panic.

“What's the matter? You want to keep our little secret just between us two? Fine. However, come to my room tomorrow at the same time you did today and we’ll have some more fun. If not…”

She didn’t need to ask - She knew. She imagined the consequences in her mind, thinking about the outcome of her moment of weakness.

Hisoka wasn’t done with her; this was just the appetizer.

—-

“Hey, (Y/N), where were you during my fight? I didn’t see you in the crowd at all.”

“Oh, I was just getting some snacks.”

“Ah, alright. Next time just tell me beforehand. I wouldn’t want a stranger taking advantage of my little sister. Right, sis?”

“Haha, yeah…”

#hxh imagines #hxh headcanons #hxh hisoka #hxh x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka #hisoka imagine #hunter x hunter #hisoka x y/n

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mochamamii · 3 years

Text

yandere!nct: harmless.

▹ a/n : hello everyone, I’m back from my short hiatus. this wasn’t requested specifically, but I’ve gotten a lot of asks for jeno content so here ya go bebes 😘

▹ triggers : yandere!au, creepy vibes, cliffhanger loll..

▹ pairing : lee jeno x reader

••

“I think you’re just being paranoid. It’s most likely nothing.”

You flashed your friend Jeno a small smile, still a little uneasy.

You’d been telling him about how you’d felt like someone had been stalking you, and you were beginning to find reason to believe they may have gotten into your apartment somehow.

It was all so unsettling for you. You hated being home these days because of all the unusual things going on around you. So naturally, you were grateful that your friend Jeno invited you out for lunch today. You desperately needed the distraction.

And it had been a while since the two of you hung out together last. You were busy with school and Jeno, he…

He just seemed to kind of disappear for a little while, truthfully.

You weren’t sure exactly why he had faded into the background somewhat, especially since your new friendship seemed to be going so well.

You met him last semester at a party of a mutual friend right before break.

You both seemed to have so much in common, and he was a really nice guy. You hung out some together at the beginning of break, seeming to really hit it off with one another before he sort of just vanished…

You felt that the two of you weren’t close enough yet for you to really press the issue and ask him directly what he’d been so busy with, you didn’t want to seem like a clingy friend.

You were just glad that he reached out to you, even more so now because of how freaked out you’d been lately.

“Did you hear me?”

You perked up at the feeling of Jeno’s hand resting on the top of yours that was laying flat on the table.

“Oh! I’m sorry, no…kinda spaced out for a second.” You said as you smiled sheepishly.

Jeno smiled warmly at you, his eyes curving into a smile too.

“That’s okay. I said that if you’re too afraid to be alone you can crash with me for a while.” Jeno offered.

“Oh, I don’t know…I wouldn’t want to intrude-

“Nonsense. What are friends for right?” Jeno said, sipping from his coffee, his mug hiding the sinister smile playing on his lips.

“No, that’s okay. I already have plans to crash at someone’s house for a bit.” You answered, doing your best to reassure him.

It was a lie, but you wanted to decline his invitation as politely as you could, citing you already had a set arrangement with someone else.

Jeno was nice, but it still would’ve been incredibly strange for you to go from practically strangers to you then sleeping on his couch after only knowing him a few months.

Especially since you had a long list of friends you’d known far longer, and would feel much more comfortable staying with before you stayed with Jeno.

Jeno nodded in response to your answer, and you swore you heard him curse under his breath but you decided to ignore it and change the subject to something else.

“Anyways, how’ve you been?-

You leaned back in your chair, your hand moving to slip out from under his only to be stopped by Jeno’s hand firmly holding your own in place under his.

“Jeno?” You questioned, looking up from your trapped hand on the table to Jeno’s face.

His head was tilted down, his eyes transfixed on your nails, and the calloused pads of his fingertips ran across the glossy coat of nail polish coating your nail beds.

You tried to hide the discomfort on your face, moving to gently tug your hand away a second time.

“Green nails? That’s an interesting color to choose.” Jeno announced, releasing your hand out from under his, returning to his coffee, his usual smile back on his face again as if it had never left.

You felt frozen in place, your hand never leaving the spot on the table even though he had already let you go.

Your mind suddenly traveled back to your apartment, and the reason you began to believe that someone had broken in.

You arrived home one night to find a bottle of your favorite green nail polish spilt on the floor of your bathroom. You knew it couldn’t have possibly been you who had spilled it because you hadn’t painted your nails in weeks, completely neglecting to tend to your nails like you usually like to because of feeling so creeped out lately.

You always kept the polish tucked away in a container with the rest of your nail polish, it hadn’t been moved in weeks until you’d discovered it last on the floor of your bathroom. You spent days afterwards trying to rack your brain on how the polish could’ve possibly ended up on the floor.

You only recently were reminded to go out and purchase a new bottle of the polish because of the green stain that now refused to come off of the tile of your bathroom.

You figured you should try and regain some sense of normalcy again. Initially, you’d felt great about. Your nails were cleaned and shaped up nicely again, your power color, green, gave you a small piece of comfort.

But the way Jeno was oggling your nails made you want to scrape the paint of until your nails were void of all color. You felt icky and gross, a feeling of impending doom had worked its way into your abdomen.

Now you knew for sure you were just being paranoid and dramatic.

Green was an unusual color to paint your nails, Jeno wasn’t strange for taking notice of the bright color on your nails.

And besides.

Jeno’s a nice guy. He’s harmless.

#yandere kpop #yandere nct #nct yandere #nct yandere reactions #nct dream reactions #nct dream blurb #yandere nct dream

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years

Note

26 for the prompts? perhaps w the cat n mouse lads :3 (also look danny i did it i sent a prompt are u proud)

I...actually don't remember what the prompt was for this one, but I'm 87% sure it was "I'm not that scary, am I?"

So fine since y'all keep asking for 'em, here's more of the cat and mouse bois. Shoutout to @gabbydafurry and an anon for finally giving them names.

“C’mon.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I said no.”

“I’ll make pollo asado for dinner, we can eat it together while we watch!”

Aaron sighed and rubbed his hands against his forehead, trying to ease the dull throb that had yet to wane over the past two days. His headache certainly wasn’t being helped by the constant badgering of his...roommate, for a lack of better words (as well as being a title so eagerly self bestowed by the cat in question) but much like many of their other interactions, his resolve was starting to wear thin. Usually, he was able to hold his ground for at least a week until he was bribed into giving the other some type of social interaction with the promise of his favorite foods. Today, however, the poor mouse just wanted a moment’s peace free from knocking on the walls or calling through the cracks until he answered, and if that meant watching some stupid movie then fine.

Plus, Lucas did know how to make some incredible Mexican food.

“...fine,” Aaron conceded after a pause, the pressure behind his eyes giving him a sharp pang before fading to its usual ache, almost like his own body was projecting how horrible of an idea this was.

As soon as the mouse slipped out from behind the curio, he came face to face with the massive grin of the cat mere inches away from the opening. Seeing the grin only split wider when he was fully in view of the other normally would have instinctively sent a shiver up his spine, it was kind of difficult to be intimidated seeing how Lucas had strangely contorted his body to lay on the floor between the curio and the bookcase. Most cats seemed to be fairly flexible, so it probably wasn’t too uncomfortable for him to be so bent and curled up, but he definitely lost some of that hunter’s prowess with his back twisted sideways and one leg leaning against the shelving.

In a flash, Lucas had managed to untangle his strange positioning to instead be crouched on his knees, now looming over Aaron in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. He flinched back when his hand started to reach out towards him, fully intending to scoop him up to dizzying heights without a second thought, but the appendage stopped just short of touching him at all. Instead, he dropped his hand palm side up and waited, smiling all the while. At least he was getting better at remembering Aaron’s explicit request to not be grabbed without permission, though he did always apologize with a sheepish look and some little treat whenever he forgot.

Once Aaron climbed onto the awaiting hand that radiated a delightfully intense warmth into his already aching muscles, Lucas was already jumping up a chattering a mile a minute about how much the mouse was going to love the movie he picked out, how dinner would be ready soon, how he wasn’t expecting him to actually agree to watch a scary movie with him since he never seemed like the type who would be into that sort of thing but--

“It’s a scary movie?” Aaron interrupted, the noise finally registering beyond the headache. Truthfully, he tuned a lot of what the other said out for almost every conversation, not that it ever seemed to make a difference. Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit of a chatterbox, he admitted once, but it’s less weird talking to someone who doesn’t respond than to talk to yourself, right?

Debatable.

Lucas tilted his head and snorted. “Uh, yeah? That was one of the first things I told you about. You know that one actress who’s in almost every one of those Christmas movies we watch, who’s always the jealous best friend?” Aaron has no idea who he was referring to given that he never absorbed anything from those stupid romance movies he was boarderline forced to watch, but nodded anyways, “Right, this is supposed to be her big break out role, or something. It’s the first thing she’s doing as a lead actress, and you know, good for her! I’m glad she’s getting out of that typecast she’s been in forever. Horror probably wouldn’t be my first choice for her, but I guess since she has those singing vocals it could carry over to being a scream queen. Kind of like when--”

And Aaron was out of the conversation again.

Lucas continued to drone on about the actress’s entire film career, or at least that’s what the mouse was assuming he was doing when he occasionally zoned back in to pick up a stray word here and there. The headache he had been staving off to the best of his ability was starting to come back with twice as much force as it often did in the later days. He probably could have just asked the other for some aspirin, maybe even some cold medicine as that was no doubt what this bout of illness was turning into, but asking the cat for anything was always out of the question. Of course, Lucas tried to sway him numerous times into thinking it most certainly was not and that he could always ask for whatever he needed, never to his avail. Aaron was indeed willing to prolong his suffering if it meant not having to stomach the dreadful embarrassment that would come to being indebted to the feline, no matter how insignificant.

Unfortunately, he was only setting himself up for failure in thinking this “agreement” would be providing him any sort of relief. His headache was treading dangerously close into becoming a full fledged migraine and the flashes of light and screams from the television would not be doing him any favors. His only saving grace was that, after he had been settled on the couch and Lucas scampered off to get the dinner he promised, the cat turned off every other light possible to, as he put it, really get them in the spooky mood!

The smell of the food was delicious and nauseating. His stomach both wanted and revolted at the idea of anything filling it, which would only serve to worsen his headache no doubt. Damn it all, he wanted to throttle both himself and this illness, the first for agreeing to watch this stupid movie when he was already feeling under the weather, the second for preventing him from getting his half of the deal. These movie-dinner dates deals were the only reason Aaron continued to stick around, even if he thought the torment of being forced to watch awful romcoms in exchange for a hot, homemade meal was a little unfair. No, that wasn’t entirely true, Lucas was a freaking culinary genius as far as the mouse was aware. It was a wonder why he wasn’t majoring in a cooking field.

“I’m not hungry right now,” Aaron lied when Lucas had asked why he wasn’t eating. “I’ll try some later.”

The cat looked at him strangely before shrugging. “Alright, just let me know. If you don’t like it, I can always make you something else.” There he goes again, offering things he knows the other can’t accept. At least he could let it slide this time as he had no appetite to think of any other dish.

Lucas finished his own meal in silence, completely fixed on the television as the opening scene carried on, introducing the canine main character that Aaron did, in fact, vaguely recognize. This was fine, he figured, the dark apartment coupled with a painfully slow movie, a warm body moving to curl up behind him as it so often did during these deals, he could probably get a few moments of real rest in before the credits rolled. As much as he loathed to admit it, the cat was actually rather...comfortable to be forcefully cuddled by. He wasn’t like other movie goers that needed to make a comment on every character’s decision, steady breathing and the occasional purr helping the mouse slowly relax.

That relaxation was cut short as soon as the romcom actress tore her tiny avian neighbor to shreds by the end of the first act.

Aaron had hardly been paying attention to the storyline up until this point, something to do with the girl being bitten and experiencing insatiable hunger lately. The sudden carnage of the otherwise trusting little prey creature made both of them flinch in surprise, though Lucas was quick to laugh it off. From then on the mouse’s unwavering attention was glued to the screen, but not by his choice. A chill ran through him each time she claimed another unsuspecting victim, always a prey animal, and ripped them apart with her teeth and nails like a starving animal. The way the tiny’s incredibly realistic viscera was slurped into her bloody mouth made him queasy, all too easily imagining himself in their shoes.

Eventually, her hunger became too strong and she began attacking fellow predator species as well. Ripping into throats and soft bellies was far messier than snacking on a tiny creature in three bites, making her feast all the more gory. While the violence still unsettled him, it was a touch more bearable now that he couldn’t picture his own body being mangled between the teeth of a predator he thought he could trust. Speaking of…

The mouse gulped and risked a glance behind him at the other who had hardly moved, save for a few jolts and snickers whenever a particularly good jump scare managed to startle him. It didn’t go unnoticed that every time Aaron had physically reacted to a sudden screech or attack, the cat would curl just a little bit tighter around him, hiding a laugh behind a rumbling purr. He wanted to believe this was meant to be an act of comfort and not something equally as nefarious as the canine plotting her next kill. Regardless, Lucas was equally transfixed on the movie, except he seemed to be enjoying every minute of the horror aspect. His tail would flick in interest during the high tension scenes, even more so when a chase sequence was underway. It made sense, considering that was his favorite game to make Aaron play.

