Tangled Lines | 1 | - Seungmin
Tangled Lines | 1 | - Seungmin
Seungmin x Lee Know's sister
What started as a simple favor, dropping off a bag, spirals into a whirlwind of unexpected feelings and unspoken tension.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
It was supposed to be a quick errand. Lee Know had left his bag at home, and you were on your way to Seoul for a short trip anyway. You’d planned to drop it off at his dorm – no big deal. You didn’t expect much, certainly not a run-in with anyone other than your brother.
You followed the directions Lee Know had sent you and pulled up to the apartment complex. He'd mentioned his dorm several times, but this was the first time you’d ever actually been here. As you walked up to the door, you hesitated for a moment, unsure.
You rang the doorbell and waited. After a few moments, the door swung open, and there stood a guy you didn’t recognize.
He was tall-ish, dressed casually, with messy dark hair and an easy smile. And though you didn’t know exactly who he was, you couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked, his eyes lighting up with surprise and curiosity when he saw you standing there with a bag in hand.
“Hi…?” You hesitated, unsure if you had the right place. “Uh, I’m looking for Lee Minho? I’m his sister – he left something at home and I’m supposed to drop it off.”
The guy blinked in confusion for a split second, then his expression softened into something warmer. “Ah, so you’re his sister. He didn’t really mention that he has one. I’m Seungmin, by the way. Hyung isn’t home right now, but you’re welcome to wait.”
You were still standing at the door, processing everything. This was definitely not Lee Know. You had imagined this whole interaction would be simple: drop off the bag, say a quick hello, and head out. But there was something about Seungmin’s easy going demeanor that made you hesitate.
“Oh,” you said, realizing you were probably standing there awkwardly. You tried to adjust the bag in your hand, giving him a nervous smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can just leave it here—”
“No, no,” Seungmin cut you off, holding up his hands in a gesture of reassurance. “It’s fine. Come on in. He would probably kill me if I didn’t let you inside. Lee Know’s stuff is everywhere, though – warning in advance.” He gave a sheepish grin, clearly used to the chaos.
“Okay, thanks,” you said, stepping inside.
As soon as you entered, you realized that he was right – Lee Know’s ‘stuff’ was indeed scattered everywhere. Shoes piled near the door, jackets on the couch, random snacks, and clutter in every corner. It felt so… lived-in. Real. It was kind of charming, in a messy, chaotic way.
“So, do you guys always live like this?” you asked, half teasing, half amused by the clutter.
Seungmin chuckled. “You should see Felix’s side. This is nothing compared to his mess.” He led you into the living room, where he motioned to the couch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll grab some water for you while you wait.”
As Seungmin disappeared into the kitchen, you sat down on the couch, looking around. You hadn’t expected to spend time here, but the laid-back atmosphere made it feel oddly comfortable. You noticed a few framed photos of the group on the wall – some from concerts, others just candid shots of the guys laughing together.
Seungmin returned with a glass of water and handed it to you. He sat down on the arm of the couch, casually resting one foot on the seat. He didn’t seem rushed, nor did he act weird about the fact that you were here in Lee Know’s absence.
“So, I take it you and Lee Know are pretty close?” Seungmin asked, taking a sip from his own glass of water.
“Yeah, we’re close,” you said with a smile. “He’s my older brother, so, of course, he’s annoying. But that’s what older brothers are for, right?”
Seungmin nodded, his lips curving into a grin. “I know exactly what you mean.”
You laughed, the easy back-and-forth making you feel more comfortable. And, truth be told, you found yourself glancing at him more than you had planned. He was cute, undeniably so, with his expressive eyes and the way he seemed so effortlessly relaxed even in the middle of a stranger walking into his home.
You casually brought up something about how Lee Know was always messing around with his bandmates, and Seungmin smiled at the comment, sharing a story of their last rehearsal and how Lee Know had pulled a prank on Hyunjin. It felt so easy, like you were just chatting with a friend you’d known forever.
A few minutes later, you heard the door open, and you looked up to see Lee Know walking in with Felix and I.N trailing behind him. He froze when he saw you sitting there with Seungmin, a strange look flashing across his face.
“Uh,” Lee Know said, his voice tinged with surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought your bag,” you said casually, holding it up for him. “You left it at home. Seungmin was nice enough to let me wait for you.”
Lee Know shot a quick glance at Seungmin, who was now grinning, clearly enjoying the moment. “So you two are already chatting it up?”
“Yeah,” Seungmin replied smoothly. “We were just getting to know each other. Your sister’s cool.”
Seungmin didn’t just mean it as a compliment; there was a teasing note to his voice, and you could tell he was just enjoying the moment with Lee Know. But there was something in the way he spoke, as though he was daring Lee Know to be annoyed. You could tell it was playful – he wasn’t quite serious, and he didn’t think anything more would come from it. After all, he didn’t even want to start anything that might cause trouble. But for now, he wanted to tease Lee Know, especially since it was so easy to get a rise out of him like that.
You stood up, handing Lee Know the bag. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
You could tell by the way Seungmin looked at you that he wasn’t just teasing you; there was something more genuine behind the conversation. But of course, you’d never let your brother know that.
-----
Felix, ever the social butterfly, had exchanged numbers with you long before, and somewhere in the process of joking group chats and shared chaos, Seungmin had slid into your messages.
The texts started off simple.
A casual “thanks for the water” message after your first visit turned into occasional updates about Lee Know: "Your brother’s sulking because Changbin ate his snacks again" or "Did he always hoard laundry like this?"
You didn’t think much of it at first. After all, Seungmin was easy to talk to. He had a quick wit that matched your sarcasm, and his humor always made you laugh harder than you’d admit. But the conversations had shifted somewhere along the way – becoming more personal, more frequent.
It wasn’t just updates about Lee Know anymore.
Seungmin: “Did you see that new ramen place on your side of town?” You: “I’ve heard it’s good. Why, thinking of coming all the way here?” Seungmin: “Maybe I just needed an excuse.”
It was subtle, these shifts. A lingering tone of something that felt like flirting but stayed safely within the lines of plausible deniability. But you caught yourself smiling at his messages more than you should.
The problem was, you liked him.
Not in a passing way or a harmless crush you could laugh off later. No, Seungmin’s steady humor and surprising kindness were becoming harder to ignore. He wasn’t just cute; he was the kind of guy who listened, who noticed little things, who made you feel at ease even when you were overthinking everything.
But every time you thought about it – about what it might mean – you hit a wall.
Your brother’s voice played in your head whenever you thought about crossing that invisible line. What would he think if he knew? Worse, what if it messed things up in the group? You didn’t want to be the reason Seungmin hesitated during practice or avoided Lee Know’s eye.
And Seungmin? Well, he had his own internal battle.
The teasing texts and playful banter were easy – familiar ground that didn’t require him to confront how he was starting to feel about you. But when you sent him a photo of the ramen you’d finally tried, captioned with "Guess you missed out", he stared at his screen longer than he should have.
It wasn’t the photo or the food. It was your smile, that small, effortless curve of your lips that had been stuck in his mind since the day you showed up at the dorm.
"Get it together, Seungmin," he muttered under his breath.
Lee Know was his friend, his brother in everything but blood. And falling for you wasn’t just breaking an unspoken rule; it felt like betraying that bond.
One night, after a long day of rehearsals, Seungmin found himself scrolling through your chat history. His finger hovered over the keyboard, debating whether or not to reply to your latest message. You’d sent him a photo of one of your cats – curled up in a pile of freshly folded laundry.
He smiled despite the unease feelings, typing back before he could second-guess it:
“Looks like you’re more of a cat person too. Must run in the family.” You replied instantly “I love my cats, but I don’t mind dogs either. Don’t tell Lee Know though – he’d probably disown me for even saying that.” and the conversation spiraled into a late-night exchange about pets, chaotic siblings, and everything in between. It was easy. Too easy.
And then you said something that made his heart stop.
“I always feel like I can tell you anything. Weird, right?”
He stared at the words, feeling a tug in his chest that he couldn’t ignore anymore. He wanted to feel proud of that – of being someone you trusted. But all he could think about was how wrong it felt to be the person catching feelings for you.
He set his phone down, rubbing a hand over his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
You’d noticed the shift in his texts lately – the hesitation, the shorter replies. You felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he was pulling back, realizing that this… whatever it was between you… shouldn’t be happening.
And you couldn’t blame him. You’d thought about pulling back yourself.
But instead, late one evening, you found yourself typing out a message you weren’t sure you’d send.
You: “I feel like we’ve both been avoiding something. And I get it – I do. But… I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you. And I don’t want to mess things up for you or my brother, so if this needs to stop, just tell me, okay?”
You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity before pressing send.
Seungmin: “I care about you too. Probably more than I should. But I don’t want this to hurt anyone – least of all you.”
The relief of his words hit you immediately, but so did the weight of his hesitation.
You: “So what do we do?”
Seungmin hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before he finally typed:
Seungmin: “We take it slow. We’re honest – with each other, with Lee Know, when the time’s right. And if this starts feeling wrong, we stop. No questions asked.”
-----
Seungmin sat in the practice room long after everyone else had left. He fiddled with his phone, the screen dark, but his thoughts racing. He had made a decision, one he couldn’t back out of now.
He unlocked his phone, scrolling to your name in his messages.
Seungmin: “I’m going to talk to him.”
The three dots indicating your reply appeared almost instantly.
You: “Are you crazy?”
Seungmin could almost hear your voice in the text – half incredulous, half offended.
You: “I mean, I get it. He deserves to know, and I respect that. But seriously… you’re telling him this?”
Seungmin: “I don’t want to go behind his back. It’s not just about this – it’s about the group, too. This has to be on the table.”
You: “Fine. But don’t expect me to save you if he kills you.”
He smiled faintly at the reply but couldn’t shake the nerves coiled in his chest.
When Lee Know walked into the practice room, his phone still in his hands, he paused, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you still doing here?”
Seungmin stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Waiting for you.”
Lee Know gave him a wary glance, closing the door behind him. “What’s this about?”
“Hyung,” Seungmin started, his tone unusually serious, “can we talk for a minute? Like, for real?”
Lee Know’s expression shifted slightly at the earnestness in Seungmin’s voice. “Okay… What’s up?”
Seungmin sat back down on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s about your sister.”
Lee Know’s posture straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing. “What about her?”
Seungmin hesitated for a moment before forcing himself to meet Lee Know’s gaze. “Since she dropped off your bag… we’ve been talking. Just texting, mostly. Nothing serious has happened, and I swear it hasn’t crossed any lines. But… I like her.”
The room went uncomfortably quiet. Lee Know blinked slowly, his face unreadable.
“You like her?” he repeated, his tone flat.
Seungmin nodded. “Yeah. And I wanted to tell you before anything else happened because…” He exhaled, his voice softening. “Because I respect you, hyung. You’re like a brother to me, and I don’t want to screw that up by hiding something like this from you.”
Lee Know stared at him for a long moment, his expression somewhere between disbelief and scrutiny.
Finally, he sighed, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know where to start. First of all, you? Of all people?”
Seungmin let out a dry laugh. “What, am I not good enough?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lee Know shot back, rolling his eyes. “It’s just… unexpected.”
“Trust me, it’s unexpected for me too,” Seungmin admitted.
Lee Know rubbed his temples. “You’re not messing around, are you? This isn’t some prank or… I don’t know, something stupid?”
“It’s not a joke,” Seungmin said firmly. “I mean it. And honestly…” He hesitated, then added, “Maybe it won’t even go anywhere. I don’t know. It’s early, and nothing has really happened yet. But I’d rather be upfront about it than hide it.”
Lee Know studied him for another long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Look, I’m not thrilled about this. She’s my sister, Seungmin. And you’re…” He gestured vaguely. “You’re you.”
Lee Know leaned forward, his voice dropping as he let out a soft groan. “But I get it. She’s great. And I can't exactly tell her who to see.”
Seungmin’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, relief flickering across his face.
“That said,” Lee Know continued, his tone sharpening again, “if you screw this up – even a little – I will make your life miserable. And I don’t mean in a fun, teasing way. Got it?”
Seungmin nodded seriously. “Understood.”
Lee Know leaned back, shaking his head. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t,” Seungmin said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Good. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
Seungmin stood up. “Thanks, hyung.”
As Seungmin left the practice room, Lee Know called after him, “And don’t expect me to go easy on you during dance practice!”
-----
Later that night, Seungmin texted you.
Seungmin: “Mission accomplished. I’m alive, and your brother didn’t kill me.”
You: “I’m surprised. I half-expected him to throw you out a window.”
Seungmin: “He might have, but I reminded him how irreplaceable I am. Also, he threatened me, so we’re all good now.”
You laughed at the text, shaking your head.
Your phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Lee Know.
Lee Know: “Seriously? The dog? I’m telling Songie, Dongie, and Dori that you don’t love them anymore.”
pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | masterlist
More Posts from Lmorg149 and Others
KIRIBAKU FIC RECS
HAVE READ WAY TOO MANY KIRIBAKU FICS AS OF RECENTLY SO HERES A RECOMMENDATION LIST:
- the laundry room ; dellsey //https://archiveofourown.org/works/11567502 It’s a really cute quick fic about special moments Kirishima and Bakugou are able to share while they wait for their laundry to finishes :) - The Beauty of a Beast ; starofjems // https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563575/chapters/15017230 A Beauty and the Beast AU!!! It’s a longer fic, but 100% worth the read. The author is SO good at portraying the characters personalities.
- Heart Strings ; starofjems //https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232415 This one is also by starofjems!! Although it is a lot shorter, it is still AMAZING. Bakugou is able to see a red string that connects soul mates together and eventually Kirishima stumbles by. - Spooky times & cuddles ; Jartz // https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423458 A VERY cute short fic about Kirishima going over to Bakugou’s house for halloween! It’s good to read any season though. - Who’s Next? ; MyBlackCrimsonRose// https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872574/chapters/17979370 Bakugou gets hella hurt during a fight and Kirishima is a BADASS in getting revenge. This one is also a quick read and I highly suggest it!! - the easy parts ; chonideno // https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794481
Kirishima gets hurt and is informed that there will be a lot of scarring. It’s follows him through his struggle of insecurity regarding the scars and his acceptance. - it’s pouring out here ; shizuumi151 // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431818 Kirishima is on a basketball team with Bakugou and he is the team captain. Kirishima has a crush on him and they have a little run in after getting caught in the rain. - 2am Knows All Secrets ; Unbreakable_red_riot // https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738770/chapters/20035240 OH MY GOSH THIS FIC!! I really love the concept of Bakugou having nightmares about Kamino and the author does an amazing job at showing his difficulties with them. Kirishima keeps waking up to loud noises from Bakugou’s room and goes to scope it out; resulting in a few sleepovers… - Shitty Hair and Shitty Nightmares honest_pebble //https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745419 (I have so many nightmare fics oops!) Bakugou is struggling with nightmares and Kirishima is a good friend and helps while Bakugou figures himself and his feelings out.
- a heart swelled to bursting ; eggstasy // https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350946/chapters/16697356 This fic literally stole my heart and has to be one of my favorites. It’s the next summer and they are back at the training camps, but Bakugou has been repressing some worries. It’s a very Bakugou centric story, following him dealing with PTSD with help from other characters. - Let Me Save You ; lovelylittlefruit // https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016766 A short story showing the after effects of a battle where Kirishima saved Bakugou. This is more angst/conflict than fluff but I do still recommend it!! - safe & sound ; Authoress // https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835363 This one made my heart SO happy and soft jeez ahaha. Bakugou has to be kept in a safe house after Kamino because of more threats and Kirishima is his comfort buddy. - not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all ; theroyalsavage // https://archiveofourown.org/works/7612939 AAAA!!! It’s a “10 Things I Hate About You” AU and its REALLY good even if you haven’t seen the movie. Very sweet and the character personalities are done really well. - heart stains on the carpet ; cityboys //https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085671/chapters/16104262 THIS STOLE ALL MY UWU’S AND MORE! Kirishima is Bakugou’s live in body guard who got a little closer to him than he had planned. Very cute and has some of the best dialogue I’ve read in a fic. Definitely goes with my favorites. - how they got detention for a week ; eggstasy //https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961186 Kirishima is determined to go out with Bakugou no matter how intimidating that may seem. Kaminari tries to stop him but it’s no use. I really enjoyed reading this and I loved how the authors incorporated the Bakuquad!! - How To Make Bakugou Katsuki a Decent Human Being ; keptein // https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693406 Kirishima is set on making Bakugou a nicer guy no matter what it takes. (Even if that means pulling a Pavlov on him) but along the way he catches feelings. - ten things i learnt about you ; tamacchannn // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532900 A very soft fic about Bakugou realizing things that he likes about Kirishima. Made me gush quite a few times. - don’t count on me to tell you when ; newamsterdam // https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948695 GOD I LOVE THIS ONE TOO. It’s set in the future when they are pro-heros. Kirishima come back to see Bakugou and confess his feelings, but they end up just being friends with benefits for awhile. Very well written - do right by you ; kyoutimes // https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyoufushi81/pseuds/kyoutimes Kirishima and Bakugou are working together and Kirishima has a crisis about his sexuality. (There’s more to it than that but I don’t wanna spoil it :P) I loved the emotion in this AAAA - yes, you say you’d like to ; Authoress // https://archiveofourown.org/works/10660773 Kirishima invites a few friends to the beach, which eventually lead to THE WHOLE CLASS joining. He didn’t want to invite Bakugou, strictly because he didn’t want to get turned on at at the beach. - Kiss your knuckles before you punch me ; Claus_Lucas // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574039/chapters/26006592 Bakugou saves Kirishima who is a boxer by lighting some of his own fireworks. I don’t know how much I can give away without spoiling it, but this is on my top three. While proud of Kirishima, Bakugou needs to remind him of his limits regarding his boxing career. - what he thinks he knows ; lovelylittlefruit // https://archiveofourown.org/works/18060950/chapters/42685514
Mainly Bakugou sided? It follows Bakugou as he realizes that there more to the assumptions he makes about his crush, Kirishima. It’s unfinished but I’m excited to see the rest soon!! - good to you ; Authoress // https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904558 Takes place directly after Kamino. The two boys refuse to stop holding hands which leads to other conclusions. I love this sm, I had very soft moments and there’s a cute little twist that I LOVED at the end. - An obvious patch ; SweetScentences // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061918 Shinsou steals Bakugou’s eggs and Kirishima gets stabbed all the while. JK, there’s more to it than that,,, this is one of those fics I feel like it’s best enjoyed if you go in blind. I enjoyed every minute of this fic, laughed and teared up. - But for now, I’m with you; eikoexe // https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135834/chapters/18649226 A really goofy and cute texting fic!! Kirishima accidentally texts Bakugou thinking it’s Kaminari demanding a Dorito stealing confession. It’s still being written but I do love it very much so far. Read if you need a laugh!! (Sadly, it’s been over a year since the last update so I’m not expecting it to continue soon :()
-neon season; chonideno // https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716277
I really love this author jeez. It’s a road trip fic and these boys are very frustrated with their feelings toward each other (Mainly Bakugou lolololol) The way emotions are written is amazing and I fell in love with how they portrayed Kirishima and Bakugou.
-the color red; ayadormouse // https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156871/chapters/16249418
G o d … This is like a coffee shop/college AU and it holds a lot of family angst for Bakugou. Bakugou is an artist and Kirishima is persistent in getting know the angry guy that doesn’t know how to order coffee. Heroes and quirks are more of an old myth/history type thing, but there still are mentions of it.
-downhill; eggstasy // https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551482
Kirishima is a mom friend and loves learning small facts about his friends while in the dorms. This has almost every class 1-A character in it which I love because not a lot of authors write about some of the mpre minor roles. They play truth or dare and it gets out of hand.
-Of course I was worried; Ellieb3an // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778534
Kirishima gets hurt after his big fight in the manga (so there are spoilers) but he gets confused when Bakugou doesn’t visit him in the hospital and avoids him when he returns to the dorms. Bakugou is just a secret softy who was worried about his mans. I love seeing the softish side of Bakugou aaaa.
-The Wild Side; Mishelledor23 // https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973662/chapters/42453836\
Kirishima and Bakugou are married and in Kirishima’s mind, everything is going great. Until, he wakes up one morning to see a letter and Bakugou’s wedding ring. My heart breaks for Kirishima in this one, and I’m so curious as to why Bakugou left. (It’s on going!) Kaminari and Mina are also present and go help Kiri with a mission.
-Roses are red and they taste like shit; Unbreakable_Red_Riot // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747658/chapters/26475072
A Bakugou hanahaki disease fic, this is also high on my favorites list. I couldn’t put it down for the life of me. Mutual pining eventually, but it focuses in mainly on Bakugou and his families way of dealing with the disease.
-little are the things we learn; newamsterdam // https://archiveofourown.org/works/11400303
The two boys never outright tell their class they are dating, but 5 of them figure it out and each one of them is stunned by their relationship. Perfect mix of angst and fluff, told from different characters perspectives as they see and analyze the two.
- Detonate; theroyalsvage // https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933307
Bakugou is acting weird and a little insecure almost at a party he was invited to. Kirishima finds him on the roof and tries to figure the explosive boy out.
-Trash Goblin Finds Love; wrunic // https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888012
Another coffee shop AU with a scientist Bakugou. This one made me giggle and the writing is so in character. I love how it ends and Kirishima is a big cutie in this one.
-Radio Silence; doop_doop // https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186643/chapters/37824590
After getting hit with a coma quirk, Kirishima is bedridden and can’t move. Although his body is asleep, he can hear everything that is going on. So naturally, his friends visit him as much as possible to keep the guy entertained. But Bakugou realizes there’s something more to his feelings for Kirishima. (this shit is so cute, Bakugou reads to him)
-one to ten; crunchrapsupreme //https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770692
Kirishima wants to ask Bakugou out, but Kaminari demands that he becomes friends with him first. So Kirishima sets out to become a ‘Level 10’ friend to Bakugou. (This one is also very cute, Bakugou is a cat lover and it makes me melt.)
-out of sight, within reach; Poteto //https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750853
Gahhhh oblivious mutual pining makes me w e a k… Bakugou realizes he loves Kirishima while dragging his drunk body back to his house. Jealousy and miscommunication from both sides until there is an emergency and Bakugou drops his grudge.
That’s about it! Feel free to add more in the comments :)
masterlist
bold is nsfw, scenarios is italicized, normal is head-cannons and sfw. <3 click here for rules.
Heroes/Sidekicks
Aizawa
Chubby Reader HCs
Mirio
Busty S/O
Slim Thicc S/O HCs
“Tell all those other guys/girls you don’t need them ‘cause you got me.”
Tamaki
coming soon
Yamada “Present Mic” Hizashi
Happy Birthday
Students
Awase
“I think I’ve been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again.”
Your Saviour
Giving Oral HCs
Bakugou
👑 TEAM BAKUGOU 👑
Bakugou Katsuki A-Z (NSFW)
Bed Rest
Being Called Daddy HCs
Blue Balls
Boasting About Bakugou Over the Phone HCs
Bottom (female) Bottom (male)
Busty S/O HCs
Caught
Consider This Thirst Quenched
Crying Kink HCs
Cuddling w/ Neko!S/O HCs
Wolf!Bakugou HCs (Domestic AU)
Daddy
Fem!Muslim S/O HCs
Get Groovin’
Giving Oral HCs
Helping Fem!Reader Get With Her Girl Crush HCs
His Little Omega
Hugs From Bakugou
“I’m not Jealous”
Jealousy’s In the Air
Mineta Hitting on S/O HCs
Omega!Bakugou HCs
Sassy S/O HCs
Pups
Receiving Bear Hugs From Reader
Riding Bakugou for the First Time
Scared to Love S/O
“Shit sorry, am I going to fast?”
Show Me
Sleeping w/ S/O HCs
Slim Thicc S/O HCs
Somnophilia HCs
Study Buddies
Squirting for the First Time
There for You, part two
Time to Love, part two
Wipe That Smirk From Your Face
Woke, part two
Iida
Dick Size HCs
Proper Punishment
Thicc Reader HCs
Relationship HCs
Kaibara
Cock Blocked By Pupper Scenario
Sassy S/O HCs
Kaminari
“You saved my nudes?”, part two
Low Self-Esteem S/O HCs
Warn Me Next Time
Kirishima
Being Called Daddy HCs
Called Red Riot During Sex HCs
Daddy
Dick Size HCs
Hot Days
Kinky Fem!S/O HCs
Kiri Taking Care of Stressed Fem!S/O HCs
Sassy S/O HCs
Low Self-Esteem S/O HCs
“Why do they make this look so easy in all those porn movies?! This hurts like fuck!”
Midoriya
Busty S/O HCs
Dick Size HCs
GG (Villain AU)
Only Because I Love You
Scared to Love S/O
Monoma
We’re In Public
Sen
Cock Blocked By Pupper
Just Checkin’
Mineta Hitting on S/O
You Want to What?
Shindou
Cock Blocked By Pupper
Chubby S/O HCs
Low Self-Esteem S/O HCs
We’re Just Getting Started
Shinsou
Scared to Love S/O
Sit Still
Shiozaki
Is This What You Wanted?
TetsuTetsu
Next Time
Todoroki
Todoroki Shouto A-Z (NSFW)
Caught
Clingy S/O
Dick Size HCs
Fem!Muslim S/O HCs
“Give Me Attention”
Mineta Hitting on S/O HCs
Relationship HCs
Tsubaraba
First Date
Sassy S/O HCs
Villains
Dabi
Consider This Thirst Quenched
Deepthroating HCs
Dick Size HCs
I’ll Give You Plenty
Somnophilia HCs
Giran
Hero Kink HCs
Relationship HCs
Sugar Daddy HCs
Chisaki “Overhaul” Kai
Dick Size HCs
Relationship HCs
Relationship NSFW HCs
Get Well Soon, I Guess
Toga
Giving Fem!S/O Oral for the First Time
Secrets
Sleeping Beauty
Bubaigawara “Twice” Jin
See You Again
Shigaraki “Shigaraki Tenko” Tomura
Somnophilia HCs
Civilians
Todoroki Natsuo
Relationship HCs
Vigilantes
coming soon,,, maybe.
~ Series Masterlist ~
~ Drabble List ~
~ Writing Playlist ~
This person writes such good stories
I love them so I think everyone should check them out
Suneaterssun Masterlist
Masterlist for @suneaterssun
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Toshinori Yagi
Izuku Midoriya
Katsuki Bakugo
Tamaki Amajiki
Shoto Todoroki
Shota Aizawa
Tomura Shigaraki
Dabi
Headcanons
Non-Reader Inserts
Random BNHA things
________
Requesting Rules
The Works
Ko-Fi
So excited to read as they come out ＼(^^)／
summertime's special ❀ a stray kids collaboration
about: a summer-inspired collab with the crazy talented @catiuskaa! a series of non-conected one-shots that we’ll both be posting! lots of fluff and sunshine will be included! have fun and enjoy your time out with us!
this is really exciting! it's my first collab ever and the fact that it's with @catiuskaa just makes it all better >.< click here to go to her own version of this masterlist!
✽ bang chan: welcome home by @dalamjisung
coming soon
❁ lee minho: rainkissed cherries by @catiuskaa
by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all. [3.1k]
❃ seo changbin: hopeful romantic by @dalamjisung
coming soon
❋ hwang hyunjin: the escape plan by @dalamjisung
coming soon
✾ han jisung: midnight's soundtrack by @catiuskaa
coming soon
✤ lee felix: as it was by @dalamjisung
coming soon
❊ kim seungmin: the office's views by @catiuskaa
coming soon
✿ yang jeongin: code orange juice by @catiuskaa
coming soon
Accidentally In Enemies
He accidentally made her hate him, now he's going to purposely make her fall in love with him.
Pairing : Seo Changbin x Reader
Synopsis : When they were together, she rarely saw him. Now that they're broken up, she sees him everywhere. Changbin ends up swooping in and saving her from embarrassment. Now she has a clingy enemy and a much too friendly ex.
Warnings : This series will contain mature subject matter such as : swearing, drinking, break ups, insults, heartbreak, sex (no smut), fake dating, and more. Each chapter will have its own list of warnings. Reader's discretion is advised.
Taglist : CLOSED
Release : February 2, 2024
complete
{Let the story begin}
Teaser (0.7k)
Prologue (1.5k)
Part 1 (2.9k)
Part 2 (3.6k)
Part 3 (2.7k)
Epilogue (1.4k)
Undone
Notes: I can't even wrap my head around it—1,000 people following this account? It's honestly surreal. Thank you so, so much, for sticking around and supporting me and my writing, especially when I went away for a bit. I’ve got something a little different for you guys as a thank-you gift. @furioussheepluminary's Ghost Protocol has been taking over my brain the past few days (I highly recommend it, by the way), so... here’s something inspired by it. I hope you enjoy it <3
Content Warnings: This story contains explicit sexual content and language, including graphic sex scenes, intense power dynamics, and dominant-submissive interactions. Themes of manipulation, possessiveness, vulnerability, emotional intensity, physical and psychological control, and possible trauma are explored. The reader is described as AFAB, and Chan is... a bit mean on this, be cautious.
[7.7k words]
──────────────────────────────────────────── The door slams shut behind him with a force that rattles the room, the heavy lock sliding into place with an unmistakable finality. There’s no sound, no words, only the oppressive stillness that fills the space between you. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating, and it crushes the air in your lungs as he steps into the room, his every movement deliberate and sharp. The tension is palpable, humming between you two like a live wire, stretching thinner by the second, and you know, you know exactly why he’s like this. The mission was too close, the danger too real, and the bullet—the bullet—it had come too damn close to taking you from him. You barely escaped with your life, and he’s been holding onto that fear, that cold terror, ever since and you can feel it in the way he looks at you now, eyes dark with something you can’t quite name.
His breath is uneven, and it stings with the weight of everything unsaid, but you don’t need him to say it. You feel it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his muscles coil beneath the fabric of his clothes, he’s holding himself back, just barely, and the control he’s exerting is becoming a dangerous thing.
Sit down. His voice is low, rough, stripped of the softness you once relied on. It’s a command, not a request, and something inside you flares—anger, defiance—mixed with something darker, something deeper that you won’t admit to yourself. You hesitate, just a beat too long, as your body betrays you, and it’s enough to make him take that final step forward, closing the space between you with a dangerous grace. His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering and cold, and the air seems to crackle with something raw. The authority in his eyes is so sharp that it cuts through any resistance you might have left. I said—sit.
It’s a warning, a low growl that threatens to break you if you test him. His hand moves toward you, and the sheer weight of his presence makes your heart stutter in your chest, his fingers brush against your arm, the touch rough and hard, and it sends a shiver down your spine—not from cold, but from something else entirely. Without a word, you sink into the worn chair behind you, your muscles stiff as you do. You’re not used to this, him like this, but there’s a certain clarity in the way he moves, a certainty that presses down on you like a vice. You can’t fight it, not when he’s like this. And the look in his eyes, cold and unforgiving, tells you that he’s done pretending.
His hands are on you before you can even react. He’s too fast, too precise as he grabs your jacket, tugging it off your shoulders with a savage kind of efficiency, the roughness of the movement sending a jolt through your body. The fabric falls to the ground, leaving your chest bare beneath your tactical vest. And that’s when you feel it, the rawness of the situation, the weight of it all crashing down around you.
You should’ve followed the plan, he mutters, the words laced with a fury that feels like it’s been building since the moment that bullet nearly tore you apart. His hands move to your vest, working quickly to loosen the straps, his fingers brushing against your skin with an intensity that borders on brutal. Every touch is sharp, calculated, like he’s stripping away not just your gear, but every last trace of control you thought you had and you open your mouth to argue—to remind him that you’ve always had this handled—but the words die on your tongue before they can escape. He’s already yanked the vest off, tossing it aside like it’s nothing, his gaze never leaving yours.
You think you’re untouchable? His voice is harder now, cutting through the thick tension in the room like a blade. He kneels in front of you, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, a constant, burning reminder of just how little space you have to breathe, his hands trail down your leg, stopping at the holster strapped to your thigh. The motion is fluid, almost too smooth, but it carries with it a force that makes your chest tighten.
You think you can take risks like that and walk away?, his fingers close around the clip of your holster, unbuckling it with a practiced ease that feels too personal, too intimate for a moment like this. He slides the holster off your leg, his gaze never leaving yours, and you feel the full weight of his eyes on you, weighing you, measuring you, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, he adds, his voice barely more than a whisper. It’s quiet, so quiet that it makes your skin crawl.
I handled it, you snap, but even you can hear the way your voice trembles. It’s not as confident as you want it to be. It’s not as strong as you need it to be. He doesn’t respond with words, he responds with force, his hand shoots up, snapping to your jaw with a speed that leaves you no time to brace for it. The pressure isn’t painful, not quite, but it’s enough to make you freeze, enough to remind you just how fragile the illusion of control really is. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and the moment you do, the anger, the frustration, the fear, they all hit you like a wave.
You don’t ‘handle’ anything without me, is voice is low, a dangerous hum that vibrates through your bones. Not out there. Not here.
You want to break free, to tear away from him, but the words die in your throat, as his hand on your jaw tightens ever so slightly, and the softness of his thumb against your lower lip feels like a brand against your skin. Don’t test me, you warn, but you know, he knows, that it’s hollow. It’s a weak attempt at regaining control that you’re already losing. His lips curl into something dark, something feral—an almost-smile that makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
You’re not in a position to make threats. The words are clipped, final, and before you can respond, before you can even take a breath, he’s moving again, towering over you, every inch of his body blocking your escape. The space between you is suffocating, there’s nowhere to hide from the intensity of his gaze, from the command in his posture. He’s taking control of the room, of you, in a way that feels irrevocable, and deep down, you know you don’t want him to stop. Up, he orders.
You rise before your mind even catches up, your body obeys his command instinctively, every muscle in your body responding to the strength in his voice. And before you can gather your thoughts, he’s on you, his hands wrapping around the back of your neck with a firm, unyielding grip. his other hand drags down your side, fingers brushing over the still-tender skin of your ribs, where the bullet had grazed you. The pain is sharp—excruciating—but you don’t let out a sound, you don’t give him that satisfaction. But he knows, he knows what’s happening beneath the surface, what’s breaking inside you.
You’re shaking, he murmurs, his voice a cruel mockery of concern, his fingers tighten around your neck, forcing you to look up at him. What’s the matter, agent? Not so tough now? You want to say something, anything, but you can’t, the words die in your throat. You glare up at him, every ounce of defiance you have left burning in your veins, ut it’s not enough, not when he’s like this.