Whatever the case may be, the mouse couldn’t help but be unnerved tenfold that the other had the audacity to enjoy a fictional movie he was interested in seeing. The last thing the mouse wanted was for Lucas to get any more ideas when it came to chasing him around the apartment, much less awaken any sort of primitive instinct to maim his prize after it had been captured. To this day, it remains a deep seated fear in the back of his mind that every time the cat cupped his hands over him, his teeth would be quick to follow. Natural instincts were hard to shake for a reason when it came to prey animals such as himself, he could only hope the same wasn’t true for predators.

His imagination was running rampant, enough so that he completely missed how the movie ended. Something about a cure, something about being put down, whatever. The only thing on his mind was the morbidly hilarious thought that if Lucas were to go feral like the canine, would he eat him raw or would he cook him up in another fantastic dish?

Aaron jumped when Lucas moved to sit up behind him, only now registering the credits scrolling across the screen. He stretched a bit, the quickly fading warmth that had been surrounding the mouse making him realize just how tight the other must have been snuggled around him. How did he not notice?

“Wow,” Lucas said, pursing his lips. “That...was one of the worst movies I have ever seen in my life.”

That wasn’t the reaction Aaron had been expecting him to have, but it was certainly better than to hear him go on about how it was a brilliant masterpiece. He got up to flick the lights back on, still laughing as he recounted each poorly written scene and cheesy effects. “I mean, oh my god, right? The mail man saved everyone? Seriously? I actually feel bad for making you watch that, you totally have dibs on the next movie night.”

He turned around to look at the mouse who was still huddled tight on the couch, wide eyes glued to the screen even if it was just names moving along with ominous background music. Lucas gave him another quizzical look, smirking.

“C’mon, even you have to admit those tinies had zero survival instincts. Like, who goes up to a rabid dog and asks for directions? I get suspending my disbelief and all, but they could have made it just a pinch realistic. This is so going to tank her acting career…” The cat shook his head and moved closer to the couch so that he stood right in front of the television, finally drawing the other’s attention to himself. “Hey, you hungry now?”

Oh, absolutely fucking not. An hour and a half of being tensed up gave no relief to his aching muscles and now that the lights were back on, so was his pounding headache. His stomach rolled, the nausea a mix of dizziness and disgust from the special effects. He didn’t even want to think about food, he didn’t want to be out in the open anymore, and he most certainly did not want to spend another minute in the cat’s company right now.

“S-sure…” Aaron finally squeaked out. He just needed Lucas out of the room, distracted somewhere so he could make a break for it. In some instances, he would have just darted off whether the cat saw him or not, but that always resulted in a game of chase that had a 50/50 success rate, the other loving it anyways. All he wanted was some peace and quiet to rest up and heal and not think about how easy it would be for the other to bite off his head whenever he felt like it.

Lucas stood there for a minute, studying him, and just when Aaron genuinely feared he was going to pounce, he flashed an innocent smile. “Cool, just give me a couple minutes to get it heated up.” And with that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

Aaron decided to be bold and waste a few precious seconds of his head start to collect himself. Deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous. Lucas had been nothing but kind to him. Aloof, but still kind all the same. But as a prey animal that spent the better part of his life living in walls and stealing to survive, trust was a risk he simply couldn’t take. There was hardly any benefit to keeping up this con if the end goal was simply to eat him. For all he knew, though, Lucas was nothing more than a merciless sociopath that was willing to milk every ounce of fear he could before chowing down. A sociopath obsessed with romantic comedies and wore an apron when he cooked and had begged Aaron for two months straight to tell him when his birthday was so that he could make him a miniature cake.

...okay, so maybe Lucas wasn’t a sociopath, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy. Evolution gave him sharpened fangs and agile reflexes for a reason and the mouse was not about to find out what it was like to be on the receiving end of those one day.

With his head as clear as it was going to be for the time being, sans the dull throb behind his eyes, the mouse finally pushed himself up to make his way over to the couch arm. Slowly, as to not overwork his stiff joints, he climbed his way down to the floor and skittered under the couch for a little extra protection. Strangely, he noticed that he didn’t hear any noises coming from the kitchen just up ahead and when he stopped by the doorway, he couldn’t see anyone either. Losing track of the massive cat should not be possible, especially considering this was a one bedroom apartment and there was literally nowhere else for the feline to go without coming back through the entryway. Aaron should have taken it as a blessing, but of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

He proceeded to be daring and come out from under the couch completely to peek into the kitchen, confirming it was empty. Again, that shouldn’t even be possible for Lucas to slip out without having to directly pass the living room to go somewhere else. Unless he had, which would mean Aaron missed him somehow. He had been in quite a deep thought process on the couch...but he could have sworn he was only collecting himself for a minute!

The answer became glaringly obvious when the mouse took a few hesitant steps back and turned to retreat under the safety of the couch, only to come face to face with Lucas. He damn near jumped out of his skin, slamming his back against the wall in an effort to gain another inch of distance between himself and the face taking up his entire view. Really, this was nothing too out of the ordinary for the cat, he loved to sneak up and pounce whenever the opportunity presented itself and Aaron wasn’t too obviously close to heart failure. What made his heart stutter, however, was the fact that Lucas didn’t look like...well, Lucas. There was no smile, no warm eyes, no words being talked a mile a minute about nothing.

No, there was just a frowning cat with his ears pinned back and pupils slit, stalking closer with a terrifying rumble in his throat.

Instinct overtook him as soon as he saw the other’s lip twitch, trying to dart under the couch for safety and having his path immediately blocked by a hand being slammed down, claw out. Aaron couldn’t even yelp, the bile in his throat threatening to turn into vomit if he idled around too long. So, he didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and scampered in the opposite direction with the cat hot on his trail. He very nearly dodged a swipe, Lucas hissing that his blow didn’t land while Aaron only tried to speed up his sprinting. They circled maybe half of the living room, the mouse weaving under furniture while the cat knocked into them in an effort to jarr his prey into taking a misstep.

It worked, unfortunately, when Aaron took a sharp turn at the bookshelf and caused Lucas to clip it with his shoulder. The small bump did nothing to deter the cat on his hunt, but the two books that came tumbling down were enough to make the smaller skid and trip to avoid being squashed under the novels. He ended up twisting his ankle awkwardly, stumbling flat on his face while the momentum of his running made him roll twice until he landed on his back. Despite being winded and the additional pain in his leg, he knew there was no time to waste, trying to pull himself. It was too late, though. The cat was already on top of him, hand coming down to pin him under his palm while only his head poked free from between his fingers.

That cold, terrifying face came nearer, eyes tunnel visioned on its prize. Oh God, Aaron would give anything to have the other Lucas back right now. He’d watch a thousand sappy movies, do a date night for every meal, actually move into his bedroom like the cat had suggested he do a dozen times. He wanted...fuck, he wanted his friend back. What he thought was his friend, anyways. Not this killer, not this predator who was baring his teeth and was now mere inches away from biting off his face and--

The growling above him broke off into a snort shortly before turning into a full blown laugh. Aaron wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes in preparation for his certain death, but when he dared to open them and blinked away the budding tears, he saw that smile he had been wishing for again. Kind and warm, just like eyes, and it was like Lucas had never even taken the form of a starving hunter in his life. Like he hadn’t been moments away from devouring his beloved roommate.

“Oh, come on,” he howled with laughter, “You can’t be serious! That movie actually scared you? I mean, I thought you looked a little freaked out by it, but wow!”

The movie...so this...this wasn’t real. Lucas was just pretending, just playing a prank on him. He thought that the movie had simply wound him up and made him jumpier than usual, no different than watching a zombie flick and popping out from behind a bush at your friend later on.

Except it was different. It was different in the fact that zombies aren't real, but predators are. Predators didn’t need an excuse to go feral and maim and consume their tiny cohabitants, they simply could by the laws of nature. And yes, it may be illegal and have several laws in place to protect prey species, but if no body was ever left behind, who could say if foul play was involved? That was the whole plot point in the otherwise dull movie they sat through together, the reason why the woman was able to avoid suspicion of her sickness by feeding on tinies that could only be reported missing at most.

Lucas’s laughter had tapered off, still clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, note to self, no more horror movies.” Finally, he released Aaron from under his hand to sit back on his haunches. “Man, I really didn’t think you would scare that easily, especially from a B-movie like that. Anyways, are you actually ready to eat now? I put your stuff in the oven so it would reheat better, but it should be done by now….Ronnie?”

Aaron hadn’t moved an inch since he was originally pinned, not even after the hand had been lifted off of him. He just stared up blankly at the cat, trembling and wide eyed, unable to do anything as the rapid succession of events sunk in. The cat’s humor died down a little, smile hesitating.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist, you know?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “You didn’t even notice when I came back so I thought...I don’t know, it was funnier in my head. I almost broke character and started laughing before you ran!” With still no verbal response, Lucas reached out a hand. “Aaron? You good? Come on, I’m not that scary, am I?”

The reaction he got probably wasn’t what he was hoping for with Aaron suddenly scrambling to push himself away from the outstretched hand that might trap and tear apart his limbs. He gave a sharp squeak, managing to find his footing only to come crashing down as soon as he took the first step, his ankle noticeably swollen by this point. His cry of pain was muffled into a desperate grunt, trying so hard to drag himself away as a last ditch effort to avoid the same fate as the bird and the squirrel and the mole in the movie.

Lucas gasped. “Oh, Ronnie, your leg!” Both hands were reaching for the mouse now, aiming to cup around him and scoop him up before they surely put him out of his misery. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t...oh my God, I hurt you.”

Yes and no. In truth, Aaron had been the one to hurt himself by making his body move in ways it physically shouldn’t. But that didn’t change the fact that Lucas had shown his true colors. Perhaps in hindsight, that wasn’t a fair assessment, as he really did think he was playing a harmless little joke on a skittish friend. The pain came from knowing that the cat could turn feral, though, no matter how genuine he was being. There was still clearly an instinct within him, one that knew how to hunt and bare his teeth and hiss, one that knew deep down where they both ranked on the food chain. It hurt in knowing everything he thought about his friend, everything that kept him from really letting down his walls like the other so desperately wanted, was right. Cats and mice were not friends.

“Get away from me!” Aaron shrieked when the hands came too close. Though they withdrew quickly, he didn’t bother to watch if they would move again as he forced himself up to stumble back to his nook behind the bookshelf.

“Aaron, wait!” It was a fruitless request and Lucas knew it as he didn’t even try to stop the mouse from disappearing behind the furniture back into the walls. It would only make matters so much worse. “Aaron, please, you’re hurt, just...at least let me help you. Please. I...I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I promise!”

The cat shuffled closer, leaning down in hopes that the other could at least hear his pleas better, could hear how sincere he was trying to be. “I would never hurt you, Aaron. You’re one of my best friends. Look, it was a stupid prank and I’m an asshole and I’ll never do it again, just please come out. Just let me know if you’re alright?”

It didn’t matter how hard or for how long he tried, Aaron was long gone within the walls.

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phrynewrites · 2 years

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4/5/6 please! I feel like they could go together well! With jasco because I too need to emotionally recover from that

Alright it’s time to throw it back to teachers au and enjoy some soft, comfortable morons during the great snowstorm. Enjoy!

4. I can’t see anything

5. I heard a noise

6. Scary movies are for chumps

—

“I can’t see anything.”

“Well, if you give me back at least one of my hands, I can get my phone and turn on the flashlight,” Bosco retorted, though missing the usual lick of severity that trailed along with it.

Jasmine let go, wrapping herself around their arm instead, somehow finding comfort in the slippery fabric of their shirt.

In the light, the school’s breaker room was even more unsettling. Now that she could see the loose rusted screws lining the concrete floor, the mold peeking through the cracks in the cinderblock walls, the single, hanging lightbulb with a string that wouldn’t work even if the power weren’t out, Jasmine felt her stomach drop. She dug her nails into Bosco’s arm, fully knowing they’d remind her that she’d pay their dry cleaning bill for the wrinkles she’s causing.

Jasmine didn’t want to be down here in the first place, and she imagined, despite their steely exterior, Bosco didn’t want to either. In fact, she knew they didn’t, as they were ‘in the middle of a very good sudoku puzzle’ when the power went out and Jasmine first became clingy.

But when they went to Angeria’s office to try and get her to call the district office or find a custodian who could tell her how to fix it, all they found was a closed, locked door, shades drawn, and a string of profanities in a British accent followed by a moan.

So Bosco decided to fix it themself, claiming that “they were already disturbed from their puzzle, so…whatever.” And Jasmine simultaneously decided to go with, reasoning that if she had to be stuck in a pitch-black school, she’d want Bosco by her side—and that she’d hold the flashlight as Bosco fiddled with the breaker, which they’d accepted.

“Jazzy,” they tisked. “There’s nothing to be afraid of down here. It’s just a weird ass room with no windows, one door, and a set of termite-stricken stairs that could cave at any moment, leaving us trapped down here forever.”

Jasmine tugged their arm, bringing them closer, burying her face in their arm. She muttered, “shut up, shut up, shut up,” over and over, squeezing her eyes shut.