You think I don’t see what you’re doing? His voice is cold, cutting through the last of your defenses. Running yourself into the ground. Pushing past your limits like you’re invincible. Like you’re trying to prove something. His fingers tighten again, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. But you don’t get to break. Not on my watch.
I don’t need you, you force out, but it sounds weak, hollow. You don’t believe it. His laugh is dark, rough, humorless. Liar.
And then, with a brutal speed, he’s backing you into the nearest wall, pressing you hard against the rough wood as his body crowds yours. There’s no room to fight, no space to escape, the force of him feels like a weight on your chest, a constant reminder of how small you’ve become in this moment. You can pretend you’re in control all you want, he whispers, his mouth brushing against your ear, his breath hot and commanding. But when it comes down to it? You’re mine.
The words hit you like a punch. And for a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think. He kisses you, hard, harsh—like he’s taking back every shred of control you tried to steal from him. His hands are everywhere, rough and unforgiving, and you know, deep down, that you’ll never be the same after this. You don’t fight it, not anymore, you let him claim you, let him strip away the last of your resistance, until you’re nothing but his. And when he finally pulls back, when he releases you just enough to breathe, the look in his eyes is suffocating, possessive.
You don’t get to run from me, he says, his voice low, lethal. Not out there. Not in here. Not ever. And you know—you know—that he means it.
His eyes lock onto yours, dark and dangerous, and the space between you feels like a chasm, a yawning pit you know you’ll never escape. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, heavy, suffocating, like it’s stripping away every last shred of your defenses, the air around you is thick with something primal, something visceral, and you can’t help but feel like prey, even as your heart pounds with that familiar, twisted rhythm, the pulse of something between rage and need.
You still think you’re in control? His voice is a cold, guttural growl, each word laced with a kind of fury that both terrifies and excites you. His grip on your neck tightens, just enough to remind you who holds the power, his other hand traces down your body, his fingers grazing the tender skin where your bullet wound is still raw, still burning, and the pain shoots through you like fire. You don’t flinch, you don’t show weakness, but it doesn’t matter. His gaze is already on the trembling of your chest, the subtle hitch in your breath.
His mouth comes down on yours, claiming it in a kiss that is brutal, punishing. There’s no gentleness in the way his lips move against yours, no sweetness or tenderness, only hunger. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, demanding, commanding, and you can taste the bitterness of his need, the depth of his fury at what almost happened to you. He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, and you can feel your body responding against your will. You hate it, you hate how easily he bends you to his will, how your body betrays you, how you can't help but drown in the fire he ignites with every touch. But you hate yourself more for wanting it, for craving it, for needing him like this.
His hand slides down your side, fingers digging into the flesh of your hip as he pushes you harder against the wall. His body is a solid weight pressing you into the rough wood, and for a split second, you think you might suffocate under the intensity of it all, his breath comes in sharp bursts, hot against your ear, as he whispers darkly, You think you’re still strong? You think you’re still tough? You’re nothing but a broken thing, a shattered piece, and I’m the only one who can fix you. You’ll never be anything without me.
The words slam into you like a physical blow. You want to scream, to fight back, to prove him wrong, but the reality is, he’s right. Deep down, you know that, he has you cornered, body and soul, and every move he makes chips away at the fragile walls you’ve built around yourself. The worst part? You don’t want to stop him. Don’t fight me, he growls, and his teeth graze your ear, sending a shiver of pure need down your spine. You know you want this. You want me to break you. You want me to show you how fucking powerless you are.
His hands move like wildfire, pushing your clothes off with brutal efficiency, exposing you to him in ways that make your skin burn. His lips trail down your neck, biting and sucking in places that make you gasp, your body trembling beneath him, every touch, every kiss, is a demand for submission, his submission, his way of reminding you that he owns you, that you’re his to break and remake however he sees fit.
He pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with possessive hunger. You’ll learn to rely on me. You’ll learn to stop pushing me away. His fingers press into the tender flesh of your ribs, the wound still fresh beneath his touch. I can protect you. I can keep you safe. But you have to stop being reckless. Stop acting like you don’t need me. Because you do. You need me more than you’ll ever admit. And I’ll be here, every time you forget that, to remind you.
Your heart races, a violent drumbeat that echoes in your chest as you lock eyes with him and there’s a kind of love there, you can see it, but it’s raw and brutal, twisted and suffocating. It’s the kind of love that’s not meant to heal, but to own, to possess, to claim every piece of you until there’s nothing left but him. And maybe that’s what terrifies you the most—that you want to give it to him. You want him to own you, to shape you into whatever twisted thing he thinks you should be. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop it, you can’t escape him, not now, not ever.
He pulls you close, his body pressing into yours as his hand locks around your throat, holding you there as his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, bruising, punishing. The kiss is like a storm, relentless and unforgiving, until you’re gasping for air, every inch of you drowning in him. You’re mine, he says, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. And I’ll keep you that way. No matter how much you try to fight it, no matter how much you push me away, you belong to me. You always have.
You don’t respond, there’s nothing to say. He knows the truth. You know the truth, as he presses you harder into the wall, his lips curling into a twisted smile as he lowers his head to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. You think you can run from me? he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. You think you can leave me behind? You’ll never escape me. Not in this lifetime, not in any other. You’re mine, now and forever.
And as his hands move with a brutal confidence, tearing away the last of your resistance, you know, deep down, that he’s right. You’ll never escape him, you’ll never be free of this. But the thought doesn’t terrify you the way it should, instead, it makes you want him more, it makes you crave the control he’s taking—because in the end, you know he’s the only one who can tame the storm inside you.
His hand trails lower, slow but unyielding, like he wants you to feel every brush of his fingertips, every inch of his control sinking into your skin. The roughness of his touch is deliberate, designed to remind you that nothing you do, no defiance you cling to, will shake his hold on you, no tenderness in the way he pulls your body closer, fitting you against him like you belong there.
You think I’m going to let you walk away from me? His voice is a low rasp, vibrating against the curve of your jaw as his mouth drags across your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. After tonight? After you almost fucking died? His teeth sink into the side of your neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark, a reminder of exactly who you belong to. His hand moves higher, sliding under the thin barrier of your shirt, rough fingers grazing over your ribs. The scrape of his touch stings against the bruise forming there, but he doesn’t ease up. If anything, he lingers—pressing just hard enough to remind you of the damage, your damage, the damage he couldn’t stop.
You think this is nothing? he growls, pushing the fabric higher, exposing more of you to the cool air. You think you can brush this off and pretend it didn’t happen? His voice is venomous, pure, unfiltered rage, but underneath it, there’s something else, something raw, something desperate. Not with me. Not anymore.
The words are a promise and a threat all at once, and they make your breath catch in your throat. You open your mouth to speak—to push back, to tell him that you don’t need his protection—but before you can get a word out, his hand is already at your chest, his palm presses between your breasts, right over your pounding heart, and the weight of his touch is enough to steal whatever fight you were about to throw his way.
I felt it, he says, quieter now, but no less intense. The moment you went down. The second that bullet touched you. His fingers curl into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. I thought— He stops himself, jaw clenching tight. Doesn’t matter.
The air is thick, heavy with everything he’s not saying, everything he’s feeling, but there’s no room for tenderness here, not with the way he touches you. Not with the way his hands move—possessive, demanding, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you might slip through his fingers again. His thumb brushes over your nipple through the thin fabric, and even that touch feels like a command. Your body reacts instantly, traitorously, heat curling low in your stomach despite the lingering ache of your wound. He notices, of course, he always notices, mouth twisting into a cruel, knowing smirk against your neck.
Sensitive, he murmurs, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers tighten, tweaking the peak between them just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you as you bite down on your lip to hold back a sound, a whimper, a plea—but it’s useless. He can already feel the way your body responds to him, can already tell how much you want this despite the fight you’re trying to put up, and he’s not going to let you hide it, not tonight.
His hand slides down your body, fingers dragging over your stomach before he grips your hip, fingerprints digging into your skin. You think you're still in control? his voice is low, rough, each word thick with intent. You're strong, I get it. But you're also fucking delusional if you think you don’t need me. He slips his hand lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your pants. You need me. And I'm gonna make sure you feel it. You don’t answer right away—not fast enough, not before he feels the tension building in your body, and it pushes him to snap.
Answer me, he demands, his grip on your hip tightening to the point of bruising. Yes, you finally choke out, the word tasting heavy and wrong on your tongue, but it’s so easy, too easy. He’s unraveling you with every word, every touch, and you hate how much you want it.A dark, satisfied smile plays at the edge of his mouth. Good girl.
He doesn’t waste time as his fingers work with brutal efficiency, undoing the button of your pants and dragging the zipper down with a sound that seems deafening in the tense silence between you. The rough tug as he pulls the fabric over your hips is just as punishing, deliberate, like he wants you to feel the loss of control as much as he does. You’re always so fucking stubborn, he mutters, more to himself than to you. Always acting like you don’t want this—like you don’t need this. His hand slips beneath the last barrier of fabric, fingers brushing against the heat between your thighs—and the sharp inhale you can’t stop is all the confirmation he needs.
So wet, he taunts, dragging his fingers through your slick with slow, devastating precision. Is this what gets you off? Pushing me until I lose my temper? His fingers hover over your clit, teasing, just barely grazing it as he watches your body tremble with anticipation. He knows exactly what he's doing, the subtle pressure making your breath hitch. His gaze is cold, ruthless, a twisted satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you squirm beneath him. Or is it knowing that no matter how tough you act, I can still break you wide open? he whispers, his voice dark with dominance.
You want to fight back. You want to tell him he’s wrong—that he doesn’t own you the way he thinks he does, but the words die in your throat when he presses down, hard, right where you need him most. Your whole body jolts against the wall, and his grip on your neck tightens just enough to hold you still. That’s it, he murmurs, and there’s something almost cruel in his tone, like he’s savoring the way you tremble under his hands. You can act like you don’t need me all you want. But this— He pushes two fingers inside you without warning, stretching you open with a ruthless, punishing rhythm that leaves no room for resistance. This doesn’t lie.
Your hands fly to his shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on, because you’re slipping, losing yourself in the sheer force of him, the way he tears down every last defense you’ve tried so hard to keep between you, and he knows it, lives for it. His fingers are relentless—deep and demanding, stretching you in a way that burns, that pushes against the edge of too much, but you take it because he makes you. Because he isn’t giving you another option as his grip on your hip tightens, pulling you harder against his hand, forcing your body to accept the brutal rhythm he sets. There’s no hesitation, no softness, only his raw need to claim you, to remind you exactly who you belong to.
You think I’m going to let you keep doing this? His voice is low, rough against your ear, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. Running yourself into the ground, acting like you don’t need me—like I won’t fucking stop you? His fingers curl inside you, hitting that devastating spot that makes your legs tremble beneath you. I’m done letting you play that game.
A broken sound escapes your throat before you can stop it—a sharp, breathless whimper that only makes him push harder and you want to fight back, want to hold onto the last shred of control you have left, but he isn’t giving you the chance. His body cages you in, one hand still wrapped tight around your throat, just enough pressure to remind you who’s in charge, while the other works you open with ruthless precision.
You’re shaking, he mocks, his tone cold and unforgiving. What happened to all that fight, huh? You were so fucking mouthy before—where’d that go? His thumb brushes against your clit in another sharp, punishing stroke, and your knees nearly buckle beneath you. Or is this what you needed all along? Someone to put you in your place?
His words cut through the fog clouding your thoughts, sharp and brutal. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but your body betrays you, the slick, obscene sounds of his fingers working inside you are proof enough, and he knows it, he feels it, every tremor, every twitch, every desperate clench around his fingers.
Pathetic, he breathes, though the heat in his voice tells a different story. You talk so big, but the second I get my hands on you— His teeth scrape along the curve of your jaw, biting down just enough to make you gasp. You fall apart. You try to hold onto your pride, try to keep the words locked behind your teeth, but the pressure is building too fast, his touch is too much, too rough, too perfect in the way it breaks you down. Your body arches against him, chasing the friction he’s giving you even as you bite back the moan rising in your throat, and he notices, of course he notices Look at you, he sneers, dragging his fingers out of you only to slam them back in, harder, deeper. So desperate. So easy.
You bite down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Even now, when your body is trembling against him, when every nerve is burning with the pleasure he’s forcing on you, you hold onto your pride. But he’s not a patient man. Not tonight. Think you can still keep that up? His voice drops lower, rougher—dangerous. Fine
Without warning, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty, aching. The sudden loss makes you gasp, makes your knees threaten to give out, but he doesn’t let you fall, his hand on your throat tightens just enough to hold you upright, keeping you exactly where he wants you. See how far that attitude gets you, he growls, dragging his wet fingers along your inner thigh in a slow, filthy tease. You want to act tough? Go ahead.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, hot and cruel and dripping with the promise of punishment. And he means it, you know he does, he’s never been the type to bluff. If you push him, he’ll make you pay for it.
His hand leaves your neck only to grab your wrists, dragging them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The sudden loss of freedom, the sheer force of his control, makes your head spin and he knows it, he feels the way your breathing quickens, the way your body tenses beneath his hold, and he uses it against you. He pushes you against the wall harder, pressing his body into yours until there’s nothing left between you, nothing but heat and rage and the raw, brutal need simmering just beneath the surface. His lips find your ear again, and his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper.
You’re not going anywhere, he promises, his tone filled with dark, undeniable possession. Not out there. Not in here. Not without me. His fingers find your clit again, circling it in slow, punishing strokes that make you writhe against his hold. You went off without telling me. You think you’re untouchable? You think you can do whatever the hell you want?
His grip on your wrists tightens as he works you closer to the edge, dragging you toward it whether you want it or not, and you can’t fight it, not when he touches you like this, not when he tears you apart with nothing but his hands and his voice and the sheer force of his will. Your pride clings to you like a vice, tight, stubborn, but his touch is tearing it apart piece by piece, and you know you can’t hold out forever, not when he’s like this, not when his fingers are so unforgiving, dragging you to the edge with brutal, calculated precision. He doesn’t care how much you fight him, he’ll take what he wants, what he knows is his, and right now that’s you, shaking, breathless, pinned beneath the weight of his control.
His grip on your wrists is like iron, unyielding as he keeps your hands trapped behind your back. It forces your body to arch, to open up for him as he presses his chest against yours, the heat of him searing through your clothes, a constant reminder of just how little power you have left. He’s taking it from you, every last shred, and God, you hate how much you want to let him.
You’re so stubborn, he growls, his mouth brushing over your jaw as his teeth graze your skin. So fucking difficult. He pulls his fingers from you, too soon, too suddenly, and the loss is enough to make you whimper, a soft, broken sound that only makes him crueler. His other hand, rough and unforgiving, grips your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his and there's something dark in his eyes—something stormy, a dangerous mix of fear and fury. You don’t get to make me watch you bleed again, he hisses, voice thick with something raw. I thought I lost you tonight. You don’t get to forget that.
His thumb slides over your lip, dragging it down, a silent command that he wants you to see him, to feel him, because everything about him is breaking apart at the seams, and he can’t hide it. I don’t care how stubborn you are. I’m done letting you act like you don’t matter. Breaking fucking news—you matter, matter more than you’ll ever understand. I’m not letting anyone else touch you. I’m not letting you slip through my fucking fingers. Do you understand me? You’re mine. You always will be. I’ll burn the fucking world down to keep you here.
The moment his body finally stills, the air between you is thick with more than just lust, it’s something unspoken, something raw, something he’s been fighting for far too long to admit to himself, but now, as his breath evens out and his chest presses against yours, it’s impossible to ignore. There’s no anger left in his touch now, no sharp edges to cut you open, just heat, just need. It bleeds into every movement, every place his skin meets yours, burning through the space between you like something primal, irreversible.
He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and glassy, still filled with that vulnerability he’s tried so hard to bury. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as they tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch softer now, more reverent, like he’s terrified to touch you too roughly, even after everything as his gaze lingers on your face, studying every feature like he’s trying to imprint it in his mind. Like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here.
Are you okay? His voice is low, almost hoarse, the concern in it so genuine that it hits you harder than anything else he’s said tonight. He’s not angry anymore, not demanding, there’s no harshness, no dominance, it’s just him, standing here, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this fucked-up world. Just quiet, raw truth. I almost lost you.
Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping tight as if that alone could hold him together, could hold both of you together, because the truth is, you almost lost him too. You could’ve watched him bleed out on that cold, dirty concrete, could’ve been the one left behind, forced to live with the hollow, gaping wound he would’ve left behind in your chest. But you don’t say it, ot now, not when he needs this, needs you—more than he needs to hear words that can’t change what already happened.
I’m right here, you whisper instead, turning in his arms, pressing yourself against him as close as you can get. Your body is still aching, your legs still weak from what he just did to you, but none of it matters, none of it even registers against the way his arms tighten around you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. I’m here, Chris. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to make sure you’re telling the truth, trying to convince himself that you’re really safe now, that you’re really his.
He exhales slowly, long and deep, as if the breath he’s been holding finally finds its way out and then, before you can react, his lips find yours, gentle at first, testing, hesitant even, like he’s afraid of breaking you if he’s too rough. His kiss is slow, as though he’s savoring this moment—this connection—in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his hands drifting to your back, pulling you in closer, if that’s even possible.
I thought I lost you, he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging you closer until you can feel the heat of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat against yours. I can’t... I can’t lose you, not like that. Not after everything. You feel a pang in your chest at the rawness of his words, the way they scrape at your soul, like he’s afraid to need you, afraid of depending on you when the stakes are so high. He’s always been the strong one, the one who keeps it together, who holds it all in, but now, with the fear still lingering in his eyes, it’s clear, he’s not invincible, not when it comes to you.