With Bosco bringing their other arm around to turn Jasmine toward them, their hand resting on her waist, playing with the hem of her cardigan, Jasmine began to calm down and fold herself agains their chest. And when Bosco rested their chin on top of her head, their hair brushing against Jasmine’s cheeks, leaving it’s light floral scent behind, she could nearly forget that there was an odd, dank scent to the room, that there were suspicious brown markings on the far wall, and that these things should make her fear more.

Until she heard a creak.

“No, no, no.” Jasmine fisted their shirt. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to stain the cream fabric with her mascara and tears, but she felt it welling up. “I heard a noise. Bosco, what’s that noise? There’s something here with us. What’s here with us?”

It was short, spilling out in between shallow sobs.

“Jasmine, I just—”

“I think we’re going to die down here.” She shook her head and dug in deeper, pressing her face in so hard she could feel Bosco’s shorter necklaces imprinting in her chin. “This is like a scary movie and the two of us have broken off from the group and now we’re going to be found by the killer and sawed apart and-”

“Usually when the two break off it’s to go…never mind. Scary movies are for chumps anyway, babe.”

There it was again. That same creak, coming through like an echo of the first.

“Sorry, sorry, princess.” Bosco cut her off before she could begin. “I just opened the breaker box. It’s so rusted, I’m surprised it made that noise instead of falling apart.”

Jasmine nods, pulling back tentatively, only to find that her and Bosco had made it to the breaker box.

Bosco’s hand trails from her waist to the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. And when Jasmine’s breathing proves steady, when she’s looking up at Bosco, their face sharp, well sculpted in the faint yellow light, Bosco leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

They mutter against her hair, “I’ve got you Jas.”

#for anon #thank you for the ask hun #hopefully this is soft and comforting and helps after *that* snatch game #jasco #jasco teachers au #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr fanfic #rpdr fic #phryneff #asks answered

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missblissy · 3 years

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Can we have more head canons about Alastor x reader High! School AU Please?? Thx

((Ya'll really like the high school!au huh >w> Yeah. I can hella do more. Anyways, Enjoy!!))

Remember how Angel said that thing, about you becoming Alastor's girlfriend. Well... he may have been on to something. As the cold months passed into warmer ones, you found yourself thinking about Alastor more often during your free time. You realized this while you were at home. It was a Saturday, so Alastor had no right to even be on your mind or invading your thoughts. You were watching a movie in the basement, when a stupid joke came up in a scene that made you snort, then you quietly said to yourself, "Al would love that."

Wait a second... First of all. Why would you care? Second, when did you start calling him Al? And third... Why did something like that make you think of him? This would not be the last of it. Suddenly you found yourself looking forward to sitting next to him in every class. You were excited to eat with him, you wanted to walk to your classes with him. You hadn't realized it but he was a great comfort to you.

One day while you were at your locker, you were pulling out your books when Alastor showed up. He leaned against the other lock just next to yours. That ever-present smile was plastered to his face, but you didn't dare to look. For some reason... you couldn't. Somehow... anytime you looked at Alastor you started to feel... things. Feelings in your guts and ribs and bones. It made you wanted to squirm and tare your skin off. You couldn't be crushing on him. There was no way. You weren't going to turn into one of his little fangirls.

Alastor didn't seem to notice though, he was too engrossed in talking about something you weren't paying attention to. You walked to your next class with him and ignored the ringing from your chest that filled your ears. You came up with a plan for this. You started to avoid him. You either arrived to class way too early, which he started to do, or way too late, which worked best to avoid Alastor.

It wasn't like he didn't notice this though. You stopped sitting at the lunch table, you'd pick a new seat every day just to throw him for a loop. There even came to a point that if he made eye contact with you, you'd turn tail and walk the other way. Thankfully for you, it was a big school so it was easy to blend in or get lost in the crowd.

But Alastor had a plan of his own. He found out where you were hiding every day for lunch. You hid in the library, deep within the rows of books, far in the back where no one could see you. Yet Alastor did because he found you. This was the first time you had ever seen Alastor without a smile on his face. He looked angry actually. You looked up from your book with a startled expression, "Uh... Hey-" You stopped short and caught yourself before you called him by his nickname, "H-hey... Alastor,"

"Why are you avoiding me?" He didn't waste time getting to the point, did he? You blinked at him, unsettled by the glare in his eyes and the frown tugging at his lips. This didn't get by you though. You closed your book and stood up, pointing a finger at him, "What? Who are you to just show up and demand answers from me?"

He raised a hand and held it over his chest, pointing to himself, "Because," He kept his calm very well despite looking so upset, "You're supposed to be my friend- What... What did I do? You haven't spoken to me in two weeks! You won't even look at me!" Wasn't this the point when a librarian was supposed to tell you to be quiet or something?

This was going to be hard. You gripped your arm, digging your own nails deep into your skin. You couldn't look him in the eye, "I can't... be friends with you, Alastor." You didn't want to see the hurt on his face. But this was the only way, for now at least. Until you figured out how to get your feelings under control.

"Why not?" He demanded. He took a step towards you but stopped when he saw you back away. He reached out then let his hands fall back to his side. He started to laugh to himself bitterly while running a hand down his face, "Is that it? You're going to be like every other fake fuck at this school? Will you be talking behind my back next!?"

"No!" You slapped a hand over your mouth, you didn't mean to say that. Shit. His glare tore into you, "Then why?" He closed the distance between you two and you were reminded of how much taller he was than you. When you didn't say anything he seemed to panic and Alastor reached out and grabbed you by the shoulders. You realized that this was the first time he'd ever really touched you. Sure there was a hand brushed here and there between passing papers, or bumping into one another as you passed the crowded halls. But he'd never put his hands on you before... not like this at least.

"Because-..." You stopped and thought about your next words carefully, "Because... I- I don't want to be another girl that likes Alastor LaFleur." When those words left your lips, you watched as his eyes grew slightly larger. He let go of you. His face twisted with a series of emotions, "Oh," Was all he said at first. You felt like an idiot. You were counting down the seconds and considered shoving past him and leaving. Alastor looked at the ground then lifted his gaze to meet yours, "Then be my girlfriend," He finally said.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #x reader #human!alastor #high school!au #anon #nonny #ask #hh alastor #headcanons #f!reader

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madtickler39 · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Club T’s

One of my fan favorites from the old blog, enjoy:

One could look at Emily and assume her life was perfect A nice home, well off family that was well known in California. Naturally blonde hair, a petite little figure and long legs all around a smile that could turn a man to stone. Going to movie premieres, sports events and mingling with LA bigwigs, Emily was never long without something to do. Oh dont get me wrong, Emily never complained. She loved her family, loved her friends, loved her job. She’d never complain for a second. But still something was missing. That’s why Emily found herself where she was, in a taxi outside a new and mysterious club in downtown LA. She stared at the door for a long time before the driver finally asked “Are you gettin out or what?” Emily came back to reality and paid the driver, and stepped out of her car as confidently as she could. What she couldn't sell her blue dress and black heels could. She walked into the club like it was nobody’s business, and was an instant bombshell to the eligible young men at Club T’s. What made her walk into this particular club that night? Well, to understand that, we have to go back a little bit. Emily had a friend named Stephen, and one time not too long ago Stephen did something she couldn’t get out of her head. He tickled her. It wasn’t her first time being tickled, not by a longshot. For some reason, the feeling she got when he finally stopped kept coming back to her head like a drug, needing to come forward again and refusing any lesser pleasure. She had no trouble finding a man to do anything she wanted, but for some reason this one request proved elusive to her charms. After a brief search on the internet, she found out that club T’s was the place to find what she wanted. It wasn’t easy to find out how to get in, the people she was here to see were very secretive. The main club was just like any other club. The music was too loud, the drinks were too expensive and you couldn’t see or move anywhere. After a few minutes of moving around she found the specific corner that housed the VIP section of the club, she said the codeword to the bouncer, and with a smirk he let her in. It was the look a wolf gives a deer after a day without food, and it unsettled her. Inside, the VIP area was another world. The clothes were different, the lights were a bit brighter, and you could hear yourself over the music. The men were dressed in anything from suits to T-shirts while the girls were wearing some pretty revealing clothing, anything that exposed the belly, shorts, mini skirts and few of them wore heels. They wore colored wristbands, green yellow and red. Green was an open invitation, yellow required an ask, and red meant not to approach. Emily had a yellow wristband, fastened around her ankle like the website advised. There was more seating space than at any normal club here, couches and chairs everywhere. The dance floor had some people, but others were chasing each other around the floor, and in a couch by the corner a man had a captive girl in his lap. Her hands were bound and her feet were in his lap. As he grabbed the toe of her sock, her bound hands came up to her face to conceal her smile and she shook her head. He grinned evilly and slowly pulled the sock off, revealing her bare foot. At the edges of the dance floor were a few suspended cages, each with a girl inside and a person outside sticking a feather duster in. Emily asked the bartender “What’s all that about?” A cute redhead in a black corset said “Those girls work here. The customers pay to use the feather dusters for a time. They can also pay to remove clothing or lower the cages. It breaks the ice for the newcomers. Speaking of, is this your first time?” “Why yes” said Emily looking around. “Is this actually for real?” The bartender, whose nametag read “Sam” said “It sure is. I can lock you in that cage if you’re too nervous to get started on your own?” Emily blushed, and suddenly a voice came from behind her that said smoothly “Sam, hasn’t your boss told you not to mess with the new talent? Or do I have to tickle you for your tips again?” Sam blushed now, and backed towards the liquor shelf nervously. Emily asked the tall, suit clad stranger “What?” He said “Oh you haven’t heard? If you find their service in any way lacking, you have to give them the oppurtunity to get their tips tickled back into them. That’s why she wears a corset, her pits are her worst spot.” She hissed “Damon!” So you weren't kidding on the website” Emily asked. “This really is a tickle club.” Damon said “Oh yes, but if you want to see come by when Sam brings my bottle of Dom. She needs a good tickling to earn her tips back after that hiss…” Sam gulped. She’d done it now. Damon slapped down a 20 and said “Whatever the lady likes is on me.” Sam fixed Emily a drink and grabbed a champagne bottle, but Emily hesitated as Sam left. Sam looked over her shoulder and said “You comin? This is what you wanted right?” Emily finished her liquid courage, and followed Sam to a door labelled “Barefoot Room” Upon entering, Sam said “It’s quite literal, no shoes allowed inside.” Sam quickly kicked off her pumps and went inside, and Emily removed her peep toed heels to join her. “You learn quickly Emily” Damon smiled as he smiled at Emilys little feet as she flexed her toes “Im just amazed” Emily replied blushing as she felt Damon's gaze on her toes “Theres nothing to feel scared about Emily" Damon smiled as he took a sip of his drink. “so tell me what brings you here”” Emily took a deep breath, and then she started “It all started when my friend Stephen tickled my feet a few months ago. It felt...well I guess how a normal person feels being tickled. Sure, the laughing was fun but when it was happening I just wanted him to stop after a few seconds...afterwards I couldn’t get it out of my head. I tried forgetting it, distracting myself. Anytime I was alone with my thoughts, I thought of that sensation and how badly I wanted it back. So I found this place...and here I am.” “And here you are.” Damon said. He saw Emily look down nervously and said “Emily, come sit by me.” She came and sat down next to him hesitantly, and drew her feet behind her knees, where Damon couldn’t see them. It was all she could do not to blush. He asked her “Sam needs to be tickled if she wants her tips from me, where should she be tickled?” “Her underarms” Emily replied without hesitation. Sam shut her eyes and raised her arms, beginning to breathe heavily. She begged “Please be gentle.” Damon looked and raised an eyebrow “you answered that quickly for a newbie; I think we may have a little sadist here. Sam, I think we should let your new friend here do the honors” Emily looked nervous again, and said “You want me to tickle her?” Damon nodded silently and said “If you'd prefer I can tickle her. The whole time you watch her suffer knowing that it's coming for you next…” She was up in an instant, and facing Sam directly. Sam felt her breathe and winced, that gave Emily an inexplicable pleasure. She pounced. Emily dug her nails into Sam’s underarms, and Damon smirked as she screamed. Sam was able to hold her arms up for a few seconds, but within 15 seconds they came down reflexively. Sam laughed like crazy but Emily wouldn't let up. Sam tried to turn away, but Emily kept at it, and pulled Sam closer. The punishment became a wrestling match soon as the girls came to the ground, with Emily straddling her hips. Emily leaned forward and pinned the poor bartender’s wrists over her head and blew on her underarms, which drove sam into a mad fit of giggles. She begged “HEHEHEHE Stop teasing!” Emily couldn't tell you why she said this, but she shouted “This is club tease!” Before she could sink her nails back into Sam’s smooth hollows, Emily burst out laughing “HAHAHAHAHA!” And lost her grip. Sam scrambled out from under her, and went to Damon, who was holding Emily’s ankle, with his other hand gently stroking her sole. She giggled gently with each stroke of his hands. He patted Sam on the butt and said “That’s enough sweetie. Call me when you get off work. For now I have some soft, pretty feet to break in.” This comment made Emily blush, and wiggle her baby blue toes. As Sam walked out of the room and grabbed her shoes, Emily looked down, anticipating the tickling. The tickling was slow, methodical. He was really tickling her brain more than her sole. Reminding her that he could do what he want, control her body against her will. He could make her laugh whenever he pleased. All it took was a foot and a finger. He had the finger, and the foot may as well have been a plaything of his. It was in his grasp and she wasn’t getting it out. Emily remained on all fours(or threes, not counting the foot that belonged to Damon at the moment), and giggled when Damon wanted her to, otherwise she just accepted the breaks and caught her breath. Sometimes she would look back at Damon, nearly melting him with that forced smile. Other times she looked away and tried to just take it. During a break, Damon rubbed her sole with his palm and commented “I see you took the website’s advice and got a pedicure. How recently?” Emily giggled “A couple hours ago hehehe.” she heard Damon inhale deeply and felt his lips rub along her sole now. His lips tickled ever so slightly. She giggled “hehehehe are you smelling my foot?” She read many of the men here also had foot fetishes, but never expected to find herself here tonight… He replied “You used a vanilla scented lotion. It’s my favorite.” “EEP!” She squealed, something had pinched the ball of her foot, and one look back at Damon licking his lips told the whole story. Could she really drive him so crazy with just her feet? This could add some fun to the tickling...but before she could finish that thought, her mind commanded her to laugh again. Emily fell flat on her belly as she felt a warm, wet sensation streak across her arch. She turned her head to the side to release peals of laughter, and started pounding the carpet with her fist. If Damon’s finger was mean, his tongue was just cruel. Emily was at once suffering and feeling an indescribable ecstasy. All she could do to cope was laugh, and between breaths beg “Hahahaha! Stahahahahap!” Emily got herself a momentary respite from Damon’s tongue, but only because he needed it to taunt her. His fingers returned to gently stroking her arches as he taunted “Oh you don’t want this to stop. If you did you’d pull your foot away. Look.” Emily flipped over and saw that his hand was open, only cupping her heel. He tickled with all his fingers slowly, and she reflexively pulled back a few inches, then paused. Emily hesitated a few seconds, it tickled so bad but there was just nothing like it. Her foot slowly slid back into his grip, and his hand closed around her ankle. She gasped, what had she done? Damon taunted “See? I knew you liked it!” And he tickled her sole all over again with his fingers, making her laugh even louder, wondering why she gave her foot to him. He lifted her foot up to his mouth, but there was resistance from her tight little dress. Damon lowered her foot and said “Emily, your dress is lovely but if you want to have more fun, it may be best to change.” Emily blushed again and said “I don't have a change of clothes.” Damon began stroking her instep and commented “Not to worry. There is a private changing room in here with spare clothes, better for our activities.” Damon helped her up, and opened a wall panel that led to a cozy changing room. Emily removed her dress and placed it on a hanger, then found a pair of little pink shorts and a white tshirt to put on. The shirt was awfully short, and only came down to her ribs, leaving her midriff vulnerable. The shorts were quite short, revealing her long tanned legs. She emerged a little sheepishly, but Damon gushed over her, making her blush for the umpteenth time tonight. She came up to the couch where he sat and requested “Where do you want me?” She felt his eyes combing every inch of exposed skin, searching for a spot to make her squeal. She felt uneasy, but exhilarated. Damon grabbed her by the hand and sat her on the couch next to him. He draped her legs over his...and once she breathed out he lobster clawed her knees. Emily shrieked, breaking down in helpless laughter as she tried to sit up and reach his hands. After a few moments of squeezing her legs and knees, Damon began to gently scribble his fingertips all along her thighs and up towards her hips. Emily’s laughter went up in pitch as Damon reached her hips and pinched, and he licked his lips looking at that bare midriff. Damon gave Emily a break to catch her breath, and breathing heavily she sighed “hehehe that was fun.” Damon had an evil smirk on his face, she asked him “What is that look for?” Damon said “I’m going to have that cute tummy of yours next. But I’m going to give you a choice, my tongue or my hands?” Emily’s eyes bugged out, and she couldn’t possibly choose between tortures for a moment. She thought about her feet, and his tongue was much worse there. She answered “Hands.” Damon smirked, had she chosen wrong? What was he playing at? She didn’t have time to think any further as ten fingers began wiggling along her midriff, and her tummy exploded with ticklish sensations. She let out a loud belly laugh, and cursed as her hands wanted nothing more than to seize his and make it stop. Despite this desperate need, her mind would not allow them, making them twitch up and down her sides in a comical fashion. The game changed utterly when Damon managed to wiggle a finger into her navel, making Emily scream like a banshee before breaking down in frantic laughter. She tried to get him off of there, but her hands were swatted away by his free hand. This was almost as bad as her toes, or that tongue! Maybe she should have let him use his tongue after all… After a minute or so of her navel being explored and prodded, Emily couldn’t take anymore. Her begs became more desperate, and Damon heard it in her voice. She cried loudly “Uncle! Hahahahahaha! Please! Mercy! Hahahaha!” Damon stopped rather quickly, but Emily didn’t manage to stop giggling for another minute. He rubbed her belly during this time, and at last she recovered. She propped herself up on her elbows saying “That was wicked...I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Damon smirked, and said “I bet not.” Before they could say anything else, a blonde woman and a brunette with golden brown hair came into the room dancing with each other, kicking their shoes off as they entered. They plopped on the couch opposite Damon and Emily. The blonde said “I told you if we danced Damon would get us a snack!” Emily covered her face nervously as she blushed like a teenager, and would have curled into a ball had Damon not held her knees. The brunette asked “Who’s the tickle toy?” Damon said evenly “Girls, this is Emily. Emily, that is Shay, and Blair. Two tickle slaves of mine, who need to remember what happens when they don’t use their manners.” Damon continued “Emily is new, and I think she has had enough for one night. Blair, why don’t you tie Shay’s arms over her head?” They got to work, enjoying themselves and clearly under the influence a bit. Emily asked “So what, just like that we’re done?” Damon smirked and said “For tonight, after I do one quick thing. If you want another session I’ll see to it that you can contact me. Sit tight.” Damon got up and tested Shay’s bonds, who was standing on her tiptoes in the middle of the room, suspended from a chain. Damon produced two more cuffs and said “Your turn Blair.” She giggled as she assumed position for her restraints. Once they were restrained Damon instructed Emily “Give me your sole” holding his hand out. She placed an ankle in his hand, and he produced a pen. He slowly and painstakingly wrote something on Emily’s sole, but she couldn’t tell. All she could do was laugh and scream until he finished. It felt like an eternity of that ball point pen stroking her arches, but it was bliss for her. When he finally finished, he pecked each of her soles goodnight and she left for the evening. She inspected her sole before putting her shoes back on, and it read Damon’s number and address.

#tickle club #ticklish #ticklish feet #Tickling #ticklee #tickler #club Ts #ticklish belly #belly tickling #Damon the ler

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earthstellar · 3 years

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Rewatching Transformers G1 S2: Episode 1: Autobot Spike

Yes, this is where the Surprised Ratchet meme image comes from:

This episode has a lot going on including near-death of a human character on screen, body horror/a Frankenstein plot, and some genuinely unsettling scenes mostly made creepy due to the combination of some interesting dialogue/voice acting and typical G1 Quality.

And Spike shoots Starscream in the ass mid-flight, which is fantastic.

He also shoots his dad, which is less fantastic.

Being a horror nerd, I love this episode, so here we go!

Gonna put this below a cut because I’m taking a lot of screenshots here:

You can watch the whole episode on YouTube here in 4 parts, if you want to watch along!

Alright, so it opens with Sparkplug trying to create “Autobot X”, which is straight up just a Frankenstein’s Monster of autobot parts. It’s weirdly creepy, and vaguely reminiscent of the infamous Ratchet-Megatron fusion in the Marvel comics.

I want to point out that Sparkplug says “I wanna see what I can do with a lotta spare Autobot parts and some human ingenuity” before the reveal shot above, and that’s horrific if you think about it for more than like, three seconds.

It also may have been the origins of the MECH plot line in TFP, actually! Very similar body horror type thing going on. Anyway.

It works briefly, but it flips out and has to get shut down.

Ironhide fires a laser, problem solved, nobody’s worried. They put Autobot X in storage, because surely a rampantly aggressive seemingly sentient pastiche of random Autobot parts is nothing to worry about. It’s fine.

Wheeljack is like, hell yeah, I’ll help you work on it later. Which is when we get the Surprised Ratchet image, because yeah, I bet Ratchet’s freaked out a little since this thing is made of SPARE AUTOBOT PARTS.

Then we’re swept immediately into a fight with Megatron, as many Seekers as you can fit in frame at one time, and Soundwave.

For whatever reason, Bumblebee shows up driving through a bunch of partially blown up missile/rocket components, with Spike in the driver’s seat. Even Spike is like, dude, why are we here? And Bumblebee is just like, I mean, we couldn’t NOT show up. lmao

Unsurprisingly, Bumblebee gets shot-- In alt-mode, with Spike inside. Uh oh.

Megatron leaves, because Frank Welker can only voice so many characters at once, and our attention is turned to the carnage.

Ratchet is like, sure, I can fix Bumblebee right up! Meanwhile, Ironhide is like oh god, oh my god, is this how you hold a human??? Is it dead??? Optimus is gonna be pissed.

So Optimus rolls up like, listen, take him to the hospital, come on. Ratchet lets him in the back of his ambulance mode, and Prowl goes with him so that he can throw his emergency lights on to give the illusion of a police escort, ensuring the drive is even quicker.

(I miss the days when Prowl wasn’t a total asshole.)

It cuts pretty quickly to Spike in an operating theatre; Apparently getting shot by alien space lasers isn’t conducive to human health:

It cuts again to the attending physician standing at Spike’s beside, presumably in ICU although they appear to be in a private room, with Sparkplug on the other side of the bed.

The doctor says “Hmm, if only there were a way of separating Spike’s mind from his body while we work...” Which, uh, what? What surgeon says that? You can sort of already do that in actual human medicine, it’s called an induced coma.

But sure, we need exposition here, I get it. The screenplay here is tight. Sparkplug says he has an idea...

Back at the Autobot hangout, things seem fairly chill, considering.

Ratchet is welding Bumblebee’s ass in alt-mode, while Bumblebee complains about how long it’s taking. lol

Meanwhile, Wheeljack and Sparkplug somehow have Spike hooked up to a Ghostbusters colander helmet, which will hopefully transfer his mind into the malfunctioning/in stasis Autobot X frame. Yikes.

It works! Spike is now also Autobot X. We will call him Spike X for short.

And for some reason, Spike saying “D-Da-ad?” with this faceplate expression is incredibly funny to me, while also being really weird and creepy:

However, this is only cool for like two seconds, at which point Spike X truly starts to lose his shit.

It gets real creepy here, with Spike X saying in a very oddly flat inflection “Why? Why did you do this to me? Why?” and it’s pretty wild. There’s even a mild strobe effect for a few frames.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker try to help calm him down, but Spike X throws them both across the room.

Optimus is like, oh shit, we made a giant metal teenager. Stop him, but use low power, because if the Autobot X frame is damaged too much, then Spike’s consciousness may not be able to be returned to his actual human body.

Note that Optimus says this in a pretty relaxed way, then levels a shoulder mounted cannon straight at Spike X, which is incredibly funny.

It quickly gets deeply weird and creepy again when Spike X is temporarily able to talk with his dad, and states that “it’s hard to think, like something is telling me to do... bad.... things!” Yiiiiiikes.

He gets it under control again, apologises to his dad for the outburst (I think it’s OK, Spike), and Optimus says that he’s cool to stay at the base and he’ll be taken care of while his human body heals up.

However, oh shit, the Decepticons have found out that Spike now has an Autobot frame-- And they know he’s unstable.

Starscream tries to roast him, but Megatron’s like, shut up nerd, we’re gonna make Spike X turn against the Autobots! It’s a good plan, I’m serious!

Back at the Autobot base, Ratchet is still welding Bumblebee’s ass, and Bumblebee is still complaining. Wheeljack hooks up Spike X with some network television, and he’s watching... Frankenstein. Because the six year old kids who are the intended audience of G1 may not be familiar with the source material for this episode’s plot, I guess, which is fair. (Frank Welker nails it here as Dr. Frankenstein, but that’s unsurprising, because he always nails it. I think he’s also voicing Frankenstein’s Monster, but I haven’t checked the credits.)

Obviously, this isn’t a great thing for Spike X to be watching at this particular moment, so he freaks out again.

Wheeljack and Sparkplug come running, and somehow Sparkplug is covering ground faster than Wheeljack. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

Ratchet’s progress on welding Bumblebee’s ass is interrupted by Spike X breaking through the wall and seemingly flying away. lmao

They just sort of stand there, like, well, we lost him, I guess.

Bumblebee is like, alright, gonna go get my boy.

So he drives out of this massive crater, and Ratchet is like, wait! Your radio transmitter still doesn’t work. (Apparently their radio transmitters are located in their asses. Fascinating.)

Spike X sits on a cliff and says “what a drag”, which, yeah. Being a Frankenstein space robot would be cool if not for the immense psychological damage this is absolutely causing.