I’m not going anywhere, you promise, your voice steady, even as your own emotions threaten to spill over. You feel the sincerity in your own words, the promise of something more than just survival. You don’t just want to be here; you need to be here, with him, always. He exhales a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away, but there’s still a fire in his eyes, one that isn’t angry, or demanding, or filled with the same brutal hunger from earlier, but something softer now, something that says I love you, even if he can’t quite say it yet.
His hands move lower, tracing down your spine with a tenderness that makes your breath catch in your throat and when they reach the hem of your shirt, he pauses, looking at you, seeking your permission, and it’s in that look that you realize, he doesn’t just want control. He wants to care for you, in a way that makes you feel safe, not just desired. Slowly, carefully, you lift your arms, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head, his fingers brushing your skin with a reverence that feels almost sacred. When you’re bare before him, his gaze lingers for a moment, his eyes dark, his breath hitching as if the sight of you, vulnerable in his arms, hits him harder than he ever expected.
You're here, he murmurs, his hands cupping your face now, his thumbs sweeping across your cheekbones in a slow, tender rhythm. The way he says it, like he’s trying to embed the words into the very marrow of your bones, makes something stir deep inside you, something that aches, something that wants to give itself to him, over and over, until there’s nothing left but this. He lets out a breath—shaky, uneven—before his hands slide down your back, gripping your thighs and then, with terrifying ease, he lifts you, pressing your back against the wall, his body solid and unyielding between your legs. There’s nothing hesitant about it, nothing slow. It’s pure instinct, pure hunger, his mouth finding yours with the kind of desperation that feels like it’s been building for years.
He swallows every sound you make like he needs it to live, like your gasps and whimpers are the only thing keeping him from falling apart as his tongue claims yours, deep and insatiable, and there’s nothing left of hesitation now, just possession, just the raw, unrelenting need to feel you, to remind himself you’re still here, still his. His grip tightens beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he rocks against you, slow but deliberate, the thick press of him dragging between your legs, teasing at your swollen, oversensitive heat. He’s still fully clothed, but you can feel him hot, heavy, aching even through the layers, and it sends a fresh pulse of arousal flooding low in your stomach.
Your body trembles against the unyielding surface of the wall, your nails biting into his shoulders as the heat between you builds, thick and smothering. His hands slide lower, rough palms skating over the curve of your ass before gripping tight, holding you steady as he grinds into you with torturous precision and he pulls back just enough to rip his shirt over his head, the motion sharp and impatient, like he can’t stand another second with anything between you. His gaze locks onto yours, something dark and searching in his eyes—an unspoken question, even though he already knows the answer. He can feel it in the way you shake beneath him, the way your thighs squeeze around his waist, the way your body aches for him without a single word.
And then, he’s pressing your hands to his bare chest, forcing you to feel every sculpted line, every rigid muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. You trace the sharp planes of him, the heat of his skin searing against your palms, and just as you start to explore, his fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands to his lips. He presses a kiss to the inside of each one, slow and reverent, before dragging them lower, to the waistband of his jeans as he lets you unbutton them, lets you feel the way his breath shudders when your fingers graze his stomach, but he’s too impatient to wait. He shoves them down himself, the metallic clicks of the zipper barely registering over the pounding of your heart.
His cock presses against your inner thigh, thick and throbbing, the heat of him burning into your skin, his lips brush against your ear, his voice rough and barely holding together. My baby, he murmurs, and the words are edged with something almost tender, something that makes your stomach clench with need. He’s so close now, so unbearably close, his forehead pressing to yours as his breath comes hot and ragged, syncing with yours as the air between you crackles, charged with a desperate kind of hunger, a need so intense it threatens to consume you both whole.
He lowers you to the ground just long enough to shove his jeans the rest of the way down, kicking them aside with a quiet curse, his eyes never leaving yours. You’re trembling by the time he presses himself against you again, your bodies aligning like they were made to fit together. His hand slides between your legs, fingers gliding over your drenched slit, teasing, testing, a broken sound catches in your throat as he circles your clit with a slow, agonizing precision, his touch light, almost teasing, until your legs start to shake. He groans, low and ragged, his fingers slick with proof of just how badly you need him. Fuck, he mutters, voice thick with restraint. You’re so wet for me, baby. You sure?
You nod, barely able to form words, lost in the ache, the unbearable anticipation of what’s coming next. He lifts you again, strong hands guiding your legs around his waist, holding you steady as he lines himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against your entrance. The contact alone is enough to send a shiver ripping through you, your fingers clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality and he pauses—just for a second, just long enough for the tension to coil impossibly tight between you. His gaze meets yours, dark and unwavering, his voice barely above a whisper. I’ve got you. Just trust me.
The words sink into your skin, into your bones, and you exhale a shaky breath, nodding, needing him more than you’ve ever needed anything and then, in one slow, devastating motion, he pushes inside you, and the stretch is blinding, a white-hot pleasure that borders on pain, and you cry out, your body struggling to take him, to fit around the sheer size of him. He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.
He holds himself still for a moment, letting you adjust, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he fights for control. Every nerve in your body is on fire, every inch of you stretched wide around him, and it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything, as you whimper, shifting against him, and that’s all it takes to snap his restraint.
He pulls back, just enough to thrust in again, slow but precise, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside you. A sharp, choked sound escapes you, your head tipping back against the wall as he sets a pace, each stroke deep, claiming, designed to make you feel every inch of him, his lips finding your neck, your jaw, his teeth scraping over your pulse as he fucks into you, relentless and unyielding, until you’re nothing but heat and sensation, nothing but a desperate, pleading mess in his arms. So good, he breathes against your skin, voice wrecked. Like you were made for me.
The words unravel something inside you, send a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs, and he groans as he feels you clench around him, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering just for a second. But then he’s pressing you harder against the wall, his grip tightening, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, until you’re right on the edge, dangling over the precipice with nothing to hold onto but him and you can’t hold back anymore. The pleasure builds, sharp and unbearable, and then it crashes over you all at once. Your body seizes, your vision going white as you cry out, your walls clamping down around him, dragging him over the edge with you as he groans, low and wrecked, his hips slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, heat flooding deep, filling you completely.
For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you caught in the aftermath, tangled together, bodies shaking, hearts hammering in sync, his breath is warm against your temple, his hands sliding up your back, holding you close like he can’t bear to let go. His forehead presses to yours, his lips barely ghosting over your own, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, raw and there’s something softer beneath it, something almost fragile.
His fingers trace slow, absentminded paths over your skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, anchoring himself in the warmth of your body, the proof that you’re here. He exhales shakily, his lips pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your temple, not in hunger now, but in something deeper—something reverent. You feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, how he tucks you closer, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.
He shifts, still holding you, pressing you deeper into him, his hands smoothing over your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you and there’s something searching in the way his fingers move now, the way they trace along your arms, your ribs, down your thighs—like he’s checking, making sure you’re whole, that there’s nothing else he missed. His touch lingers when he finds the bruise on your side, his fingers brushing over it with unbearable gentleness, barely more than a whisper of contact. His breath catches, and for a moment, he just holds his hand there, like he could take the pain away if he pressed hard enough, like he hates himself for not stopping it before it ever touched you.
Gently, he lifts you, moving to lower you onto the forgotten bed, onto something softer, his touch lingering over every inch of you, his fingertips press lightly against your skin, brushing over the faintest marks, the places where you might still ache, where his fear still lingers. A breath catches in his throat when his fingers drift between your legs—hesitant, careful—before he exhales shakily and presses his lips to your shoulder, your collarbone, his mouth moving over you like a promise, like an apology, like a prayer.
I’ll clean you up, he murmurs, almost to himself, like it’s not just about the mess, but something else, like it’s about taking care of you, keeping you safe, giving you even this. His hands linger a little longer before he finally pulls back, hesitating like he doesn’t want to leave your warmth even for a second.
And when he returns, warm cloth in hand, he kneels beside you, his touch impossibly gentle, eyes flicking up to yours, searching, still needing to know you’re with him, that you’re not slipping away until he's finished, and he still doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shift back. Instead, he stays there, his hands still resting softly on your skin, his forehead pressing gently to your belly as his breath steadies, and for a long moment, he just breathes you in, as though grounding himself in you, like he needs the connection as much as you need his presence.
For a long moment, he simply stays there, his presence enveloping you, as if he needs this, needs you, to remind him of something real, something whole. I’ll take care of you, he murmurs, his words heavy with sincerity, almost like a promise. I won’t let anything hurt you again. His lips press a soft kiss to your stomach, lingering there, before he finally pulls away just enough to look at you, and in that quiet, still moment, everything feels right.
I can't wait for some more 😍😍
The Songbird of Asgard
Chapter 1
Welp, I've been convinced. Please interact so I know if anyone actually reads this XD. Heimdall comes in about halfway through. He'll be more present in any upcoming parts.
Heimdall x fem!named reader, name is used as little as possible
Words: 9.8k.
Warnings: swearing, Heimdall being his bitchy self. Odin manipulating people, as usual.
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Blurb: To say your life changed in a matter of hours would be an understatement.
The night before, you were alone in your room, a place that wasn’t even in this realm. But just twenty-four hours later, you were in Asgard, starting fresh, and on the back of a giant beast with probably the most pompous, condescending, and insufferable god that’s ever lived.
All this because Thor just so happened to crash through your roof. The norns are mocking you, surely…
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The clinking of glass jars was the only sound. Bottles moved from your table up onto a shelf, no longer needed now that your chore was complete. Another round of elixirs, for what exactly you weren’t sure, you never kept track anymore. They were always useful for the elves.
Useful. That was what they always said. That seems to be all you were nowadays.
You sighed, breaking the silence in your tiny room. This was one of the largest outposts the light elves had in Alfheim, one of the few strongholds they had when the Light temple was not within their control, as it was now. Regardless of that, this was your home – the only one you knew, at least.
The jars were abandoned after you took a few strides to arrive at your bookshelf, a finger wandering across the spines of books you've read a hundred times. Another sigh, after you found no interest in reading one of them yet again. Your eyes scanned the room, filled with nothing but a wooden chest next to your bed and a table with a few chairs by a window. How mundane it felt. You thought you'd be accustomed to it by now. Being a tool of war must have made you immune to the comfort of consistency.
You shook your head at the thought, reminding yourself not to be so pessimistic. The elves cared for you, gave you a home. A goddess left with nothing and no one, they could have left you. But they took you in, and you had to help them in return. You weren't an elf, their war was simply something you couldn't possibly understand, that was all.
That's what you had been telling yourself for at least a century now.
The thought was shoved away again as you decided to retrieve your lyre from your chest. Sweet melodies that were plucked from its strings were among the few things you never tired of.
Then there was a sound.
Sound was the wrong word. A boom, a crash, an explosion. Something like that came from the distance. Normal, considering the constant warring within the real and therefore far from drawing attention. But this time it felt different.
Almost like…thunder?
You squinted at the window, seeing a flash of blue rocket into the sky. You took a single step to investigate before it happened.
It burst through your roof, the cacophony of destruction so shocking that you flew back until your back hit the wall by your bed with a hand over your chest, desperately trying to calm your pounding heart. The early morning sun was just barely over the horizon, leaving little light to help you see just what was before you. The dust was settling, thinning enough that you could make out some monstrous object in the center, but ultimately you were stumped.
Until it moved.
You jumped again as the entity twitched and groaned, slowly sitting up.
Okay…this was a man then. He slowly and clumsily rose to his feet, standing so high that his head was poking into the massive hole he had just made. He wouldn't even fit in the room if the roof was still there.
Based on that alone – well, and the lingering sparks of lightning – you had an idea of exactly who this was.
You heard a curse from him as he rolled his shoulders, turning around to have a look at where he was. His dazed eyes landed on you. He froze.
Silence. Then…
"Hey."
How eloquent, you thought to yourself. A son of Odin literally smashes into your home and can barely offer a greeting in return. "Hello," you replied, your disbelief at, well, everything in front of you, overwhelmed by the fear of the god. You knew all the stories, knew how much mayhem and carnage the Aesir would bring when crossed. You were not keen on becoming one of those stories.
Thor glanced up at the roof, then back down at you, only about half his size. "Hope I uh…didn't scare ya too much." The slur in his speech was stronger than the smell of alcohol emanating from him, and that was an impressive feat. He snapped his fingers, leaving you wondering what he was asking from you. Until the whir of electrified metal sounded and the signature form of Mjolnir rammed through your wall and into his waiting hand.
"Eh…sorry, 'bout all that. Lost control of Mjolnir for a sec," he shrugged.
"I…understand?" Really, you didn't, not in the slightest. But what would anyone say to that?
From the newly installed skylight came the flap of bird's wings until a caw sounded. A raven with blue-tipped feathers landed on one of the chunks of roof that was just barely staying in place.
You felt your heart nearly stop. With Thor here, there was no secret who that raven represented.
And yet…it didn't even look at tou. It's eyes scanned your room but skipped right over you. Like you were invisible.
Another caw rose from its beak, aimed at Thor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' there. Can't you see I'm busy." Thor gestured towards you with his hammer, drawing the bird's eyes to you. Only this time they stayed. Noticing you.
You had a feeling you knew why, but thought it strange regardless.
The raven stared at you, hints of green flickering across its black eyes. "Well," Thor grunted, turning towards your door. How you dreaded his departure. As terrible as his entrance was, you worried for the door that he definitely wouldn't fit through. "I got shit to do, so uh…see ya, I guess." A hand was carelessly waved at you before reaching for the door. To your surprise and palpable relief, he managed to squeeze through without doing more than disturbing the dirt that settled on the walls.
And that was it. Thor left. But the raven remained.
For a moment you considered saying somthing to it. But this raven was a messenger, and you weren't sure just how much material it had to deliver already.
"Muninn!" Thor shouted from outside. The bird looked at you just a second longer before taking off after Thor. With the roar of hundreds of bird's wings and the silence that followed, the ordeal was over.
Twelve hours. That was all it took.
You were sitting on your bed, preparing to rest for the night. A bit earlier than usual, but cleaning the destruction left behind by the god of thunder was more than enough work for one. Stone wasn't easy to move after all.
Three knocks, thunderous and heavy, nothing like the knock of any elf you knew. You were too tired to care exactly who needed you at the moment and simply went to answer it, intending to send them away as soon as possible. It could be Ymir for all you cared, now was not the time.
Or so you thought. Upon opening the door you found Thor, once again. Not alone this time. An old man stood in front of him, two ravens taking off from his shoulders and into your room.
Suddenly you wished it was Ymir at your door. At least he wouldn't have sucked the fatigue out of you as Odin did.
"Pardon the intrusion, miss. Mind if we come in?" You nodded silently, still processing the scene before you. Thor was close behind his father as he entered.
"Please, take a seat at–" You stopped mid gesture, realizing your table was no more than splinters now.
Oding chuckled, sounding friendly. "My son's handiwork, I'm sure. Part of the reason I'm here, actually." He reached in his pocket while Thor dug a bottle of mead from somewhere (you didn't want to know where) and started chugging it down. Odin held out his hand, prompting you to do the same.
Coins were dropped into your palm.
Absolutely bemused, you looked back at him.
"For the roof," Odin explained. "Thor breaks just about everything he finds, so I've made a habit of compensating his victims."
"Oh, um…thank you?" was all you said. That was it?
He pulled up a chair from against a wall, the only chair to survive Thor's fall, and sat down, requesting you to sit on your bed. Odin seemed to ignore his son completely then.
"Now, my dear, you have me curious." You cringed at the pet name he used but said nothing. "I don't pay too much attention to elves, but never did I find a goddess to be among them…where did you come from, exactly?"
His tone was light but the sting of something lying underneath his words shone through. He was clearly irked that he didn't know about you. "I've lived here my entire life, actually." You tried to sound as confident and collected as you could despite your heart feeling like it was about to spring from your chest.
"Really? From the look of you I'd say you're Aesir."
"I'm of Asgardian descent, on my mother's side."
A grey eyebrow rose. Not out of curiosity. Surprise. Like he knew something.
You didn't dare ask.
"Those though," he pointed halfheartedly at your arms, where tattoos marked your shoulders and extended to your elbows on both arms, but only your left had a thin line down your forearm that ended to your knuckles. Runes were drawn on your middle fingers, though you had no idea what any of these markings were for. "Those are Vanir."
The horror of the situation was settling in. Odin found a goddess with Vanir symbols on them hiding from him. Truly not the finest way to go out. You swallowed to moisten your dry throat. "I…I'm Vanir on my father's side. I've had them for as long as I can remember," you replied weakly.
You flinched when Odin laughed jovially. "Relax, my dear, I'm just asking questions, I don't mean to scare you." As reassuring as he sounded, you couldn't take his words to heart. Thor had no reason to be here after all, other than intimidation.
Said unnecessary god offered a reverberating belch at that moment, proving your point. His father shot him an annoyed look before returning his attention to you. "I take it you don't know your parents?"
He already knew. He seemed to know a lot about you despite admitting he didn't know you existed moments ago. Those twelve hours since Thor busted into your life, that was all he needed to find out. The concept was as terrifying as it was creepy.
"No," you said sadly, eyes falling for a second. "The light elves found me as a child and took me in."
Odin hummed, dissatisfied if you had to guess. "So you don't know of any spells they may have cast on you? Are there any spells you put on yourself?" You shook your head. The old god's voice grew just a bit darker. "Then why couldn't my ravens see you?"