However, he also calls himself a “walking garbage can” in a completely genuine put-out tone of voice, which absolutely sells that this is a teenager in a giant robot body and I laughed, I won’t lie.

Some of Megatron’s cronies locate him and hold his position.

At the same time, Bumblebee shows up and tries to talk Spike X down from a random destructive rampage.

He throws Bumblebee off the cliff! And Megatron’s squad is rolling up. (Well, flying up, anyway.) Uh oh!

Spike X is like, hell yeah, bring it. More ass to kick. And it turns out his arm mounted cannon works, because he shoots Starscream directly in the undercarriage and says “YEAH, MAN!” and it’s so genuine.

This is the perfect reaction to being a teenager in a giant robot body and just suddenly being able to shoot lasers and kick ass. Look at how happy he is, that he just shot Starscream in the butt mid-air. It’s awesome.

Unfortunately, the Seekers do actually beat him up, although Spike X puts up a good fight.

Megatron then takes advantage of his further weakened state, and swoops in to pitch a classic “Join Us” speech. Spike X calls him “Megacrumb”, which is probably acceptable because he’s absolutely concussed by this point.

Megatron is willing to overlook this for the sake of teaming up.

Bumblebee eavesdrops, and drives away-- But Spike X gives Megatron a handshake, and agrees to “make them pay”. Oh shit!

For some reason, Optimus and Ironhide are back at the rocket facility to watch a launch. Because I guess whatever, this whole situation is chill, let’s go watch rockets? IDK

But either way, Optimus roasts the inferior quality of human technology, while Bumblebee just drives up on site despite Military Police levelling sniper rifles at him in order to report that Megatron is taking advantage of Spike X’s inability to think clearly.

Optimus says “I feared something like this might happen”, which, if that were the case, why not take actions to prevent it, maybe? Not the strongest Optimus episode.

To be fair though, Ironhide transforms and is already driving off before Optimus even gives the order to roll out, so I guess Ironhide either really wants to kick some ass or cares slightly more about Spike X’s wellbeing. He has no dialogue here, so we can only guess.

They get there, with even more Autobots who showed up at some point in the rapid scene cuts here, and Spike X is super unhinged-- Charging his weapons, he starts speaking in a more strained and angry way, and engages the Autobots!

He hits Optimus with what appears to be a chest laser? It’s hard to see. But it’s super effective:

Optimus pleads with Spike X to calm down, but Spike X straight up pulls MEGATRON IN GUN MODE out of his sub-space and shoots Optimus directly in the faceplate. Damn!

The Seekers and Soundwave drop in, and start rapid firing on all the Autobots present.

We get some great shots of Megatron in his gun alt-mode as he tries to convince Spike X to keep attacking. Optimus and Bumblebee hide behind cover, attempting to bring Spike X to his senses long enough to disarm him.

Suddenly, Wheeljack and Sparkplug roll up; Sparkplug attempts to talk some sense into Spike, too.

Optimus and Bumblebee are at a loss; If they take out Spike X, the damage might take him out for good.

However, Sparkplug fails in his efforts to talk to Spike X; He SHOOTS HIS DAD AND KNOCKS HIM OFF THE CLIFF.

Can you imagine if they put an ad break here? lmao

Luckily, he has like, a claw machine arm, and he catches his dad before he becomes a human smoothie.

This shocks Spike X badly enough that while he still has Megatron in gun mode, he takes a few pot shots at the Seekers and the Decepticons decide it’s time to bounce, so Megatron bails too.

He apologises for almost killing his dad, his dad is like hey no beef man, and it cuts to them in the hospital:

Sparkplug takes his son’s body back to the Autobot base (that sounds worse than it is), and they prepare to transfer him back into his body.

What’s extra funny here is that he nervously laughs and says “Hope you fixed this thing up good, Ratchet!” And Ratchet says absolutely nothing. Not a word.

It’s a success! Dad and son hug, totally not even addressing anything that happened this whole episode, because that’s a job for a therapist.

Ratchet, who continues to not really care about any of this, tells Wheeljack “You know, I could probably repair that mess, but I think it’s best that I don’t.” (This is a play on what Wheeljack said earlier in the episode when he offered to help Sparkplug fix up Autobot X to begin with.)

I love how tired Wheeljack looks. LOL

Spike, now recovered, leaves us with a great question to close out the episode: “I wonder what it’d be like for a robot mind to be transferred... to a human!”

Depending on what kind of kid you were, his question was either imagination fuel for fun humanformer ideas, or was a blatantly bad question indicating he learned nothing and providing nightmare fuel trying to imagine one of the Autobots losing their shit in a human body the same way Spike lost his shit while inhabiting Autobot X.

Anyway, great episode! 10/10 Scary, funny, creepy, Starscream got shot in the ass by a teenager.

#g1 #transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #ratchet #wheeljack #bumblebee #transformers review #g1 review #autobot spike #spike witwicky #sparkplug witwicky #megatron #starscream

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision.

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better.

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting.

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time.

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze.

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would.

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer.

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp.

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before.

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth.

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away.

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic.

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later.

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast.

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you.

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting.

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter.

“That’s for certain,” she says.

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty.

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again.

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too.

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps.

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

541 notes · View notes

zhowongli · 4 years

Text

neon lights (in a world gray)

notes: tried some msby interactions but i’m bad at writing a lot of characters so they may be a little flat. some underage drinking, fwb, & drunk texting. i’m v bad at humor but i tried. song accompaniment recommendation: million days by sabai x hoang & let’s not fall in love by big bang! also posted on ao3.

summary: sunday mornings and midnight lights turn into songs that you watch me write. AU where you share extreme feelings with your soulmate. - atsumu/oc

wc: 10.7k (v sorry)

Your body is first to know your soulmate. The way your heart beats faster in exhilaration, your muscles burn in soreness, your body demands for food and sleep even though you are not doing anything in particular, hits you on more days than others. There’s always this constant feeling before a particular day, where you feel all these things plus a sense of hunger for something, anger and frustration, and accomplishment. Sometimes, these sudden days end in a panging ache in your heart, but usually, there’s always a sense of elation after these moments.

You are often left to wonder what kind of person your soulmate is. It makes your days a little more fun from the way he feels this sense of euphoria from doing such physical activities, from the soreness of your calves and the dull ache of your hand and wrists, from the sense of successfulness after, because he always feels so passionate about it. You wonder if sharing his passion for doing whatever he’s doing, for life, feeds into your thirst for adventure.

Your life is pretty boring and at an impasse, and while you don’t particularly mind it all that much since it has served you well thus far, you always want something more. You suppose this is why you’ve always liked chasing the thrill. You like feeling the adrenaline in your blood and the accelerated thumping of your heart because it makes you feel so alive. Doing things that you aren’t supposed to be doing is a sort of fun that you like to have because there’s something just so riveting, and it keeps calling you back.

You have a bucket list of things you’d like to try before you die because you want to involve yourself in things that bring you happiness, to do something that fills the hole in your heart, however temporary that may be. There are already some small things on there that are already checked off: skipping class, getting a belly button piercing behind your parents’ backs, trying a sip of alcohol. As you keep fulfilling the little things, you end up always adding more back onto the list. You like to turn these little gratifications into memories by weaving your emotions into words, words, words on paper, and before long, you have an accumulation of untold stories written in secret.

But there’s always one thing you have at the bottom of the list that you’re not sure if you could ever check off, ever write about: falling in love and being loved in return.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

You first feel a gnawing pain in your heart at the end of your third year of high school. At first, you think it is you who is experiencing this pain, but then a sense of fury settles in. Your soulmate is angry, you think as you put a hand over your heart, and you begin taking deep breaths as you lay down on the rooftop just to feel breezy spring winds in your hair and on your skin. You know your emotions are interconnected, so you suppose you are trying to help calm his tremulant heart in your own way.

Breathing in the chilling air as it blows the ends of your hair and flutters the ruffles of your skirt, you find yourself feeling more at peace before, anger diminishing. You’re not sure if it helps, but at least it makes you feel like you’re being helpful. Then, a sense of sharp betrayal and waves of sadness hits you. Your soulmate feels betrayed and hurt, and it makes you feel a sense of unsettlement in your heart. Your initial thought is that you want to help to ease his pain, but you think if he feels so intensely about it, it isn’t your place to try to override his emotions. So, you close your eyes as you lay on the rooftop, hands clasped together as if you’re holding his hand, and hope he feels your presence alongside him as a sort of moral support as he goes through whatever is happening.

Before long, his emotions leave you, and you’re glad at least he isn’t feeling as sad and betrayed when his emotions first flare in your soul. You smile, and you decide to skip class for the rest of the day, mind never too far from wandering what your soulmate is like.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

You haven’t felt much from your soulmate since then. There are days when the exhaustion in your body hits you harder than normal, but at this point, that has become a part of your daily routine. Sometimes, you feel the occasional intense, lasting embarrassment, and you end up feeling embarrassed and heat rushes to your cheeks. You think your soulmate may be an idiot at times like these, to be honest. But you become less focused on him and more focused on you and your bucket list as time goes by because his emotions just become a part of you.

You are about to start university when you first meet your roommate at a party some upperclassman invites you to. She is a mess, you think, as she stumbles in the bathroom, tears stain on her face and alcohol in her breath. You’re probably not in much better shape. Your head is a little dazed, and you feel a little extra empty on the inside right now because you feel like you have nothing. She wails loudly when she sees you, and you open your arms to hold her.

“I hate him!” she sobs and whimpers into your shoulder. “Why do I love him? Why doesn’t he love me?”

You can only rub small circles on her back and press soft kisses in her hair. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t have how it feels because I don’t know how to love.”

You think you don’t want to love after seeing this poor girl.

“But what’s the point of love if it doesn’t consume you?” she breathes out in between sobs, the scent of alcohol hitting your nose with each breath.

You hmm in agreement because you think you’d like to lose yourself in something so passionate, so intense that it fills your soul, but you don’t say anything more.

Somehow, in between drunken conversations, you two end up becoming roommates. The two of you are more similar than you initially thought: both of you are empty on the inside, for different reasons of course, but that makes you two get along so well.

Her words still echo sometimes in your head as you two go on in your daily lives: you with your volunteering at the animal shelter to distract yourself from reality and her with her morning runs to run away from her problems.

What is the point of love if it doesn’t consume you?

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

Your roommate has a bad habit of going out and home with someone whenever she feels extra hung up on her soulmate. You know this because although the two of you don’t say it outright, your habits rub off on each other. Of course, this means you two have fakes and often end up hitting up parties and clubs dressing a little extra provocative to fill up the hole inside your hearts. She just wants someone to want her, to hold her like she’s not broken, like that’s her soulmate holding her; you just want someone to bring some fun and thrill in your life.

You’re not sure how you ended up here. You remember the dim lights and the loud music; you remember dancing with your roommate and wanting someone to go home with after she leaves with some blond guy. You suppose your brain is a little buzzed from the alcohol, but you still vaguely remember feeling someone grinding against your body as you continue to dance. You turn to the stranger who moves so in tune with your stumbling beat, and you find yourself looking at blond hair and black undercut, darkened hooded eyes, and a small drunken smirk on his face.

You vaguely remember staring at his lips and slurring some flirtatious words, and before you know it, you two are out of the club, hands on each other, and lips barely apart. The soft, loving voice of your mother briefly echoes in your head - “Don’t be with someone who doesn’t love you.” But her voice drowns out the moment your desirous eyes and eager lips meet his, and you don’t think you’ll ever regret this. You love the feeling of his lips roughly on yours, like he’s hungry for something, for more. His roaming hands leave a trail of fire with each touch, and you cannot tell if your heart is beating in exhilaration because of you or your soulmate. Whatever, you think to yourself, you don’t care right now because all you can think about is how good it feels to be held by him.

Your back is pushed against the cold wall of the alleyway beside the club, and this coldness strikingly contrasts with the heated kisses and fiery touches of his hands and momentarily clears your mind.

“My apartment is close by,” you mutter in between kisses.

He nods, and you only remember the way back in glimpses between frantic kisses with your hands in his hair and his hands slipping under your short dress, hot breaths between your lips as you continuously find your way back to his, as if you need him, as if he is air.

You don’t even make it to your room before he hoists you up and your legs reactively wrap around his waist. Your hands are back in his hair before you begin raking your nails softly against his back. His hands are slightly colder from being outside but each touch sends a lingering, blazing shiver down your spine. Before you know it, your clothes are thrown off along the hallway to your room.

With half-lidded eyes, you see the blinking starlight through your window blinds, almost as if it’s twinkling in disappointment. But you don’t have the heart to care when he’s leaving trails of fire along your body and your nails are digging lines of raw pink all over his back.

You hope your soulmate somewhere out there also feels the thrills, the excitement, the passion you are feeling right now.

You feel so alive.

When you wake up the next morning, he is gone. If it isn’t for your scattered clothes along the hallway and marks all over your body, it would have been like he was never here in the first place. You are not surprised, but you are not sure if the disappointment you feel in your heart is from you or your soulmate.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

Funnily enough, you see him again at the next club party you go to. You are just dancing the night away, a little drunk on alcohol and high on emotions, when your body meets his again.

“Wanta get outta here?” he asks over the loud music as his hands are on your waist and yours are around his neck.

“Okay,” you nod and pull him out of the club, stumbling upon the same steps to your apartment, and remembering it happening in the exact same way as last time.

And exactly like last time, he is long gone by the time you wake up, leaving you to feel the same disappointment in your heart.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

It’s always a good time with him. He is fun, passionate, and it is a little thrilling that he is just some random stranger. But you’re not sure if you can still call him a stranger when this happens for the third time.

“If you just wanted to see me, you could have just called,” you laugh in his ear, hands playing with the hem of his shirt as his ghosts over your thighs.

He looks a little dumbfounded before he joins your laughter and gives you a roguish smirk. “Sorry, my phone’s broken. It didn’t have your number in it.”

You could only stare at him blankly. His sly smile falls off under your unmoving eyes, and he begins to chuckle nervously in embarrassment. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed because that is lowkey cringe or if your soulmate out there is in another bout of doing something embarrassing, but you laugh softly.

“That was bad,” you admit in between laughs and holds your hand out for his phone, “But here. Let me fix that.”

You see the relief on his face, and the embarrassment you feel in your heart feels subside. He’s interesting, you think, because he wears his heart on his sleeve.

Whatever mood there was before is gone, but you still end up leaving with him after a quick kiss becomes two, three, numberless because it feels like you can’t ever get enough of him. The two of you make your way back to your apartment once again, much like your previous encounters.

However, when you wake up in the morning, you are surprised to find him still next to you. His eyes are closed, but you can tell he’s awake through his twitching eyelids and uneven breathing. He probably missed his chance to leave, you think, and you debated on whether you should spare him the awkwardness and pretend to continue sleeping or to wake up and continue from last night because you’re not quite ready to go back to feeling empty again. You’re a little selfish because you decide that your escape from reality is a little more important to you than his awkwardness.

“Hey,” you sit up slowly to not irritate your pounding head, blanket pooling around your legs, “Wanna join me in the shower?”

You don’t even have to look back as you hear the ruffles of the blanket and feel his arms around your waist.

You are drying your hair with a towel when your eyes trail to his form. His blond hair is still a little flat from being damp and there are still droplets of water on his body when he begins putting on his discarded clothes, and you have to remind yourself to breathe because he knocks the air out of your lungs. He is attractive, and you’re not easily impressed, but there’s just something about him that makes your heart flutter and squeeze excitingly.

But it’s also a little unsettling when you see him in your room in the daylight. Your room is a collection of books, papers and ink, and coffee mugs, and seeing him here with his blond hair, broad shoulders, and smile that’s brighter than the sun is startling because he contrasts so much from your monochrome room. This is the first time you’ve seen him when you’re both completely sober, without the haze of alcohol and the darkness of the night. It’s almost like you’re exposing a part of your life that’s previously only set to nights only. It suddenly hits you that you still don’t even know his name even though you know his body as well as your own by now.

Almost as if he feels your unsettling heart, he turns to question you, “Ya good?”

You nod only because you’re not about to open up to the guy you’ve slept with three times but still don’t know the name of. “I’m fine.”

He looks at you pointedly, but he ruffles his blond hair and doesn’t push it. “Okay, I’ll see ya later?”

You hmm in agreement and laugh, “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

Contrary to your statement, you don’t see him soon. He’s not at any of the parties you subsequently go to. He never texted you after you put your number in his phone, so you figured he was just here for a good time, not a long time. Knowing this doesn’t help the tightness in your chest when you think about him.

Somehow, you think you finally understand why your roommate only has eyes for guys with long, bleached blond hair because you find that you are naturally attracted to guys who resemble him. You almost end up going home once with a different blond guy when you don’t see him, but you don’t feel the same excitement from his touch so you just left.

You begin to wonder since when did your eyes always look for signs for a tall blond with a lazy smile and addictive kisses. You wonder since when did your body only react so intensely when it comes to his touch. You wonder since when did your soul only feel so vibrant when you are with him.

You wonder if your soulmate out there feels the same too because you’re not getting such vivid liveliness from him these days. You still feel the adrenaline in your blood, the dull aches of your arms and hands, and the usual exhilaration after certain days. However, there’s a sense of lingering mundaneness too. It’s a little funny if you think about it because it’s almost like your soulmate is here with you, feeling the exact same feelings as you.

He’s the one who approaches you first when you see him again months later. It’s the same old story: you’re at the club with your roommate, though she’s coming with you less and less, and you’re just having fun on the dance floor when he appears. When his hand touches you again for the first time, you feel that same electricity, the same intensity that only he draws out.

“Hey,” he smirks, “Ya look good, as always.”

“Hey yourself,” you smile flirtatiously back at him, “You look alright too, I guess.”

His mouth drops and his eyebrows furrowed together like he’s offended at your comment, but you don’t feel that bad since his expression is rather hilarious.

“I missed ya,” he continues, ignoring your previous comment like it doesn’t hurt his ego.

“And I missed you too,” you smile a little more genuinely now.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you are touching, kissing, and leaving together again. It’s always more fun when he’s around, you think to yourself before you lose yourself in him.

For the first time, you two are talking in your bed, still naked, instead of sleeping after being too spent for another round. He’s a little closed off, you think, regarding his personal life, and he’s somewhat reserved and awkward at first. When the topic of careers comes up, his eyes light up under the dim lights and he tells you he’s a volleyball player in Osaka and he’s only in Tokyo for random occasions.

Ah, this explains the long absence.

You listen to him as he passionately talks about the sport, his Kansai accent slipping out more and more as he talks. You can just hear how much he loves it and the silent message of how little room he has in his life for anything else.

You tell him you don’t have anything you’re passionate about. He is confused by your statement like he’s surprised that there’s someone with no passions in life, like he’s almost offended that you have no passion in life. You only shrug and continue to tell him you volunteer at the animal shelter, and you write occasionally sometimes because it is your major.

“Really? Ya seem to be someone with a lot of passion for life just from the way ya kiss,” he comments offhandedly as he rolls to his side towards you and props his body up on his elbows, eyes looking into yours.

It takes you by surprise because no one has ever told you anything like that. “You think so?” you ask as your eyes meet his. You tug softly on his arm to pull him towards you, and when he lays back down and wraps an arm around you, you absentmindedly play with the ends of his hair.

He hums in agreement as he relaxes into your touch. There’s a sense of domesticity in this situation that makes you feel both scared and comfortable. You haven’t experienced this sort of intimacy with anyone else, where you are just talking about life still naked after fucking, and it’s scary because it’s so unknown. But there’s just something about being with him that feels so at home, like he’s supposed to be relaxing in your touch as you play with his hair, like he’s supposed to believe in you and inspire you to chase your passions, like he’s supposed to be here with you. Your heart flutters as the conversations continue through the night. You try not to think about it because maybe your soulmate has suspiciously crazy good timing and is the one with the pulsing heart.

The two of you fall asleep only when dawn comes and the first rays of the sunlight hit peek through the blinds. Unlike the stars that seemingly twinkle in disappointment, the soft lights look gentle, hopeful, positive, in a way you haven’t thought of in years. When you see his sleeping face, his mouth is slightly gaped open and his limbs are taking up all the bed space, you find that it’s a little endearing.

Your heart flutters again, and this time, you don’t fight the fact that you know it’s you and your dumb heart, not your soulmate’s, that’s animatedly beating like this.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

“I said sign me the fuck up, not assign me the fuck up,” you groan into your hands. The forming headache from earlier exacerbates into throbbing pains of a migraine.

Your roommate just pitifully pats your head before she just says, “Unlucky. How’s he even a fuck up? Isn’t he like, on his way to becoming a professional volleyball player?”

“Well, okay, he’s not really like a fuck up. But yeah, basically, he only cares about, like, one thing and one thing only: volleyball,” you continue to whine as you bury your face in your arms. “God, I knew blond guys with poor dye jobs were a bad idea.”

“No,” your roommate rebuttals, probably because her now not-boyfriend-but-basically-boyfriend’s black roots are showing and he definitely needs a retouch on that blond soon, “Being friends with benefits was. You’ll always end up catching feels, babe.”

Your roommate’s words from forever ago echo in your head - “What’s the point of love if it doesn’t consume you?”

“Ughhhhh,” you groan again, purposely dragging out the sound to express your exasperation. You hate that she’s right. You hate that you kind of had an idea this was going to happen. You hate that your stupid fuck buddy is so stupidly hot, and he makes you feel so alive .

“So what are you going to do now?” your roommate questions as she pulls your head out of your hands and into her lap, fingers softly playing with your hair and soothing the tension from your headache.

You pause for a moment as you move your arm to shield your eyes from the light before you answer truthfully, “I don’t know. It’s kinda… scary.”

She hmms in agreement. “It is. But isn’t it better to just fall? He doesn’t seem like the type to let you fall.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter weakly again, “I never know with him. He’s driven by things he’s passionate about, and he’s always either giving his 0% or 120% into whatever he loves, like volleyball. I’m just a booty call. I’m scared to be 0%.”

“Babe, I don’t think you’re 0% if he’s still hitting you up every single time he’s in Tokyo.”

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

He texts you first. It comes at an unexpected moment for you because your soulmate is going through a series of accelerated palpitations and a sense of hesitance that makes even your palms sweat, and when it arrives, this nervous energy doesn’t leave you. You feel a little anxious, but you’re not sure if that’s because your soulmate is so jittery right now or if you are scared to open his text.

When you finally open it, you forget how to breathe for a moment. If you were confused about whose beating heart and jitteriness it was before, you were definitely unsure now. Your racing heart adds onto this tension right now, and you make sure to read it twice, thrice, before you exhale softly.

In hindsight, it’s not even a special message, but when you think about how this could complicate things, how this will change from being just whatever you guys are right now to being something more, your heart flutters a little more.

“wanna come to my volleyball game?”

You force yourself to take a deep breath, repeating the words inhale and exhale in your mind like a mantra before you respond with a simple “sure.”

The instant relief you feel in your heart comes quicker than a ray of light. Once again, you are unsure whether that relief is coming from your soulmate or you, but either way, you are just glad you can breathe again.

You try to not think about the giddiness in your heart and the matching smile on your face.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

“Bro, what the fuck do I wear to a volleyball game?” you cry out in frustration as all you look through all the clothes you dug out from your closet.

Your roommate walks through your door, “Dude, what the fuck?” She makes a disgusted face as she walks into your room, picking up pieces of clothing along the way, “You’re just going to a volleyball game, just wear something comfy and cute.”

You let out a strange noise before you plant your face into the small mountain of clothing you accumulated. Your roommate sighs before you hear some ruffling and feel a light tap on your head.

“Here, wear this,” she offers. “You’re thinking too hard about it. Just have fun!”

You take the clothes out of her hand and let out another noise. Your roommate only laughs at you before she pats your head, “Okay, go on. Don’t want you to be late for your date!”

A feral noise comes out of your mouth as you try to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not a date!”

She laughs again and before you can yell at her, your phone lights up. Your eyes naturally trail to the blue light of your phone, and you see a text message from him. You quickly open the text, and your face heats up a bit when you see a picture of him in his black jersey, flashing a peace sign with a lazy smirk. He is almost handsome enough to distract you from the cringe caption that comes along the picture.

“hope ur ready to see me smack that ball like i smack ur ass ;)”

You snicker because oh my god he’s so embarrassing . Your fingers automatically type a quick response.

“yikes. hope you smack it harder than you smack my ass bc it ain’t going over the net otherwise :p”

In milliseconds, you receive a short “what!!!! :(“ in return, and you burst out laughing.

All the worries of what to wear and the tension in your body dissipates as the sound of your laughter rings in the room. From the corner of your eye, you see the small journal you kept in high school with the list of things you’d like to accomplish in life. Remembering the last item of the list to check off, to fall in love and be loved in return, you scoff softly to yourself. There’s a sense of acceptance and sereneness as you admit that you can check off the first part now because you are undeniably falling in love with this idiot.

However, minutes later, your face heats up because you feel so embarrassed. It almost feels like your soul is leaving your body because you just wanted to be swallowed up by the earth. You could only hope your soulmate is okay.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

To be honest, you’ve never gone to a volleyball game before, but the rush of emotions and energy in the area fills you up. It brings you a sense of passion, intensity, and you take in this moment and capture it in your mind. You mentally make a note to incorporate this feeling into the new piece you’re writing.

The actual game goes by in a blur, partially because you don’t know what’s going on but also because the heat, the rush just draws you into the moment and you are hyper-aware of all the movements in the court. As Atsumu goes up to serve, you see his brown eyes scan the crowd, and when he spots you, he smirks and points a finger at you as if he’s saying this serve is for you.

The crowd goes wild by his gesture, and the teenage girls sitting in front of you, the middle-aged man sitting behind you, and the grandma next to you all squeal and argue half-heartedly who he is pointing to. You only laugh, hoping he is too far away to spot your heated cheeks, before you flash him a quick thumbs-up, hoping he’ll catch it before he focuses on the game again.