A shiver ran down your spine, seeing how displeased he was at your lack of explanation thus far. You quickly elaborated, "I've always had a natural immunity to certain types of magic. I assume whatever magic your ravens have is among them. And perhaps…" you were grasping at straws, trying to answer the question you had asked yourself that morning. "Perhaps the immunity loses effect if someone your ravens can track interacts with me." Sure, that works.
More than you thought it would, seeing how Odin relaxed a bit and nodded. "That would make sense. They did notice you after Thor pointed you out, and they had trouble before you answered the door."
You had to bite your tongue to hold in the outburst the statement incited. He had been trying to spy on you up until now, experimenting. It wasn't something you appreciated in the slightest. "So what, you just stay here, make protection spells and staves and other crap for a bunch of elves?"
The quick swerve into the topic left you dumbfounded. You sputtered in shock, "W-well, yes. I owe them my life so it's only fitting that I help them."
Odin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, the old wood creaking at the motion. "Well, if you ask me…that's a waste." Again, you were baffled at the sudden statement.
"You see, I have a little project that I’m working on. Something that will benefit all the realms once it’s completed. And based on my findings, I think you’re perfect for it…" He trailed off, staring at you expectantly. It took a moment for you to realize what he wanted.
"Eivor."
“Eivor. That’s a beautiful name, very fitting for you.” The more he said the slower your surprise faded. It would seem that with all his questions answered he was much more…respectful, gentle. A part of you still recalled all the stories about him and how cruel he was, but in that moment you thought he wasn’t as bad as everyone said. Then again, he did crush your hope of finding change by admitting he wanted something from you.
Odin must have sensed your disappointment. He stood from his chair and paced as he continued. “Now, I know what that looks like. If I came all this way because I need you for something then I’m no better than the elves, letting someone with value waste away with simple tasks. But that’s not the case here.” He paused, turning back to look at you with kindness and some type of…intensity that you couldn’t describe. “I don’t want to just use you and throw you out, no. No, this is an invitation. To live among your kind in Asgard.
“Do you know what that means, my dear? Once you’re done with this tiny, tiny chore for me you’ll have a world of possibilities. You can move on to something better.”
Try as you might to remain cautious, the flicker of hope rose up within you. Something better, something other than elves coming to you when they wanted something, more than just waiting to be needed.
Again, Odin saw through your thoughtful silence. “Think about it. In Asgard, you’d be serving the realms, protecting people, promoting peace.” He wandered to your shelves of elixirs that the light elves were waiting for you to deliver. “No more useless trinkets, no more sitting around while they constantly war.” He turned his head to you while lazily lifting his arm to the shelf. A single finger extended and tapped one of the bottles, tipping it off the shelf and shattering on the floor.
Odin let you ruminate to the sound of the glass for a moment, then went back to the chair he abandoned earlier. He sat up straight, his posture displaying what a powerful god he was. Contrary to that, his next statement was soft, like he was comforting a scared child. “You said you owed the elves your life. Well, you’ve served them for more than a lifetime, haven’t you? Your debt is paid. Isn't it time you made your own choice?”
It was so much information to take in. It felt exhilarating, the thought of not only something new, but finding other beings that didn’t just pretend to care for you just to get what you could offer them.
Even so, you were still scared. Not just by the suspicion you felt, knowing this could easily not be what it seems. It was the…novelty of it all. Something you knew nothing about. Perhaps the security of the mundane wasn’t as bad as you had always thought.
And yet, the chance of finding your own purpose was too tempting to ignore.
“Forgive me for rushing you,” Odin began. “But I’m afraid I’ll need an answer now. I would give you time to think, but unless you don’t plan on moving a muscle while you do so, any raven I leave with you might lose track of you. And I can’t stay forever, I’m a busy god after all.”
The clock was ticking, and your one chance was here. You could finally be something you wanted to be. And perhaps get away from all the coercion and lies. Away from wondering how truthful the elves' declarations of gratitude were. Away from wondering if any of them loved you as you thought they did.
But many of them didn’t. And you knew it. You just didn’t want to accept it.
And you were tired of it.
Odin was right. You wouldn’t wait for your problems to go away. You would find the place you were supposed to be. A deep breath passed through your lungs, your steeled determination showing in your eyes. A determination that Odin smiled at.
“I’ll go,” You said, feeling the rush of excitement as you spoke.
In the background, Thor raised his now empty bottle of mead like he was celebrating, although you doubted he was sober enough to really be paying attention. Odin stood from his chair with a clap of his hands and a big smile adorning his face. There was something almost sinister about it, but you ignored it. Whatever was tipping you off couldn’t be worse than wasting this chance.
“Perfect! Then let’s get going!” Odin said, his ravens gliding back over to him. One, who you recognized as Muninn, morphed into tattoos on his right arm. The other, this one with red tipped feathers, stood on his shoulder, ready for orders.
You also got to your feet. “Wait! Can I have a moment to pack my things?”
A chuckle. “My dear, you don’t need anything here. I’ll provide a room, new clothes, and Asgard has an expansive public library that likely has all those books of yours.” Your eyes went to the wooden chest at the end of your bed.
You couldn’t leave those behind. Nothing had been as constant as their presence. “Could…could I bring just a few things?”
“If it’s something that can’t be replaced.”
You nodded and rushed to the chest, opening it and taking the instruments within, handling them with care. You’d had both your entire life. A simple bone flute, with carvings of patterns like the ones on your arms. It was old, scratched, and chipped in a few places, but the sound was still rich. The other was a lyre, a simple rectangular shape with no special decorations that also had its share of nicks, though the strings were new. You always replaced them when it was necessary. Both of them went into their respective thin leather bags, then you returned to Odin. He didn’t even look at them, like they meant nothing to him. Which, to be fair, they probably did.
“Ready, then?”
You nodded, watching Thor reach his father’s side while the raven, presumably Huginn if your memory served, took off, forming a cluster of ravens around the three of you. Just as the vortex closed and the last of your room faded, Thor leaned down and mumbled to you, “You made a good choice,” while fixing you with a sincere stare.
His serious tone caught you off guard. It made you wonder what would have happened if you refused Odin’s offer.
You didn’t want to think about it. It was too late now anyway.
The ravens cleared, and once they were gone you were in front of the Great Lodge. The sunset of Asgard greeted you, the sight of Gladsheim leaving you stunned at the size of the city. And the wall, of course.
"Welcome home!" Odin cheered with a smile. It fell quickly when he saw Thor, still idling next to you. "What are you still doing here? Go! Don't you have somewhere else to drink?"
Thor nodded, glancing at you, looking almost worried. He said nothing, planting a heavy hand on your shoulder as he walked past. He clearly was still too drunk to mind his strength because he nearly knocked you over with the gesture.
"Now I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but it is getting late, and I want you to have some time to settle in. I've arranged for you to have a tour of Asgard with Heimdall in the morning. He knows everything about everything in Asgard, he'll tell you all the things you want to know…and what you don't want to know, probably."
You chuckled, thinking he was joking. Since he didn't you assumed there was something there you were oblivious to.
Hopefully it wasn't something awful.
"For now," Odin continued, "I'll be off. Sif here will show you to your room." Just as the goddess's name was mentioned, a tall blonde woman came from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. "Sif, I trust you'll make sure she finds her way?"
"Of course, All-Father." You could help but notice the smell of mead on her breath as well. Was being drunk just a thing in Asgard?
"Good. I'll be off then, I'll greet you in the morning, Eivor." You bid the old god goodnight and he disappeared with his ravens. Sif turned her attention to you and offered a friendly smile. “Well, I hope you’re ready to see your new home.” She waved a hand and two servants scuttled over. “They’ll put your things away, that way we can take our time getting to your cabin.”
You looked at your leather bags worriedly, afraid to let your precious instruments out of your sight. Ultimately you put your trust in Sif and gave them to the servants, muttering a thank you to them as you did. Both of them appeared shocked that you did so, or that you even acknowledged them. And you could see why, Sif didn’t even look at them as she started down the path in front of the lodge. You thanked them again and followed after her. But then a streak of read flew past you, nearly mowing you over as it passed.
Sif spun around at the sound of little feet tapping on the dirt, smiling when the red you saw came to her. A little girl, no older than five winters, holding a wooden sword. “Mama, I almost got you that time!”
Sif chuckled and ruffled the fiery hair on the girl’s head. “Almost, you’ll have to keep practicing if you want to catch me though.” She then looked up to you. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter comes with us? She’s trouble without enough supervision.”
“Of course!” You knelt down to the girl’s height and asked, “And what’s your name, little one?”
“I’m Thrúd! And I’m not little!” She protested. “I’ll be big like my daddy and brothers.”
That’s right, this would be Thor’s daughter. That would explain why she seemed tall for someone so young. If you were honest with yourself you weren’t sure how to act with children. Warzones in Alfheim were not for the young and that was where you spent most of your time. Before you came up with something to say to the irate girl, Sif interjected. “Don’t be rude. And you aren’t big yet.” Thrúd pouted for a moment, a moment that ended when her mother was moving again. She took off, running ahead of her mother while you caught up.
You felt…shy, to say the least. These people were very different from the elves. With your habit of being sarcastic and occasionally sassy you were doing your best to bite your tongue while Sif engaged in small talk.
The Light elves were constantly drilling into each other how crucial winning their war was, how it was no laughing manner. Every elf should be treated as a respected soldier, every high ranking official like a king. There was an excess of formality and decorum, forcing you to reserve any laid back energy for the few private moments you had with the even fewer elves you trusted not to take it to heart. Out of habit you defaulted to this type of exchange, offering quick and succinct answers to everything she asked, offering little to any comments she made. It wasn’t long before you noticed that she seemed to get bored as a result. She paused the conversation for a minute, grasping for anything to make the interaction more interesting. That moment somehow acted as the cue for an Einherjar to fly from behind a building and trip onto the path in front of you, a moment when Thrúd was thankfully close to her mother. The man shouted something in an old language, another one leaping out with a club in his hand, missing completely. The two squared up again, only this time the one with the club was holding it upside down, the thin end making contact with the other’s thick armor. It was then that they both stumbled before engaging again. So being drunk apparently was a thing in Asgard.
You stared incredulously while Sif rolled her eyes. Thrúd, clearly confused, looked up at you and Sif. “Why would he use the stick like that?”
“I…think he’s a little confused,” you commented, attempting to avoid any accusations.
Sif, however, was not. “They were probably part of the drinking game that was going on this afternoon,” she huffed.
“What’s that mean? Is he dumb?”
“Well–” You didn’t get a chance to offer a neutral explanation. The Einherjar threw his club at the other from about a foot away from the other. It bounced off of his opponent’s armor and straight into his exposed gut, making him double over as the armored one laughed hysterically. In that moment, you decided being courteous wasn’t possible. “Yes, he is.”
To your surprise, Sif laughed. “That’s definitely not far off.” You stood, relieved that no one was bothered by your humor. Perhaps, you thought, because not everyone was a hardened footsoldier or a jaded general like you were so familiar with, they were more tolerant of not taking things so seriously.
You should relax.
And so you did. Once the two Einherjar were shooed away by Sif you tried to actually contribute to your interactions, mentioning Thor’s entrance. A troll squeezing through a mouse hole was how you described Thor stumbling through your front door. Sif had a good laugh at that one, taking no offense to poking fun at her husband. And how you used to use your flute to lull overworked guards to sleep so you could sneak out of your room to play in the sand of the barrens when you were a child. Sif was more at ease as well, despite Thrúd constantly circling her and waving her toy sword around carelessly. She told you about the time one of her sons toppled over an entire kennel for the servants' work dogs, scaring them all enough to send them yipping and howling into the middle of Odin observing the valkyries training new Einherjar. You seemed to have shenanigans in common, although yours were born from your rebelliousness, Sif’s from a family of boisterous gods.
You two had stopped in front of a moderately sized building while you exchanged a few more remarks, laughing once more before Thrúd started to constantly tap on her mother’s hip, complaining that she was bored. Sif shook her head at the girl, still smiling fondly. “You hear the girl, this is where I’ll leave you for the night.”
You stiffened, realizing the building you’d been loitering around was yours. “This is mine? All this for me?”
Sif smirked. “And why not?”
You shook your head. “It’s so much bigger than the tiny room I had in Alfheim.”
Sif hummed, her smirk growing just a tad. “Afraid you’ll get lost in there?”
You didn’t miss a beat. “I hope I'll make it out before I wither away into dust.”
Sif let out another guffaw, all while latching onto Thrud’s shoulder before the child wandered off. Once the girl was secured (for the time being), Sif put her hands on her hips, looking much more pleased than she had all night. “You know, I like you. You’re much more fun when you let go.”
Without you realizing it your face lit up. Not once had someone said they liked you just for being you, not since you were…you couldn’t even remember how young you were. “You really think so?”
“What reason would I have to lie?”
For once, you didn’t have an answer to that question, and you felt overjoyed. It was one you asked about the elves so much that it practically became your mantra. Now you really could believe that there weren’t strings attached to everything you did.
Finally, you could leave that part of you behind.
You swallowed all that emotion down, wanting to hop back into the mood that had been set. “So you can get me out of your hair and get a handle on Thrúd?”
Sif sighed, watching as Thrúdwas tossing her sword around for a servant she’d cornered a few doors down, swearing that she could do tricks with it. “There’s no handling her. She’s learned too much from her brothers already.”
When Thrud’s toy sword was getting hurled too high above her, Sif saw fit to bid you goodnight and get her calmed down enough to get to bed relatively soon. And once you entered your cabin you found that Odin had kept his word. Simple but sturdy furniture, thick furs on the bed, a closet with cloaks and dresses ready for you, even if some of them didn’t look like they would fit. Much to your relief, your instruments were placed on a table below the window, safe and sound, and exactly how you left them. There was even a full bookshelf, but you chose not to inspect its contents for now. The fatigue from the day had settled in now that you had a moment to breathe, and you were in dire need of some sleep.
To think Thor had literally dropped into your life this morning. It already felt like so long ago.
The next morning, you awoke to a bashful knock at your door. Upon answering it, you found it to be a seamstress, timidly requesting she get some measurements to tailor some of the clothes Odin had given you. You obliged and welcomed her inside, even asked if she needed a drink. It made you sad to see her so confused at your kindness, shining a light on how she, and likely many others, were treated by higher ranking Aesir. Once the measuring was underway, she began to unwind, as if she was feeling safer than she did outside. Upon her leaving, you expressed your gratitude, which made the seamstress smile with, as far as you could tell, relief. When she opened the door she nearly bumped into Sif. And just like that, the servant was back to curling into an invisible shell, apologizing profusely and scampering off.
You liked Sif, and you were already beginning to see her as a friend, but you hoped she was not the reason the servants always seemed so on edge. You would have to find that seamstress sometime, tell her you were open to being friends. You were all for forging bonds now, thanks to Sif, and why limit yourself to the elite?
Sif barely noticed the seamstress, choosing to greet you with a warm smile. “New wardrobe already?” She asked, noticing the freshly altered Asgardian dress you wore over simple leather pants.
“Odin certainly works fast,” you chuckled, joining her outside.
Sif’s smile fell a tiny bit. “All-Father certainly does," she replied, pointing out your mistake without saying it outright. You found it odd, considering the Aesir seemed much looser than the elves, except when it came to the gods here. “Aside from that, I’ll be dropping you off at the lodge for now, I’m just making sure you find your way there.”
Disappointment washed over you at the information. Sif had promised to introduce you to her sons sometime, and based on what you heard about them, they sounded like they would be…entertaining, to say the least. “Where will you be?”
“Tending to my regular duties, mostly handling affairs we have with the dwarves for today. You, however, will be getting a tour of Asgard, courtesy of the watchman himself. I’ll be handing you off to Heimdall, our resident mind reader.”
Your eyes widened at the casual remark. “He reads minds? That’s…terrifying.”
Sif laughed, making you think you were overreacting. “Well, he reads people more than minds, but he can find more details and pick up precise thoughts with eye contact. But I doubt it will matter much since he’s just giving you a tour.” They entered the courtyard of the lodge, Odin’s ravens dropping him there just as your feet met the mud in front of it. Sif leaned down and whispered to you, "And for that…I apologize in advance."
You raised a brow at her. "What?"
"Eivor!" Called Odin from the doors of the lodge. Sif gave you a rueful smile and left as Odin approached. "How was your first night in Gladsheim?"
"It's been…nice. Thank you, I've never lived in this much comfort." You didn't have the heart to admit most of it felt unnecessary to you. You secretly hoped you'd get used to it.
"One of the many perks of serving the greater good, my dear. Now, the city has a lot going on, and I'd hate for you to feel overwhelmed. That's where your tour guide comes in."
The doors to the Great Lodge behind him opened and a man stepped out. For the first time since you arrived, despite the gods you'd seen thus far, you felt starstruck. Not because you knew who he was, you hadn't the slightest. You couldn't help but notice that he was your type of handsome, his tall but lean frame a stark contrast to the bulky men you had seen already. Sharp facial features framed by ornate golden hair, but his eyes…a glowing purple like you'd never seen. Piercing, almost intimidating, but beautiful all the same. Those eyes met yours for a heartbeat before you looked back to Odin, embarrassed that you were caught ignoring him.
The man approached, stopping by Odin as he finished his last statement. You suddenly knew who this was.