He puts too much power into his spike and misses his serve, and his face is comically dejected so you laugh quietly under your breath because he just missed the serve he dedicated for you. You see his teammates go up to him, the one with the black and white hair slapping his back with a hearty laugh and the one with orange hair bouncing to him to make a joke. Only then, you feel a pang of embarrassment in your heart, and you wonder if this is what Atsumu feels at the moment. You are beginning to craft up a ludicrous theory that he’s your soulmate because somehow, your soulmate always has impeccable timing attune to your emotions and what’s happening around you.

The rest of the game goes by in a swoosh. There is a combination of bam, whoosh, and wham, and there is a boing here and there. It becomes more BAM and sploosh after the player with the black and white hair keeps scoring points, and this seems to fire up the orange-colored hair player and Atsumu even more. The colored hair trio continues to score points, almost as if they are feeding off each other’s energy and trying to one-up one another. Though the latter is more like Atsumu trying not to be outshined by his teammates, you laugh to yourself.

They end up playing three sets and win the game. You are honestly amazed because you can barely keep up watching. Now, you have a newfound admiration for Atsumu. The cheers in the stadium are loud, deafening, but all that drowns out when you see Atsumu’s genuine smile. He looks so excited, happy, and your heart beats in exhilaration. Your eyes meet, and you flash him a bright smile because you cannot contain the energy in this arena, his happiness, and the exhilaration in your heart within you. For a moment, his smile drops and he only gawks at you before his two teammates from earlier slap his back again, causing him to bend over from the force. His eyes only leave yours then, but it seems like his two teammates are curious about what he is looking at. Following his gaze, you now find yourself looking at 2 additional pairs of eyes, and suddenly you feel a little shy. You give a small wave, and they wave back boisterously before they begin to exclaim something to Atsumu before you feel a new sense of embarrassment in your heart again.

The crowd thins out as Atsumu and his teammates make their way towards you. You suspect that this is more so because you’re next to the exit than anything, but they all stop to greet you with knowing smiles on their faces. You try to take it at face value and not think too much into the meaning behind their smiles. The two that introduce themselves as Tomas Adriah and Barnes Oriver leave after a wave. Shortly after a pleasant conversation, the ones named Meian Shuugo and Inunaki Shion follow suit. This leaves you with the colored hair trio, who is currently arguing and strangely reminds you of the three stooges, and a player with wavy black hair and two moles on the right side of his forehead. He’s beautiful even with his mask on if you’re honest, and his calmness feels like a breath of fresh air here.

You hold out a hand to introduce yourself, but before you can say anything, you see him squeeze some hand sanitizer into your palms. You blink twice before you mutter a soft thank you and rub your hands together. A little peculiar, but you appreciate the value of cleanliness. After your hands are clean, you try the introductions again. This time, he introduces himself as Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Your hands are still connected when Atsumu swings an arm around Sakusa, breaking off your handshake. You see the disgruntled look on Sakusa’s face as you catch Atsumu’s eyes fleetingly before he turns to talk to Sakusa loudly about something. Just then, you see orange hair bouncing to you, and within seconds, you find sparkling brown eyes staring at you.

“Hi!! I’m Hinata!!” He greets you eagerly.

Before you could reply, the taller player with black and white hair pushes Hinata down, his sparkling golden eyes that match Hinata’s in excitement, and he loudly introduces himself. “Hey hey hey!! I’m Bokuto!!”

You could only introduce yourself briefly before they start talking again.

“You must be the girl Tsumtsum talks about!! Did you know he tripped before the game started today, and he was soooo embarrassed??” Bokuto starts playfully as he leans closer. He is so tall and muscular, and you feel so small in comparison.

“Yeah!! You must be the reason why he tried so hard to look cool serving today!” Hinata merrily adds as he leans in closer too, laughing at the expense of Atsumu.

Atsumu’s “Hey!! Shut up!!” could be heard softly in the background as they continue. Your mouth only drops a little bit. You try to chalk your shock up to the fact that they still have so much energy despite just playing three sets of a difficult game, and not because they are telling you things you’re not sure if you’re supposed to know. After all, this gives you a sense of hope that you may not be 0%.

“Well, too bad he still missed those serves…” you inject teasingly.

At that, Hinata and Bokuto burst out laughing, and you join in their contagious laughter before Atsumu leaves Sakusa and whacks his teammates softly before the three of them begin bickering lightheartedly.

“You guys are both terrible and embarrassing. Goodbye,” Sakusa sighs as he makes his way out of the stadium.

You meet Sakusa’s eyes as he leaves, and you nod in agreement. He gives you a nod in return, and you think you discover a newfound sense of comradery with Sakusa.

The trio waves goodbye to Sakusa before going back to bickering. You can hardly keep up with the energy, but it’s so fun. You catch Hinata saying something about how Atsumu is failing at all his attempts to be cool and how Atsumu is furiously denying it because he’s naturally born cool. When you guys finally part ways, you pretend not to see Bokuto and Hinata’s attempt at wiggling their eyebrows and flashing conspicuous smiles at Atsumu.

“Ignore them” is the first thing he says after he flips them off and turns to you. You only hum in acknowledgment, laughter bubbling up.

“They’re fun,” you offer with a small laugh.

“They’re scrubs, but I guess they’re kind of okay sometimes,” he huffs.

“You guys are cute,” you coo teasingly, “Are you what they call… a tsundere?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles with flushed cheeks.

You pat his arm softly as you laugh. “You did great today, by the way. It was all bam and whoosh and wham!! I can see why you like volleyball so much now.”

His face scrunches up at your description of the match, but his brown eyes light up nevertheless. He begins to zealously talk about the game. While you are listening to him, all you can think about is how he outshines the twinkling stars and how beautiful he looks in his messy hair and sweaty jersey.

“Are you listening to me?” he pouts when he finds you not very responsive.

“I am,” you reply half-heartedly, still a little too taken with him.

“Then, what did I just say?” he questions dubiously, one eyebrow raised.

“How you missed your first serve and definitely did not smack that ball as hard as you smack my ass,” you poke fun at him.

His face falls almost comically, but you can’t help yourself from laughing because he’s just so fun to tease.

“I’ll show you how hard I can smack that ass alright,” he grins with a smug look on his face as he pretends that your last comment didn’t hurt.

You tug on the collar of his jacket before you pull him into a kiss. “I suppose I can indulge my winner tonight,” you mutter with a sly smile.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

Pillow talk becomes something that’s happening more and more often between the two of you, and you’re not sure what to make of it. He is the type of person who is independent, and you kind of get the idea that he is a little awkward around his feelings despite his front. It’s nice, you think, because he is opening up more and more to you. He is still relatively drawn back, but he is slowly letting you in, and it makes your heart flutter in hope.

Much like the nth times before, you two are talking about such mundane things that shouldn’t make your heart wild, but it does. He tells you about his twin brother and how they used to play volleyball together, how betrayed and hurt he felt at the end of high school when his twin decided to pursue a different career than volleyball. Your mind briefly wanders back to laying on the rooftop, feeling the wind in your hair, and holding your hand like you’re trying to hold your soulmate’s as he falls apart. He tells you about his previous teammates and how they still keep in touch and try to schedule yearly hangouts. He tells you about his dreams and how he will play for the Japanese national team one day.

His speech is always so animated and passionate, and you look at him with admiration in your eyes. You share bits and pieces about your life because it’s only fair he gets to know you when you know so much about him. There’s not much to say about yourself because you feel so boring, so you opt to talk about the stories inside your head.

You scrunch your eyebrows together, trying to condense the storyline to not spoil him, as you tell him about the historical fantasy piece you’re writing. You tell him about the characters, their backstories, and the worlds you’ve crafted for them, explaining each one and their feelings with wild gestures of your hands. You tell him about the short and arguably bad poems you write sometimes for a change of pace and will never show anyone because it’s so embarrassing. You tell him quietly about the unfinished story of a girl who checks things off a to-do list because she feels like she has nothing and is on a journey to find something, anything.

“How does that one end?” he asks eagerly.

When you look at him after you describe your life, your heart thumps loudly and wildly and you almost forget how to breathe because out of all the stories he takes interest in, he picks the one about you. He’s looking at you with so much curiosity and affection in his eyes. There’s something more there, but you’re scared to think it is what you think it is.

You wonder if that’s how you look at him.

“I don’t know,” you finally breathe out, “I’ll let you know one day when I know.”

He hmph softly, like a child who doesn’t get the answer he wants. “Will ya read it to me then?”

You pause because this implies that he’ll be around, he’ll be here to find out how your story unfolds. You want that so, so badly, but you settle for a quiet, “Maybe.”

He seems to be pleased enough with your answer. His hand is playing with yours, and you find that he is gradually becoming more and more touchy as time goes on. There’s a crease in his brows that makes you wonder what he’s thinking so hard about. There is an unspoken tension between the two of you, and you’re not sure if you want to break it. What you guys have right now is fragile, and you’re scared that if you say anything it will shatter. You don’t think he wants to address this either because he just doesn’t seem to have the time or will to commit to anything with you. You are okay with this, you think, because it is what you expected, but it still sends a pang to your heart.

Surprisingly, he does address this though. He always wears his emotions on his sleeve and his every reaction is always on his face, and it makes you appreciate him because he is always surprisingly honest, albeit blunt sometimes.

“I like ya, but let’s not fall in love.”

The statement comes out straightforward, and it almost catches you by surprise.

“What do you mean?” you ask softly, head tilted to the side and hand tugging slightly at his because sometimes his intentions don’t come across well with his blunt words.

He looks at you with that same something in his eyes that you’re scared to identify. His eyebrows scrunch together as if he’s trying to formulate the words to express his feelings. “The word love feels too constricting,” he eventually mutters.

“Should we stop this then?” you ask quietly, retracting your hand hesitantly.

He stares at you like he’s confused, and you find it a little difficult to look him back in the eye. Well, honesty is always the best policy, so if he’s honest with you, you might as well be honest with him.

“Because I like you,” you admit softly.

His mouth drops into a small ‘o’, and you think this is an awful moment for your soulmate to have such a rapidly beating heart because you almost think it’s your own, almost hope that it’s Atsumu and it’s his heart that’s beating like this.

“What we have now is fun, but I don’t think it’s fair if I’m the only one falling,” you add on quietly.

“I like ya,” he repeats as he grabs your hand, a glint of desperation in his eyes, “But I just can’t promise a tomorrow.”

You hum in acknowledgment before you meet his eyes again, and there are flashes of too many emotions. You pull back your hand slowly, “I understand.”

You really do because there’s something so scary about falling, about the unknown, about not knowing the ending. You know he can’t promise tomorrow because he lives for now, but when you are living in now, you can’t help but think about tomorrow. You can’t help but want him to be there for tomorrow, for the days after, for as long as you can foresee. Maybe you are also holding back to prevent yourself from falling deeper too, you think, so you just settle for leaving this in more than friends with benefits and less than lovers as it is now. Just as those words leave your mouth, his brown eyes dull in defeat and he gets up to leave.

“It was fun,” he tells you on his way out.

“It was,” you agree.

He looks back, but you’re too afraid to meet his eyes, so you settle for an awkward smile as you pull the blanket around you, desperately trying to cling onto the warmth he’s leaving behind.

You’re unsure if your heartache and tears are from your soulmate or you, but all you can do is muffle the sound of your sobs into your blanket as you breathe in the last of him.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

You end up taking up more hours at the animal shelter, and you begin writing out the thoughts inside your head. It’s kind of therapeutic because you can weave together a world, a reality that’s not yours. Sometimes, you are just staring at a blank page on the screen because you don’t have it in you to write, but you just end up trying to type out your incoherent thoughts anyways because it feels like it’s a way to get it off your chest, because it feels like you can live somewhere else as someone whose heart isn’t constantly in pain.

And, if your mind and fingers are preoccupied with creating, typing out a story then there are fewer chances that you end up thinking about brown eyes and dyed blond hair and smile brighter than the sun, fewer chances you end up texting him the thoughts inside your head and the feelings inside your heart.

It doesn’t work though because you find that all your stories have some parts of him in there. The protagonist that you unconsciously modeled after him, the love interest with his passion for life, the best friend with his embarrassing tendencies, the villain with his hunger for more, everything comes back to him.

You try not to think about the constant dull heartache and mild confusion that resides in your heart. You try to not mind the fact that there’s a constant hope somewhere in the back of your mind that whenever your phone lights up, it’s a message from him, and the tightness of your heart when it isn’t.

You wonder if he feels the same way.

It’s a Saturday night, and usually, you’d ask if your roommate wants to hit the club with you. Then you realize Atsumu just had a game in Tokyo, and you always somehow end up bumping into him at clubs. You only wrap yourself in your blanket once again as you curl up in a ball. You feel a little woozy like you’ve had too much alcohol, and your head is throbbing. Your soulmate has been drinking a lot in the past month, you think, and it’s a little crazy because this past month without Atsumu has been a little bit of a new low for you too. You almost hope that your theory about Atsumu being your soulmate is wrong because you’re a little concerned if he’s drinking so much recently.

When your phone lights up and vibrates, signaling a text message, you mindlessly grab it because you are expecting a text from your roommate.

But it is from Atsumu, and all the air in your lungs leaves you when you read his message.

“i miss u”

You’re hesitant in responding. You want it to mean something, mean he actually misses you and cares about you, but you’re scared to get your hopes up. What if it isn’t even meant for you?

You only respond with a short, “are you drunk?”

“maybr but i miss u all the samne”

You don’t know how to respond, but he continues to send you texts before you can think of a response.

“i miss sseein u in my ned and dryin u hair aftet hsowers”

“i hera ur laugh wjen i makr a joke anf ur all i think fo when i ssemll books and inkk”

“i c u efvrywhere i go”

“i thik im in luv w u”

Your heart is drumming instantaneously to an irregular rhythm, and you exhale forcibly when you read his last message. The message becomes blurry on your screen as your tears drop. Your mind is feeling a million things and your heart cannot keep up with his confessions. He’s drunk right now, you think to yourself, so don’t take this to heart. Don’t think too much into it. Don’t.

“you’re drunk tsumu”

You are about to type more when you see him send another message.

“can i cone c u”

“pls”

You see the three dots at the bottom of your screen before it stops. Shortly after, you see the three dots again and you wait in anticipation, subconsciously holding your breath as you bite your lip.

“Hello, this is Meian. Sorry about Atsumu. He’s drunk, but he is true in his feelings. I think he (and the rest of the team) would appreciate it if you could spare some time to talk to him. You don’t have to if you don’t want to or feel uncomfortable though.”

You don’t know what to think, but you are reluctant to see him. “What is the point of love if it doesn’t consume you?” echoes in your mind. You remember wanting to be absorbed in love, to find passion that makes you feel alive, and you find that in Atsumu. You realize you can’t keep holding back like this if you want to live, and you’ve always wanted an adventure and he is your greatest one. He is someone you are willing to fall for, even if you aren’t his 120%, because he makes you feel like you are 120%. You take a deep breath and begin typing.

“okay. where are you guys?”

Meian drops you a pin, and you realize it’s the park you two always pass by on the way back from the club. You fight the slight dizziness in your head as you get up to put on your black coat with gold trims that oddly reminds you of his jersey and head out. Your heart is running at a million miles per hour, but the burn in your lungs as you breathe in the cold air oddly gives you a sense of calmness and clears your head.

You are not sure what you want from this - you do, but you don’t want to say it aloud because what if you jinxed it. You are trying to calm your raging heart as you near his location. Your head is getting clearer and clearer, and you wonder if your soulmate is finally sobering up.

You arrive at a park shortly after. You see Atsumu slump on a bench, arm over his eyes as if he’s contemplating his life. You see some of his teammates around him, Meian and Bokuto sitting on either side of him, Hinata crouching in front of him, and Sakusa standing close by but not in their proximity, saying something you cannot make out. When Bokuto spots you, his golden eyes light up under the lamplight and wave you over vigorously. The rest of the team follows, but all you can focus on is Atsumu raising his arm slightly to peek at you.

Sakusa is the first to approach you, and he nods as a greeting. You nod back, and his voice is even, albeit frustrated, you think, as he says, “Please talk some sense into this idiot.”

Your throat dries, but you nod again nevertheless. “I’m not sure if anyone can talk anything into him,” you offer with a dry chuckle.

He sighs in agreement before he looks at you with something akin to sympathy in his eyes. “Good luck.”

Bokuto comes up as Sakusa leaves. His good-natured eyes and energetic smile energizes you, and it momentarily brings a small smile to your face.

“Hey!! Thank goodness you’re here! Tsumtsum’s been in a slump ever since you stopped hanging around. He’s a good guy!”

“Yeah!” Hinata’s voice chirps in, eyes bright and smile even brighter, “He’s a little troublesome, but he’s a good guy.”

The two of them look like they are about to continue saying more when Meian comes and places a hand on both of their heads and ruffles their hair a little to stop their tracks. It’s kind of sweet, and it warms your heart a little bit because it looks like a dad calming down his children.

“Good to see you here. As they said, Atsumu is a good kid, but I’m sure you already know that,” Meian says with a small knowing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I do,” you admit softly and return his smile.

“Alright, well we were just here to make sure he got here okay. Here are our numbers if you don’t want to deal with him anymore,” Meian laughs softly.

You whisper a soft thank you before your eyes flicker to where Atsumu is sitting. He is still slumped over, though you can see the red in his cheeks and the tip of his ears. It’s kind of adorable, and it makes you smile, but your feet feel glued to the ground when you want to step forward. You know you told yourself it’s okay to embrace these feelings, to fall, but it doesn’t make you any less afraid. Your brain is prepared but your heart is still scared.

As if the trio senses your uncertainty, Hinata starts, “Tsumtsum’s an honest guy, so he wouldn’t say anything he doesn’t mean!”

Bokuto nods his head vigorously and cheers you on. “Yeah!! Go for it!!”

Meian just pats your shoulder and ushers the two with him as he walks forward. “Go.”

You inhale a deep breath and nod, feeling like they just gave you wings to move forward. “Thank you.”

They laugh it off before they walk off, and you can still make out some of their conversations - something about making Atsumu treat them some A1 wagyu steaks and “oooh, what about all you can eat BBQ!” next time.

With newfound confidence, you walk towards the bench where Atsumu is sitting. He peeks at you from under his arm again but doesn’t say anything otherwise. You take a seat next to him, leaving some space in between despite the cold weather enveloping you. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, and it’s so quiet that you feel like you can hear your pulsing heart. You stare at the evening sky and take in the stars that no longer seem like they twinkling in disappointment.

He tugs the end of your sleeve, and this pulls you out of your reverie. “I wasn’t lyin’,” he says softly. You can smell the alcohol in his breath and hear the slight slur in his voice, but he sounds genuine and exposed.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you silently admit.

His fingers on the ends of your sleeve make their way into your cold hand, instantly starting a fire on your hands and burning into your heart. “I just want ya.”

Your head snaps to look at him, and for the first time in a month, you’re really looking at him. You see his honest and hopeful brown eyes, face red from the winds or the alcohol or from being so raw, and form tense, almost as if he’s scared to hear the answer. You miss seeing him, being next to him, being with him.

“I thought you didn’t want to fall in love,” you respond faintly, almost inaudibly because he is holding your hand and it sets your soul ablaze in a way that you only feel when you’re with him. You’ve wanted to hear those words for so long because you’re absolutely in love with him and you’re scared to get your hopes up only to have them crushed again.

“I didn’t,” he admits honestly, “But it was too late. I see traces of ya everywhere even when ya aren’t there - in the crowds, at coffee shops and bookstores, at home when I’m back after a long day. Even when I close my eyes, I can see yer dumb smile and hear yer cute laugh, and it drives me insane.”

You smile as you whack him lightly with your other hand. “My smile isn’t dumb!”

“It makes me dumb, so it’s dumb,” he argues with a pout, but his pout fades into a smile that matches your own.

“That makes no sense, dummy,” you whack him softly again. You are almost afraid to process the latter of his statements because your heart is pounding so hard you can’t focus. You don’t miss the softness in his eyes or the affectionate smile when he’s looking at you, the gentleness and warmth of his hands as he’s holding yours.

“I think I was already in love with ya,” he confesses softly and squeezes your hand.

You can only stare at him. You feel a sudden rush of heat and excitement, of longing finally answered, of magic and love that sparkles and fills your heart and down to the depths of your soul. The words you never thought you would hear from him, the feelings you never thought would be returned, is right here. He is right here. Your heart is on fire, and you’re so hot it feels like you’re melting despite the cold weather. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

“I love you,” you whisper hesitantly as you search his eyes, not wanting to scare him off. You know he is a free spirit, and he doesn’t want and shouldn’t be tied to anything he doesn’t want to. When you only find the same look he gave you in his eyes, you can now finally put a name to the emotion: love. It gives you more confidence to squeeze his hand back and continue. “I love you with all my soul, with everything I have in me, from the beginning until the end of everything.”

Your heart beats madly and irrevocably, and for a moment you’re not sure if that’s your soulmate’s heartbeat or your own. You can only disorientedly stare at him, and he takes this moment to take your shaking hand and place it on his heart. You feel the rapid pace of his heart, and your accelerated heartbeats sync together in beats. His thumb gently brushes against your knuckles, and you find that this is a reality you don’t want to escape.

“It’s the same,” he affirms, easily and unquestionably.

“It’s the same,” you repeat slowly, words breathe out airily, and you are still a little in disbelief. “Looks like I stole your heart, huh?” you laugh softly.

“It was yer’s for the taking,” he replies honestly with a grin.

The distance between the two of you is gone, and you bask in his warmth. Your heart feels absolutely at peace and in love, and you’re wondering if your soulmate is feeling the same thing.

“You know,” you start, voicing out a theory you’ve had for a while, “Sometimes I think you’re my soulmate.”

He stares at you dumbly. “Huh, ya know, I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while too. I just wanta sleep sometimes after a long day, but then I suddenly feel excited and caffeinated and then want to cry in the middle of the night. There’s no one else I know who’s like this except for ya because I know ya do this when ya write the stories inside yer head.”

You stare at him. You don’t realize that he notices these small things about you, that he watches the way your face contours into a smile or falls into tears when you invest yourself in your stories. You can only smile wholeheartedly. “No one else has so many embarrassing moments that it makes me embarrassed and want to hide in a hole.”

“What!” he exclaims and adamantly insists, “I’m always cool and suave!”

“Uh, yeah, that ain’t it chief,” you retort with a grin. “You’re kinda embarrassing.”

He puffs his cheeks and pouts. You smile as you poke his cheek. He’s so cute. When his eyes meet yours again, your world stills. He is handsome, you think, as he leans closer to you. There’s something magical about this moment, and when he finally kisses you this time, delicately and hesitantly almost like he’s afraid and uncertain to, it feels different from the lustful, passionate kisses at night. It feels softer, indulgent, and it sparks a fire in your soul, like neon lights in a world gray, like summer in December, like you’ve been consumed wholly by love. When you finally separate for air, all you can do is mutter an airy, “Again.”

He swiftly kisses you again, and you kiss once, twice, until all you can think about in this moment is him.

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

You are writing your graduation project when you hear loud footsteps behind you. The scent of spices and soft cinnamon hits your nose before strong arms wrap around your torso. Blond hair tickles the side of your face as Atsumu rests his chin on your shoulders.

“Good morning,” you greet softly. It’s still early in the morning, and you’re a little surprised he is awake before his first alarm for his morning run.

“Mornin’, love. Whatcha doing?” he asks as he stifles a yawn, voice still groggy.

“Finishing a long-overdue story,” you hum out in response, your eyes never leaving your computer and fingers still on the keyboard.

You continue to work as Atsumu holds you, and for a moment, you think he must have fallen back asleep because he’s so quiet. That idea quickly disappears as he kisses your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin. When you laugh lightly and swat him away, he groans out in frustration from the lack of attention and buries his head in the crook of your neck.

You only laugh again, “I’m almost done, Tsumu.”

He whines in response before he lifts his head and settles his chin on your shoulder again. He quiets, and you can feel his eyes following the movement of your fingers as you type.

“Whatcha writing about?” he asks curiously, eyes now glancing at the words on the screen.

“The girl who felt like she had nothing,” you hum softly, a little distracted. “Then a dumb idiot came and made her realize she had everything all along.”

“Does it have a happy ending?” he asks, curiously, playfully, and almost shyly. He remembers you telling him about this story, about you from days long ago.

You stop typing momentarily and turn to meet his brown eyes and a soft smile. In moments like these, you wonder how you are so lucky. Your heartbeats sync together, and in his eyes, you find the passion you’ve always dreamed of, the 120% you’ve never thought you could be, and the love you’ve always wanted that consumes your heart and soul.

“I love you,” you breathe out.

His enthusiastic smile and loving eyes already answer you silently before he says it, but when he whispers “I love ya too”, it feels exciting yet peaceful, full of contradictions, but it feels so soft, whole, complete, and you want to live in this moment forever.

“A love like ours doesn’t have an ending, dummy.” The corners of your eyes crinkle in joy as you lean your forehead against his.

“Good,” he responds, hand tucking the loose strands of your hair from your bun behind your ear, “That means I get to keep ya forever.”

You hum in agreement. The thought of your bucket list from high school that you started to find fun briefly flashes in your mind, and you are glad to know that you don’t need things to check off to find fulfillment because you already have all that you want right here. But, you admit, you are glad you can finally cross out the final item of falling in love and being loved in return because you find that in Atsumu. He pushes you to find your passions, to fulfill your dreams, and he is your home regardless of whether you succeed or not. Whatever it is, whenever it is, you know he loves you all the same because he always looks at you like this , like he can see the stars in your eyes, like you hang the moon up every night, like you’re brighter than the sun.

“Yeah, forever sounds good.”

.✫彡.✫彡.✫彡.

stole your heart, and I got lucky. stole your heart, and it was mine in a million ways, for a million days.

end notes: pls don’t ask me how this soulmate au works. i don’t know either.

#miya atsumu #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #hq!!#haikyuu!!#miya atsumu x you #haikyuu x you #sorry this got kinda long #lowkey inspired by million days by sabai and lets not fall in love by big bang #head empty miya atsumu only #sometimes i write things #idk why these keep getting longer and longer when i just wanted to write a short fic #im sorry i have the vocab of a child #dunno how to describe volleyball games so i went the Hinata route #text

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