"This is Heimdall." The fair god gave a slight bow to you, the smirk he wore showing just how confident – or cocky – he was. He looked directly at you when his head rose. Within a moment the smile melted, and he looked…confused.
"He will be taking good care of you while you get acclimated. Right, Heimdall?" Odin gave him a stern glare, almost like a warning.
"Of course, All-Father. When have I ever disappointed you?" His voice, though smooth and soothing to you, carried something that made you think he may be more on the cocky side than confident. His glowing eyes raced back to you after addressing Odin. His jaw clenched.
"Good. I'll leave you to it then. Have fun!" Odin gave you no chance to reply, he simply fluttered away in a whirlwind of feathers, as he seemed to so often. You're left alone with Heimdall. It was silent for a few seconds, like you two were sizing each other up. It gave you a chance to notice he was almost a full head taller than you…which you admittedly liked.
Heimdall was the first to speak. "So, you're the stray from Alfheim I've heard about, hm?"
You felt your brow twitch at being referred to as "stray." You chose not to react. This was a stranger, after all. He might not have meant anything by it. "...I guess you could say that."
His expression grew even more sour, painting a sneer on his lips. He looked…angry? He harrumphed, then brushed past you rudely. "Very well then, stray, let's get on with it."
He definitely meant something with that nickname. Unease stirred in your stomach, feeling that this wasn't about to go as well as you would have liked. A deep breath was what you needed, so you took it while you turned and followed him to the edge of the courtyard. He whistled, then waited for a barrage of thumps to reach them. A giant armored beast launched into view and raced down the path to you. You thought it would trample Heimdall with how fast it charged toward him, jumping back once it finally stopped just in front of him.
Heimdall laughed, patting the beast's neck while giving you a condescending smile. "Relax, stray, Gulltoppr won't hurt you…" he effortlessly climbed onto its back, settling comfortably on the golden saddle before adding, "...unless I command it." You thought you knew what a shit-eating grin looked like, but you saw that you never did until now. Heimdall jerked his head to the space behind him, signaling you to mount. The beast towered over you, and getting on its back would be a chore without help.
…which Heimdall clearly had no intention of offering. You waited a moment at Gulltoppr’s side to see if he would offer any sort of assistance, but all you got was an impatient frown.
You held back a sigh and leaped as high as you could, just barely grasping the saddle enough to pull yourself up. You were panting a bit once you finally sat with both legs on one side, all while Heimdall mocked you with fake pity.
This couldn't possibly get worse.
Of course, you were wrong.
He had something to say about everything. The first thing he pointed out to you was the very obvious Great Hall, as if you were too stupid to notice it was there. You let that one go, thinking he was just being thorough. But then you passed by a commercial area, where Asgard’s resident craftsmen carried out their business. “This is where the finest goods in the realms are made, by the hands of pureblood Asgardians, for pureblood Asgardians. So you shouldn’t soil it with your presence.” Your jaw dropped at that. By now you figured out he was naturally rude, but flat out prejudiced and spiteful had to be added to the list of his worst qualities.
No, you wouldn’t sink to his level, at least not so fast. You prided yourself on your patience, and you wouldn’t let this prick force you to abandon it. “I see…” You began, desperately trying to find something cordial to say. It was harder than finding a specific grain of sand at the bottom of the ocean. “I don’t want to be a nuisance, so I’ll stay away as best I can.” A complete lie, you had no intention of bending to his perceived rules. Heimdall looked at you over his shoulder, saying nothing. After a moment his jaw clenched tighter than before.
You came across the training grounds next. Armored men were clamoring about, nearly beating each other to death, it seemed to you. “Isn’t this a bit rough for training?” You asked after his introduction to the area.
A scoff was his reply. “Are you too daft to see? They’re Einherjar, they’re already dead. Why hold back anything?”
“Because dying again probably isn’t pleasant?”
Heimdall gave you a theatrical sigh. “Oh of course, what a loss it would be if they did something twice. Do you think it makes any sort of difference? Or should I start explaining every little thing to you?”
Gods, he was irritating. Did he have to be so dramatic about it? “I just mean–”
“What you mean doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid question.”
You balled your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. Oh, how you wanted to tell him how stupid he was for completely missing the point. But no, you were better than him. You were better than him, you swore. “I suppose it is,” you said curtly, having no desire to say any more.
Again, Heimdall glanced at you over his shoulder, brows knitting together in addition to his clenched teeth.
Then Gultoppr strolled past a much shabbier part of town, lacking the grandeur of the buildings near the Great Lodge. “These are the servant quarters. Do I need to explain this to you, or are you finally beginning to understand anything at all?”
An impatient sigh passed through you, this one you made sure he could hear. Though you doubted it made any difference to him. “No.” That was it, a single word was all you could manage to say politely at this point.
“No useless questions this time? Good, perhaps you will get the hang of things before the next century.”
You didn’t entertain him with a response, and he didn’t seem to be looking for one either. From there you both were silent, watching the cabins go by as Gultoppr meandered across things you’d already seen. As much as you hated hearing what Heimdall had to say, it was starting to feel awkward. And maybe this period was a good time to patch things over and hopefully –hopefully– get him to stop being such an ass. Clearly asking about Asgard was a mistake, as he had an unfortunate talent of finding a flaw in just about everything you said about it. His ego certainly seemed big enough for your chosen approach to work.
“While we’re passing through these familiar parts, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Heimdall?” You asked, forcing the irritation out of your voice to make your tone pleasant. Heimdall looked back at you for a second, this time with suspicion. Was he really so against talking about himself with how much of an elitist he was?
“What, pray tell, would make you ask?”
“Well, if we’re both serving the All-Father it’s likely we’ll come across each other again. There’s no harm in making our interactions more personal.”
Another glance at you, this one longer. “All you need to know is I am the scion of the Aesir, watchman of the gods, and herald of Ragnarok. It is my job to keep this realm safe from any harm whatsoever…whether it comes from the giants or a foolish stray from Alfheim.”
Of course he had to tack on an insult somewhere in there. You had to admit, however, that you did hear the pride in his voice when describing his role. It didn’t feel like it was born from the prestige of his position, but the joy of having it. It was almost enough to make you think there might be some parts of him that are bearable. Almost.
“It appears you love the realm very much.” You felt some of the anger recede as you made a genuine statement.
“Of course, it is the peak of perfection…At least it was, before you got here.”
The anger was back.
“Oh really?” You mocked, not thinking about what you said before you said it. “I’m sure just about everyone else in the realm would say the same about you.” As much as you wanted to be nice, the snark you threw right back at him felt so good.
Heimdall yanked on Gulltoppr’s reins, making the beast yelp in protest. He turned around as much as he could on the saddle and snarled, “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to already?” You recoiled, not expecting such a violent reaction. It hadn’t occurred to you until now that you had no idea exactly how much of a fighter Heimdall was, but based on this sudden threat he must have been enough of one to hurt you if he wanted to. And yet, it was not enough to scare you into caring. You shot back, “I think it’s you who's forgotten. What was it All-Father said? That I would be ‘taken care of?’ I don’t feel taken care of.” Your reply was as much of a threat as his, reminding him that you could drop him right out of Odin’s good graces if you wanted to, and considering how much more respectful he was to the older you guessed that would mean a lot to him.
All he did was glare harder. It was then that you noticed something. He didn’t seem to be angry. Well, he was, but not just angry. He looked…frustrated?
For a moment you felt like you had unknowingly been the problem and felt a tinge of guilt. Before you could ask him if you were in the wrong he turned away and instructed Gulltopr to move again. “If you think the All-Father would take your word over mine, then I assure you, I will revel in the look on your face when you realize you are nothing compared to me. A mongrel next to a dragon”
You didn’t care if you had done something wrong anymore. He deserved whatever it was that made him tense.
Finally, Gulltopr made it to something new, a large building not too far from the cabin Odin gave you. “Here is Asgard’s public library. All the finest pieces of literature have been collected and are available to read at your leisure. Can you even read, stray? I seriously doubt it.”
Don’t react, don’t react… you repeated to yourself. Just keep in mind that the library is there and you can read some new books for the first time since you were a child, that was all that mattered.
“Aww, did I hurt your feelings, stray? Don’t worry, I’m sure you have something that can be considered a redeeming quality.”
That’s it. Sif had said you were better when you let go. So you did.
Without warning, you reached across him and pulled on Gultoppr’s reins, the gradungr coming to a halt. Heimdall caught your arm as you pulled it back, looking like you had severely offended him. Before he opened his big mouth you slapped his arm away and leaped off Gulltoppr’s back. “What are you doing?” Heimdall demanded, drawing attention from other residents. Every single one cowered at his voice.
You turned around and gave a mocking curtsy to him. “I’m so sorry, but frankly, I’m sick of you.”
“We’re not done here,” he growled, turning Gulltoppr to face you. It did nothing to change your mind.
“Yes, we are. If that’s a problem, then you can figure out how to explain it to Odin.” You spun on your heel and started marching away.
“All-Father,” He emphasized, correcting you, “ordered you to get acquainted with the city. This defies a direct order!”
“That’s your problem!” You shouted back.
Your patience was gone and you were not going to waste your time humoring the jerk any longer. Not even the hammering of Gulltopr’s heavy footfalls racing towards you were frightening. You waited for the perfect moment to stop walking, until Gulltopr was just a few bounds away. You raised your hand, summoning a barrier of golden magic swirling above the ground, positioned just in front of Heimdall’s upper body. Gulltopr kept running full speed, and Heimdall was hurled directly into the barrier – the equivalent of sprinting face first into a stone wall. He let out a pained yell and was thrown off of Gulltoppr, who skidded to a halt as soon as he realized his master was no longer mounted.
You didn’t register the sound of the astonished gasps from passersby that witnessed the event. Heimdall fell directly onto his back, having the wind knocked out of him, but the pain did nothing to stop him from standing up immediately. This time you were the one to look over your shoulder at him, finding exactly what you expected: the most hateful, menacing glare he’d shown all day. You didn’t pay any mind to it at the time, but you did notice something else in his purple eyes that was new.
Fear. So subtle that you weren't sure if even he knew it was there.
“I said,” you hissed, “that’s your problem.” With a flick of your fingers the barrier you created disappeared in a flash of golden sparks and you flounced off without another word. Any onlookers quickly scurried out of sight.
You were appalled that you thought he was handsome earlier. Live and learn, as they say.
Heimdall’s fists shook with rage, his teeth ground together like he was trying to break them, his breaths quickened with fury. He opened his mouth to call after you, a hand reaching across his torso to unsheathe his sword but he never got the chance to. A raven's call from the top of a nearby roof stopped him in his tracks.
He knew exactly what that meant. Heimdall snarled to himself and nodded at the bird, commanding Gulltoppr to return to his enclosure alone, which the beast obeyed without question. As the black feathers surrounded him and the scenery faded, so did his anger, slowly replaced by the sickly sting of dread. It only doubled when the vortex dropped him off in front of the doors to Odin’s study, not inside the study. Odin had no patience with people who weren’t calm and rational. It was his way of silently commanding Heimdall to collect himself before entering. He felt like he had been stabbed in the gut knowing Odin was so displeased with him.
No. No, he would prove to the All-Father that he needed no such treatment. He was calm, level-headed, and ready to accept the criticism he knew was coming. Heimdall straightened his back and squared his shoulders, head held high, and pushed the door open with confidence. Odin was standing behind his desk, Huginn and Muninn were on their wooden perch while the god studied maps of Muspelheim and books that were scattered across the tabletop. He didn’t lift his head to address Heimdall.
Whatever confidence Heimdall had when he entered was steadily deteriorating the longer he was ignored, not daring to rush Odin. It was a few minutes before his superior finally grumbled, “You’re done early. All of Gladsheim so soon?”
The utter shame Heimdall was inundated with left him speechless. He never failed Odin. He made sure of that. Never did he disappoint the Aesir king with shortcomings of any kind. That was his job, his responsibility. One he held with pride. Knowing that he should feel none of that pride at that moment was eating him alive. Heimdall resisted clearing his throat, refusing to show how much he loathed the talk he was about to get. “The str–She was not interested.” That was it. That was all he could manage.
Odin finally looked up, and the sheer dissatisfaction and impatience nearly made Heimdall shake with guilt. “And why would that be?” Heimdall had no answer. Odin simply sighed in frustration, pacing around his desk as he spoke. Even Huginn and Muninn looked at Heimdall like they were deeply unimpressed. “One job, Heimdall. I gave you one thing to do, and you couldn’t do it!”
Heimdall visibly winced. Odin was exactly right, and in more ways than one. “I mean,” Odin continued, more exasperated. “It was so simple. Let her look around, and take enough time to figure out if she’s hiding anything, see if she’s not telling me something, anything. And look at this! Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was all it took for you to fuck it up!” Normally these words would make Heimdall grin with pleasure, relishing in the complete incompetence and worthlessness of the receiver. But that was because he wasn’t the receiver. He was never the receiver. He was always better than them. Until now. Thanks to you.
“All-Father–”
“Don’t interrupt me!” Odin barked at him, Heimdall’s mouth instantly closing at the command. He had already committed the sin of failing Odin, he wouldn’t dare make it any worse. He wouldn’t stoop so low to make excuses. “You’ve made this so much harder, and for what? Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Because you can’t stop being…yourself for a mere hour? You couldn’t just focus on reading because you couldn’t help but be you?”
Heimdall schooled his expression into one of an emotionless soldier as best he could, but that…that hurt. And he hated that he could feel the hurt showing. Not because the lecture hurt his feelings, no. His feelings were irrelevant. What hurt was hearing Odin himself say that Heimdall as a whole was the problem.
His entire life had been proving his worth, proving that he was more than a simple henchman, a lackey, an assistant. No, NO. He was worthy of his role as a valued confidant and loyal chancellor. He accepted orders willingly and carried them out to a T because he was capable of doing so without fail. But if Odin said that he himself was the flaw…then he had been wrong in believing he earned the All-Father’s certitude in his reliability. And worst of all, he knew that Odin’s harsh reprimand was justified completely. He had ruined his goal because he wasn’t willing to let the newcomer think she was one of them, that she belonged here in any way, even though that was what Odin wanted her to feel. He undermined Odin’s plans. He let himself be the obstacle in the way. He had to fix that.
Unfortunately, what he needed to say wouldn’t make that easy. “That is the problem.” His muttering was barely audible, just enough for Odin to hear it. He returned to his desk, resting his hands on it while he waited for Heimdall to clarify. “I…I can’t read her. When I look into her mind it’s like staring into a void…I see nothing.” He despised that his voice wavered and shook as he spoke, that he was showing how affected he was by Odin's disappointment. Heimdall waited for him to continue on his rant, to chastise him for his defeat as he deserved. That way, once Odin expressed the full extent of his resentment, he would understand exactly how to never beckon it again.
He would be perfect for the All-Father again. He would make sure of it.
To his dismay, Odin loosened up just a bit, turning his attention to his two treasured ravens and stroking their feathers. “I figured as much. She’s immune to my ravens as well. Your foresight having no effect is to be expected.” Odin paused, his hands dropping back down to his sides. “And?”
Heimdall blinked as he processed what Odin said. “What?”
“And? Yes, I knew she would be immune, but I still expected you to break through. My ravens can see her under the right conditions, which means she’s not invulnerable. All you have to do is find a way past her defenses. That’s why I assigned the tour to you, so you’d have enough time to experiment.
“Really, Heimdall, when I tell you to do something, I plan on it happening. But if you give up at the first problem you come across, then what good are you?” Odin posited, throwing his hands up.
The pit Heimdall felt his soul falling into swallowed him whole at last. He couldn’t lose his value to the All-Father. He CAN’T. “I haven’t given up!” Heimdall screeched, reeling his emotion back in to sound less frantic. “I will find a way, I swear to you. I was simply unaware that reading her would take more than others. I will find everything you need to learn from her.”
Odin calmed considerably, though his reaction was not enough for Heimdall to judge how convincing his declaration was, with his harsh gaze piercing through him. Heimdall hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. “See to it that you do,” Odin said, finally sitting down in his chair. “But I doubt you’ll do it quickly, thanks to this dereliction. So, to make sure you’ll be able to keep her around enough – without causing much more trouble – I’m putting you on babysitting duty.”
“For who?” If he had to atone by taking care of Sif’s little muskrat of a daughter he would surely lose his mind.
“She’s going to be finding some things for me throughout the realms. You’re going to go with her and keep her safe.”
Babysitting Thrúd didn’t sound that bad to Heimdall all of a sudden. “All-Father, with all due respect, I’m concerned that my absence will put Asgard at jeopardy.”
“The realm will survive if you’re gone every once in a while. Don’t try to get out of this because you don’t like her. Consider this punishment as well. I was going to send Thor with her to do the heavy lifting, but hopefully this will remind you how important it is to meet my expectations.”
Heimdall put a hand on his chest and bowed. “Of course, All-Father. I will not disappoint you again. You have my word.”
Odin nodded. “Dismissed.”
It had been a long, long time since Odin had excused his watchmen so coldly. He made no protest and promptly exited the study. As Heimdall stomped through the lodge and back outside, he felt his fists clenching, his back constricting, his arms locked up and ready to destroy the next thing his hands touched. Something anyone who passed him noticed and backed away from before they were in the line of fire.
And you came in and destroyed it. All because you thought you were special.
How dare you.
He had a perfect record. Always succeeding, always surpassing Odin’s expectations with flying colors. Never too slow, never too fast, always on time. There was not a single time in his life that he recalled falling short, showing that even the most miniscule parts of him were efficacious. Everything about him was laudable. He was worth keeping.
No, oh no no no. He wouldn’t allow that. And he would prove to Odin that he was not so useless that he should take one of Thor's lowly tasks, that he could easily do more than be a glorified bodyguard. He would find a way into your head before your little quest began. You had to be around Gladsheim somewhere, and he would find you and start prodding at your mind right away.
Well, after he found the Einherjar and sent some of them back to Valhalla to blow off some steam. He didn’t want to unleash it on you. Not yet, at least.
If this gets interactions I'll post on Ao3 and keep going. Thanks for stopping by! :)
Beneath His Love | Jungkook Two-Shot AU (Part 2)
pairing: jungkook x reader genre: dark romance, psychological thriller, soft yandere
summary: Jeon Jungkook was once just a foreign high school friend until he disappeared without a word after graduation. Years later, he came back, not just to reconnect, but to claim a place in your life as your lover. To everyone else, your relationship is something out of a fairytale, the kind others envy. And for a while, you believed it too until the mask he wore began to slip, revealing a side of him you never saw coming.
warnings: emotional and psychological manipulation, control and possessiveness, obsession, anxiety and mild distress, isolation and coercion, themes of entrapment, smut wc: 20k
parts: (1) | (2)
Your friends haven't noticed yet because they're facing the other way.
“Y/N,” he calls, his voice cutting through the night.
Your friends turn.
“You weren’t answering your phone again.” His tone is eerily neutral. “We have to go home. Now.”
You step forward instinctively, but Mina blocks you.
“No,” she says firmly. “She’s not going with you.”
Jungkook’s gaze flicks to her, his brow arching, lips pressing into a tight line. He stares at her for a long moment before turning back to you.
“Y/N?”
Henry, oblivious to the growing tension, chimes in. “Man, Y/N might stay the night. Chloe booked a room for us since she’s leaving Monday.”
But you wish he hadn’t said that.
Jungkook shifts his gaze to Henry, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t say anything right away, just studies him.
“Henry, right?” Jungkook’s voice is smooth as he twitch is lips. “I haven’t formally met you. I only ever see you when I’m picking Y/N up.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto him. “How have you been? Last time I heard a news from you is when you were smuggling cocaine into campus during high school.”
Your stomach drops.
Henry’s eyes widen. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh,” Jungkook smirks. “They didn’t know? How is that possible, considering they’re your friends?”
“Jungkook, let’s go.” You reach for him, desperate to diffuse whatever the hell this is.
But Mina steps in again, eyes burning.
“Y/N, you’re staying,” she says. “We already talked about this.”
You ignore Mina and head straight for Jungkook, needing to escape the tension pressing down on you. The longer you stay, the harder it gets to breathe.
Your friends react. Voices overlapping behind you but you don’t look back. Your focus is locked on Jungkook, searching his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.
Without hesitation, you reach for his hand, ready to pull him away with you. But before you can, his grip tightens, stopping you in your tracks.
You glance up, and that’s when you see it. He’s smiling.
“It’s okay, love,” he says smoothly, pulling you closer, his eyes flickering toward your friends. “You can stay the night.”
Your stomach twists. “No, we can go now—”
“You can stay,” he repeats, his voice calm, too calm. “It’s Chloe’s last night. I get it now. Go ahead, have fun. I’ll wait for you at home tomorrow.”
“But—”
You hesitate, trying to explain, to tell him there’s no need, that you’ll just leave with him. But before you can get the words out, he cuts you off.
“You will stay.” He said firmly. The smile doesn’t waver, but you know better. You know he doesn’t like this.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”
He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. Before you can say anything else, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your pulse hammering in your ears.
Your friends didn’t like what happened. They didn’t like how the situation turned out. But if they thought they were the only ones pissed about it, they were dead wrong. Because out of everyone who hated what just happened, no one despised it more than you.
Shame burned through you. The way you broke down in front of them, the way Jungkook showed up and, without a second thought, you fell right into line. How easily you let him take control. And worst of all, you ruined Chloe’s night.
Pathetic.
You fucking hated every second of it, and the last thing you wanted was to face them now. If the earth could open up and swallow you whole, you’d gladly let it.
But they didn’t let you go.
They didn’t let you walk away, didn’t let you brush this off and deal with it alone. Were they disappointed? Yeah. But they didn’t leave. They stayed.
And as much as you wanted to leave because of Jungkook, because you knew he wouldn’t like this, you realized something else. Maybe it was a good thing he “let” you stay. Because you needed this. More than you even knew.
You’d been so wrapped up in him, so caught in the push and pull of his world, that you forgot what it felt like to just be with your friends. The people who had always been there, long before he ever stepped into the picture.
It hit you then, how much of yourself you’d been losing. How, somewhere along the way, your world had started revolving around him.
But tonight, even just for a little while, you were free.
The party was still on-going, but your friends were done. Without much debate, they decided to head back to the hotel Chloe had booked. You felt bad and offered to stay, but they weren’t having it. They just wanted to get out of there and honestly, so did you.
You already knew what was coming once you got to the hotel. This wasn’t just about tonight. They wanted to know everything. About Jungkook, about the way your life had changed since you started dating him.
And the moment you started talking, it all clicked.
You knew he was controlling. Deep down, you always knew. But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t that bad. That it was just love. Just care. But standing here, hearing your own words spill out, you realized how much of yourself you’d let slip through his fingers.
Every choice, big or small, it had all been him. And you? You just went along with it.
Chloe, sitting cross-legged on the bed, hugs a pillow to her chest. Her voice is gentle, but there’s frustration laced in it.
“We get that you love him,” she says, watching you carefully. “But you know you’re being manipulated. So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”
“Because she’s blinded by love, Chloe. That explains everything,” Mina says, taking a swig of the beer they snuck out from the club.
“It’s not just that.” Henry leans forward, grabbing a bottle from the table. “She’s not just ignoring the red flags, she’s doing whatever he wants because she doesn’t want to start a fight. It’s easier to just go along with it than deal with the fallout. It’s not always because she’s blinded by love, but she’s being manipulated.”
Mina shoots him a look. “Wow, you talk like you weren’t smuggling cocaine in high school.”
Henry groans, flipping her off. “For the last time, I was broke, okay? I needed cash, and it was a quick way to make money.”
Mina snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I just can’t believe you were out there selling coke to Jungkook of all people.”
You lean back against the bed, half-listening to them bicker, half-lost in thought. It’s been a while since you’ve hung out like this, probably since before Jungkook.
It’s crazy how much your life has changed since him. The good, the bad… and everything in between.
Chloe, who’s been quiet, finally speaks up. “Babe,” she says gently, turning to you. “I get that you love him. But if being with him is messing with your head, that’s not love. That’s control. And if you keep letting it slide, it’s only gonna get worse.”
She holds your gaze, voice softer now. “Love is supposed to make you happy. Not suffocate you.”
Now that you’re actually aware of what’s going on between you and Jungkook, you have no clue how to deal with it. Do you bring it up? Do you let it slide? Do you even want to address it at all?
Your friends make it sound so simple. Just talk to him, stand your ground, don’t let him control you. Or worse, break up with him. But the moment you even consider doing any of that, your mind shuts down. The thought alone makes you want to retreat. What if it makes things worse? What if he gets distant? What if you regret it?
You’re not the type to challenge Jungkook, not when you know how he reacts. He never outright shuts you down, but his silence, his coldness. It’s enough to make you second-guess yourself. So, most of the time, you just let things slide. It’s easier that way.
Still, a part of you was waiting for him to call or text last night. He didn’t. And now, you’re torn between reaching out first or pretending like it doesn’t bother you. Either way, the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted.
And now, it’s morning. Time to face him. And if you’re being honest, you’re nowhere near ready.
But there’s no avoiding it. No matter how much time you’ve had to think about what to say or how to say it, you’ll never be fully prepared.
Your friends dropped you off at your own apartment, unaware that you had no intention of staying. You didn’t want them to know you were going back to Jungkook. Maybe because you didn’t want to hear their protests. Or maybe because, deep down, you weren’t ready to admit to them or yourself that you still couldn’t walk away.
Stepping inside, you’re greeted by the same apartment, the same furniture, the same neatly arranged belongings. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.
It’s past nine in the morning. You don’t know what time Jungkook expects you back, but you do know he expected you to leave with him last night. That’s enough to make your stomach twist.
You sink into the couch, staring at nothing, lost in the spiral of your own thoughts. Flashes of last night replay in your mind. The way your friends looked at you, their words, their concern. And then, memories of Jungkook resurface the good ones, the ones that make it so damn hard to leave.
The idea of walking away terrifies you.
You love him. More than you probably should. More than what might be good for you. And even if this isn’t sustainable, even if a part of you knows something has to change… you’re not ready.
Not yet.
You lost track of time until his message popped up:
‘I cooked lunch.’
That’s it. No questions, no extra words. Just a statement.
As you walk through the lobby of his apartment building, your pulse quickens, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You tell yourself to calm down, but the closer you get, the harder it is to breathe. You wish you could put this off a little longer, but you can’t.
Your fingers shake as you punch in his door code. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.
And then, without thinking, you step inside.
The apartment is filled with natural light, curtains drawn open to welcome the crisp autumn air. It’s colder now, the season shifting.
He’s at his desk in the living room, focused on his laptop. The moment he notices you, his face lights up. He gets up instantly, closing the distance between you in a few strides, wrapping you in a warm hug, pressing soft kisses to your temple.
“You’re finally home. You should eat. I made beer-battered fish.”
His voice is light, casual, like nothing happened last night.
You hesitate for a second before answering. "Okay."
It comes out flat, almost lifeless.
You walk toward the dining table, already set with plates and food, and sit down. You expect him to follow, to sit across from you like usual.
But he doesn’t.
And somehow, that makes you even more nervous.
You’re not hungry. Even if you were, you wouldn’t have the appetite for this. But you force yourself to finish the food he made anyway, each bite sitting heavy in your stomach. It’s not the taste, it’s the way your nerves are twisting into knots, making you feel like you might be sick.
He doesn’t come in while you eat. The silence in the apartment is suffocating, pressing in on you like a weight you can’t shake off.
When you’re done, you get up and head toward the bedroom to change, passing through the living room where he still sits. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word, like you’re not even there.
It’s driving you insane.
A while ago, he seemed fine. Now, he feels like a ticking bomb.
You’d rather he just say something, anything than sit there like this. You know his cold treatment too well; it’s his way of controlling the situation, making you come to him first. But this time, something about it feels different.
You don’t know how. You just know it does.
You’ve already showered, organized your closet, done everything you could think of to keep yourself busy. And yet, the apartment feels empty. Or rather, he feels absent.
Maybe he’s just busy.
But you know better.
Steeling yourself, you step out of the bedroom and head toward the dining area. You don’t even make it halfway before you hear it, his scoff, sharp and pointed.
“So you’re really gonna act like nothing happened, huh?”
There it is.
You turn to see him standing up from his chair, arms crossed, leaning casually against the kitchen’s pass-through window. His expression is unreadable, but his tone drips with sarcasm.
“You’re not even gonna explain last night?” His lips twitch as he watches you, waiting.
You hesitate, then exhale. “Nothing happened. They just wanted me to stay. That’s it.”
You keep it short, simple. The less you say, the better. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
But even now, you can’t believe how hard you’re trying to avoid this.
Jungkook shifts, hands slipping into his pockets as he steps toward you. His face is neutral, unreadable, but his presence alone makes your pulse spike.
When he’s finally in front of you, he leans in just enough, his gaze locked onto yours, dark and unwavering.
Then, in a low whisper, he says—
“Why do you make me feel so stupid?”
“No, I’m not!” you snap, voice shaking with frustration. “That’s really what happened! They found out I wasn’t staying the night because you didn’t let me.” You take a step back, putting distance between you.
His brow arches, his expression unreadable. “So you’re blaming me now?”
“It’s not like that,” you grit out. “I told you I’d come home with you, right? But instead, you made me stay.” Your patience is wearing thin, your hands balling into fists at your sides.
Jungkook scoffs, his jaw tightening. “Because that’s what you wanted to happen.” His voice drop dangerously low. “You didn’t even pick up your fucking phone. You didn’t give a damn that I was losing my mind, calling you hundreds of times, wondering if something happened to you.”
Your breath catches. He’s right. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t because your phone was buried somewhere in your bag. But that doesn’t mean you wanted to ignore him.
Jungkook shakes his head, his gaze piercing through you. “You love doing this, don’t you? Running off, not answering your fucking phone, making me go insane thinking something happened to you.” His voice is like fire, burning through the tension between you.
A sharp pang of guilt twists in your chest. You can’t deny he’s right, but it’s not like you did it on purpose. It was an honest mistake.
“I’m sorry, okay?” you say, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t mean to leave my phone behind. They just—” you pause, searching for the right words, “they cornered me, forced me to stay because they were upset that I kept ditching them.” Your voice softens, hoping to ease the tension. “Of course, I wanted to stay. It’s Chloe’s last night before she leaves.”
But Jungkook doesn’t ease up. If anything, he looks even more pissed. His eyes darken, his lips curling into something bitter.
“Oh, right,” he drawls. “Why don’t you just do what you did before? Go out with them without telling me.”
The accusation hits you like a slap. You blink, momentarily stunned.
He catches it immediately, his smirk sharpening. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Y/N,” he says, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “We both know you do.”
He’s right but it was one time. Just once. And you never did it again.
“And did I ever confront you after you did that?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “I didn’t. And now you wanna question why I don’t like you hanging out with them so much?” He lets out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Because I know you’d pick them over me.”
“What are you saying? That’s not true!” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up as you take a step closer, reaching for him.
But before you can even touch his arm, he moves away. Fast and deliberate.
"You all act like I’m the fucking villain just because I care about you," he spits, his voice shaking with frustration. "But you never question them, do you? You never doubt your precious friends. Henry did illegal shit before, and you didn’t even fucking flinch. I just don’t get it… Why is it so easy for you to doubt me, but you’d defend them in a heartbeat?"
A lump forms in your throat as you watch the single tear slide down his face. Your body instinctively moves, but something inside you hesitates.
And with that, you see yourself all over him.
"Love, stop—please.” Your hands tremble as they reach for him, but he turns away. “I… I don’t want you to feel that way. I never meant to make you think that.” Your voice breaks, a lump forming in your throat. “You have to believe me.”
You try to reach him hoping he won’t flinch. Your hands find his face, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw as you gently wipe away the tears, your voice softening. “I don’t think you’re wrong. I don’t blame you. Please don’t believe that.”
He stays silent, letting you wipe his tears, his breathing uneven, his jaw tense. His eyes stay downcast, refusing to meet yours. But when he finally looks up, something in them is cold and distant.
His hands come up, gently wrapping around yours as they rest on his cheeks, but instead of leaning into your touch, he slowly peels them away. His warmth disappears as he steps back, putting space between you.
"I think… it’s better if we take a break," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the thick air between you.
He holds your gaze for a moment, just long enough for your stomach to sink, for your chest to tighten before he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, frozen, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.
You stand there, frozen, the weight of the last five minutes pressing down on you like a tidal wave. It happened too fast, so fast that even now, as the seconds drag on, your mind refuses to catch up.
Where did you go wrong?
All you ever wanted was to be happy, but it feels like happiness always comes at a price. Like the universe waits for you to smile just so it can rip something away. What did you do to deserve this?
Is this love? A love that confines you, that forces you to choose?
Love is supposed to set you free, isn’t it? But instead, you’re trapped, forced to pick between him and your friends, even when you should be able to have both.
He left. No call, no message, no sign of where he is or if he even cares that you’re falling apart.
That day, you cried harder than you ever had before. You wanted it to stop the exhaustion, the ache in your chest, the way your tears wouldn’t stop spilling no matter how much you told yourself to breathe.
Are you really the one at fault? Or are you just trying to convince yourself you are?
Because when you think back, when you trace every argument, every moment that led you here, the path always leads back to you.
Maybe if you had just done what you were supposed to as his girlfriend, this wouldn’t have happened.
Maybe he was only trying to protect you, and you mistook it for control.
Maybe... maybe this is all your fault.
You waited for him that night, but the door never opened.
Alone in his cold, empty apartment, you curled up in bed, the silence pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. The room felt lifeless without him, just shadows and stale air, a place that wasn’t home without his presence.
When you couldn’t take it anymore, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number. The ringing felt endless, each unanswered call chipping away at the hope you were holding onto. Message after message went unread, each one met with nothing but silence.
With every call he ignored, your chest grew heavier. With every text he didn’t even bother to open, your tears only fell harder.
Is this what he felt when you didn’t pick up those nights? When your phone sat forgotten in your bag while you laughed with your family and friends, unaware that he was here, alone, drowning in the same silence that’s now swallowing you whole?
The thought broke you.
You sobbed into the pillow, exhaustion creeping in, but no matter how drained you felt, the tears wouldn’t stop.
‘Love, I’m really sorry. I promise to understand you better. Please come back.’
That was the last message you sent before sleep finally took over as your phone slipping from your grasp.
A soft touch brushes your cheek, warm and featherlight. It pulls you from your sleep, but the pounding in your head makes you wish you could slip right back under. Your eyelids feel like they weigh a ton, but when you force them open, the first thing you see is a blurred figure sitting beside you.
Jungkook.
Even though you feel awful, the second you recognize him, you push yourself up, ignoring the ache in your body.
“Kook.” Your voice cracks as tears spill down your cheeks. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, gripping him tightly. “Where have you been? I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out between sobs, raw and desperate.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls away, his expression unreadable as he wipes the tears from your face. His touch is slow, deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours.
You reach up, pressing his hands against your cheeks, needing to feel him, to make sure he’s really here. You have a lot to say, but nothing comes out. His presence alone is overwhelming, so instead, you lean into him again, wrapping your arms around him, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of his body.
“Did I worry you that much?” His voice is soft, almost teasing, as he pats your back.
You nod, burying your face into his shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes before leaning in, his lips brushing over yours in a soft, kiss. His kiss is soft at first, teasing, but the second you open up for him, his grip tightens, one hand cupping your face while the other slides down your back, pressing you flush against him. He groans into your mouth, deep and needy.
You could feel the heat radiating off of him and he pressed you back against the bed, his body pinning you in place. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you couldn't help but arch your head back, giving him even more access to your neck. You let out a small gasp as he began kissing and biting at your collarbone as his mouth continue to explore your body with his mouth.
His hand slides lower, fingertips grazing the waistband of your shorts, playing with the fabric but not moving further. His lips ghost over yours, teasing, as he watches the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.
Before things could go any further, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. You both stayed like that for a moment, caught in the stillness, before you gently guided his body to lie next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. He let out a soft chuckle, but you weren’t focused on that. Instead, you rested your head on his chest, your fingers finding his, intertwining them tightly as you settled into the comfort of his presence.
And just like that, everything is back to normal. At least on the surface.
You apologized over and over, making sure he knew you never meant to hurt him. You reassured him that he was right, that everything he did was only for your sake. You didn’t push back, and didn’t ask questions. Instead, you accepted the blame like it was yours to carry.
He never said sorry. Not even once. Not even for leaving you alone the entire night.
But you let it slide because, in the end, it was your fault… wasn’t it?
After that, you chose your words carefully, avoiding anything that might set him off again. You never wanted to feel that kind of loneliness again, the kind that settles deep in your bones, creeping through the empty, dark space he left behind.
You had already made him feel that way before. Twice, actually. So who were you to complain?
Yeah, it’s all on me.
You tell yourself that, over and over, until it almost feels true. But somewhere in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers. Is it, though?
Why is it always you taking the blame?
Why does it feel like your feelings don’t matter?
Why is it always you bending, apologizing, making things right?
But before those thoughts can settle, you push them away. It’s easier that way. Easier than starting another fight.
You've come to realize that in this relationship, it's always you who has to bend. And maybe that's fair. After all, every problem you've had somehow traces back to you, doesn’t it?
And just like that, everything is back to normal. Just the way you wanted. You've pushed aside all the doubts, all the nagging thoughts, and focused on the present. You're okay again. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
The next day, you spend the entire day at his place, filing another leave of absence. You would have gone to work, but with his influence in the company, you didn't really have a choice. He wanted you to stay with him, so he made sure of it, calling in on your behalf. It should bother you. It does bother you. But you let it slide. Another argument isn’t worth it.
“Love, I’ve been thinking,” his voice is low, and smooth, as he moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he pulls you closer. “We haven’t gone on vacation in a while.” His hold tightens slightly as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips nibbling your skin just enough to make you shiver.
You keep your focus on the pan in front of you, stirring the glossy red sauce of the spicy gochujang dish he once taught you to make.
“And where do you want to go?” you ask, keeping your voice light, as if this is just another conversation.
“I want to take you to my hometown.” His voice is smooth, as his chin settles on your shoulder. His arms stay firmly wrapped around your waist. “You’ve always wanted to see where I grew up, right?” His breath tickles your skin.
“Lately, things have been… overwhelming,” he continues, his voice softer now. “I think we could use a break. Just the two of us. What do you think?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching you closely, waiting.
You don’t hesitate. “Yes, of course. I’d love that.” The words leave your lips before you even process them.
He grins, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “That’s perfect! We’ll leave this Wednesday. Tomorrow, let’s wrap up a few things before we go.” His tone is light and excited.
You froze.
Wednesday?
You glance at him over your shoulder.
“This Wednesday?” You ask as if you misheard.
He nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Something in his voice shifts ever so slightly as he studies your face. “Why?” He tilts his head, and though his lips curl into a small smile, there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. “You don’t want to go?”
The way he says it, it’s not a question. Not really. It’s a warning. A test.
And you already know the right answer.
“N-no… Of course, I like it. But isn’t this a little… sudden?” You try to sound reasonable, careful not to make it seem like you’re pushing back. “Korea is on the other side of the world, love.”
Jungkook tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression before raising a brow. “I don’t see the problem.” His voice is calm and dismissive.
You take a breath. “I have work.”
At that, he smirks, like you just said the funniest thing. “And?” His fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm, his touch light but distracting. “You can file a vacation leave, right? Or…” He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “If you still want to work, we can set up a work-from-home arrangement.” He says it so easily.
His thumb touches your wrist. “You don’t have to worry, love. Even if you resigned tomorrow, you’d still be fine. You have me.” He smiles, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “I can give you anything you need. Anything you want.”
Your chest tightens, and yet, the words slip from your lips before you can stop them. “Okay.” Because what else are you supposed to say?
“How long are we staying?” You ask, hoping for a solid timeframe, something to hold onto.
Jungkook shrugs, lips curling into a small smile. “I don’t know yet.” His voice is light, almost playful. “But don’t worry, we’ll stay as long as you want.”
Something in your gut tells you the choice isn’t really yours to make.
You’re not expecting anything extraordinary from this trip with Jungkook. To you, it’s just a regular vacation. Your first one together, sure, and your first time traveling so far, but still, just a trip. Something to look forward to, a break from everything.
You tell yourself it’s just that. A getaway.
But what you don’t know is that Jungkook has plans of his own. Plans you wish you had seen coming. Plans that won’t just shift your view of him but will change your life in ways you never imagined.
If only you had realized it sooner, before it slipped beyond your control.
—
Jungkook loves you to the point of obsession. To the point where the thought of losing you tears at him like an ache that never fades. He already has you, but it’s not enough. Not yet. Because if he doesn’t hold on tight, you might slip away.
He tells himself he’s only taking care of you, keeping you safe the way no one else can. But care isn’t enough. He needs all of you. Your body, your mind, and your heart trapped so deeply in him that escape isn’t an option.
You’re fast asleep beside him, your head tilted slightly toward him as the plane hums steadily through the air. Jungkook glances at you, his fingers instinctively adjusting your blanket before brushing away a few stray strands of hair from your face.
His chest tightens just looking at you. His heart beating a little too fast, a little too hard. His fingertips trace the curve of your cheek, lingering for a moment, memorizing the warmth of your skin.
He loves you, so much that it gets under his skin. The thought of you slipping away, of someone else touching you, laughing with you, knowing you the way he does, it makes his blood run hot. It’s possessive, a little unhinged, but he doesn’t care because as long as you're his, everything feels right.
He sat there in the dim glow of the cabin lights, watching you. Just watching. Your head rested against the seat behind him, your slow, steady breaths syncing with the quiet hum of the plane. You looked so peaceful, so his.
Jungkook’s fingers twitched, aching to touch you. Carefully, he reached for your hand, his touch featherlight to avoid waking you. His fingers slipped between yours, securing them. He exhaled slowly, lowering himself beside you, his body finally at ease. With your warmth so close, he allowed his eyes to close.
Seoul welcomed you with open arms.
The city was electric, alive in a way that made your eyes shine. Jungkook had seen Seoul a thousand times, but seeing it through you made it feel new. You marveled at the skyline, the pulse of the streets, the way everything felt both familiar and foreign. He loved that look on your face, pure, unfiltered awe.
He wanted to give you a tour, let you soak in every inch of this place, but exhaustion clung to you after the long flight. He wasn’t about to let you wear yourself out. You had all the time in the world here.
Jungkook’s Seoul penthouse was larger than the one back home. More luxurious. The moment he led you inside, he saw the way your lips parted, your gaze sweeping across the expansive space. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a moving painting, streaks of gold and blue reflecting off sleek marble floors. The chandelier overhead cast a warm glow, elegant yet imposing.
Unlike his other penthouse, which leaned toward a more minimalistic style, this one felt fuller, like a place meant to be lived in, not just visited. And now, with you here, it finally felt like home.
Jungkook watched as you moved through the space, your fingertips grazing the polished surfaces, curiosity flickering in your eyes. His stomach tightened. He wanted to freeze this moment, capture the way you looked standing there, fitting so perfectly into his world.
Before he even told you about this trip, he had already made sure everything was perfect. The penthouse, his Seoul home wasn’t just renovated. It was transformed. Every detail was designed to make you feel more at home here than anywhere else. More than the other penthouse. More than the place you called home.
Jungkook didn’t just want you to love this place. He wanted you to feel like you belonged here. That leaving wasn’t even an option.
“Kook, I thought I knew how rich you were, but damn, this is way more than I imagined!” you said, swirling the wine in your glass as you lounged on the couch. The city lights stretched out through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul alive beneath you.
Jungkook leaned in, taking your free hand in his before pressing a slow kiss to the back of it. But even that wasn’t enough. Sitting beside you wasn’t enough. He wanted more, needed more. Holding your hand was just a weak substitute for what he really craved.
“This is where I lived for six years," he murmured, brushing his lips along your knuckles. “So I wanted it to feel like home.”
Your home.
You tilted your head, watching him with curiosity. “Where are your parents? Do they live separately from you?”
“They’re in Busan,” he answered smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “That’s my hometown, but I moved here when I started my business.”
You hummed, nodding. Then, the question came.
“Are we going to meet them?”
Jungkook stilled. His lips remained against your skin, but his movements stopped. He tilted his head slightly, a slow grin spreading across his face as he held your gaze.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “One of these weeks.”
It wasn’t a lie. He had plans for you to meet his family eventually. But not now. Not yet. Right now, he wanted you all to himself, with no distractions, no outside influences. If you met them too soon, they might say things, ask questions, things that could make you think too much.
And he couldn’t have that.
Not when everything was falling into place so perfectly.
His parents were good people. Sweet, jolly, loving. Just like yours. And they loved him, he knew that.
But love didn’t always mean understanding.
Everything changed when they decided to move him away from you after high school. That was their mistake.
His family used to own a food company. It was doing well, until it wasn’t. Bankruptcy hit hard, and they had to pack up and start over in another country, relying on relatives to get back on their feet. Then, years later, some investor showed up, talking big about bringing the company back. His parents ate it up, convinced this was their second chance.
And just like that, they dragged him back to Busan.
For what? A company that was never going to make it? He knew from the start it wouldn’t work, and surprise, surprise. It didn’t.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
The worst part was being away from you.
That shit messed him up.
The years without you were torture.
They twisted his mind, frayed the edges of his sanity. Every single day without you bothered him, turned his thoughts into something negative, something desperate. He had spent so many nights thinking of you, wanting you, missing you so badly that he almost left everything behind just to find you again.
But, of course, it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that easy. He needed a plan.
And now?
Now, everything he had, everything he built, it was all for you.
And he wasn’t going to lose you again.
Your first few days in Seoul were everything you imagined. New places, new experiences, a whole different world to explore. You wanted to do everything at once, squeezing a week’s worth of plans into a single day.
Jungkook found it cute. Exhausting, but cute.
Still, he didn’t like how restless you were. There was no need to rush. You had all the time in the world here with him.
“I saw this huge library in Gangnam,” you said over dinner in Hongdae, eyes practically glowing with excitement. “I think it’d be nice to spend a whole day there, just working and reading. What do you think?”
Jungkook glanced at you, chewing slowly. “You wanna work there for a day, hmm?” His voice was gentle, but his grip on his chopsticks tightened slightly.
He wanted you to enjoy Seoul, but he preferred to pace things out. He had everything planned, not just for the city, but for the rest of South Korea. And you’d explore it all his way.
“Yeah, I just wanna try working outside your apartment for a change. I think that’d be cool,” you said, sipping your drink.
Of course, your job let you work remotely. Because of him.
It wasn’t difficult to pull some strings, to make sure your company gave you that freedom. Jungkook could’ve had you quit altogether if he wanted, but he wasn’t reckless. He knew better than to push too hard, too soon.
He had limits. The kind that kept you from slipping away.
“Okay, you can do that tomorrow.”
As much as he wanted to be with you every second of the day, he couldn’t. He had business to handle too. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on you.
You weren’t familiar with Seoul yet, and he needed you to be. He wanted you to settle in, to feel at home here the same way you did back in your country because that’s exactly what he planned for.
Of course, he wasn’t reckless. He wouldn’t just send you off on your own without precautions. He had someone watching, just in case. It wasn’t about control, it was about keeping you safe. People might think he was being overbearing, but they didn’t understand. If you have something precious, you don’t risk losing it. You protect it.
And he already lost you once. That wasn’t happening again.
—
Sitting in a high-rise conference room, discussing market expansion with Seoul’s biggest executives, Jungkook casually checked his phone under the table. His screen lit up with your activity, a habit he never planned to break.
You were at home. That was good. But you’d been on a phone call for almost an hour.
His jaw tightened. Who the hell were you talking to for that long?
He didn’t have full access to your conversations, just enough to know where you were and what you were doing on your phone. Usually, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But this? This was new. And he didn’t like surprises.
Jungkook locked his phone and leaned back in his chair, eyes unreadable as the meeting droned on.
It could be your friends. It could be your family. It could be anyone.
But the fact that he didn’t know was driving him insane.
“We’re positioning ourselves as a premium alternative. Market research shows a gap in high-end offerings for this industry, and we intend to fill that space,” Yoongi, the CEO, said, but Jungkook barely heard him.
His grip tightened on his phone as he stared at your activity log. The timestamp kept ticking up. Forty-five minutes, then fifty, then an hour. Who the hell were you talking to for that long?
Mina? Chloe? Fine. He could tolerate that.
But it could also be Henry.
Fuck him.
Jungkook clenched his jaw. He knew Henry was “just a friend,” but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He didn’t like you talking to any man, let alone being friends with one. If it were up to him, he would’ve cut Henry off years ago.
“Mr. Jeon?”
Jungkook blinked, snapping out of it when he heard his name. He glanced up from his phone, locking the screen before looking at Yoongi.
“Come again?” he asked, voice steady despite the irritation simmering beneath it.
“As I mentioned, we’re positioning ourselves as a high-end alternative. Market research reveals a lack of premium options in this industry, and we plan to capitalize on that opportunity,” yoongi repeated, watching him carefully.
Jungkook exhaled, slipping his phone into his pocket.
“Good,” he said coolly. “But I want clear numbers. Expected ROI, break-even timeline, and contingency plans if the initial launch underperforms. Email them to me by my Monday.”
Yoongi nodded, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention anymore.
He cut the meeting short without a second thought, pushing back his other appointments. He needed to go home. Now.
The thought of you on the phone for over an hour, laughing, talking, confiding in someone while he was stuck in a boardroom made his blood boil. He couldn’t stand not knowing. He needed to be in control, needed to know every little detail, even the things that weren’t his business. Because when it came to you, everything was his business.
When he stepped into the penthouse, the sight of you greeted him instantly. You were in the receiving area, vacuuming, completely unaware of how restless he’d been.
You’d been here for a week already, and as much as he was letting you do whatever you wanted, he was also watching. Watching what you did, who you talked to, how you spent your time.
“You’re home early. I thought you weren’t coming back until dinner,” you said, smiling as he walked toward you. He pressed a quick kiss against your lips, but his mind was elsewhere.
“Yeah, I am,” he said smoothly, shrugging off his coat. “How are you doing, Y/N?”
You turned off the vacuum, stretching your arms a little. “I’m good. Just cleaning up a bit.”
Jungkook’s eyes flickered around the room until he spotted your phone on the center table.
“What did you do today?” Jungkook asked, watching you closely, waiting, hoping you’d tell him without him having to drag it out of you.
You glanced at him briefly. “Just cleaned up a little and got some work done this morning.”
Not the answer he wanted.
If you were going to tell him about that damn phone call, you would’ve said it by now. But you didn’t.
He couldn’t ask outright, not yet. He knew how easily thoughts could plant themselves in your mind, and he didn’t need you questioning things. He’d find another way to figure it out.
Then you hesitated, inhaling like you had something to say. Your lips parted, but no words came out.
Jungkook leaned against the counter, loosening his tie. “You wanna say something, love?”
You finally spoke. “We’ve been here for a week already, but… we haven’t really done much for a vacation.”
Ah.
You didn’t even need to finish. He already knew where this was going.
“I know you’re really busy with work, but I was just wondering… how long are we planning to stay here?”
Jungkook stared at you for a moment before tilting his head slightly, lips twitching in amusement. “Why? You wanna go home already?”
Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “Of course not! I was just curious… I mean, we’re here for a vacation, but you work a lot.”
He knew what you meant, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing it.
“Oh? I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to work during a vacation.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, one brow raised.
“That’s not what I meant,” you huffed. “I just—I was just wondering—”
Jungkook cut you off, nodding as if he was mocking you. “I get it. You want us to go out more instead of me working.”
“N-no, that’s not—”
“It’s okay, Y/N.” His voice was smooth, sharp eyes locked onto you. “I get your point. We’ll do things your way.”
Except you didn’t need to say it. He already knew what was on your mind. But he wasn’t going to let you say it.
True to his word, Jungkook made sure to give you what you wanted.
For the next week, he took you around the city showing you Seoul through his own curated version of it. He noticed the way your mood shifted, heavier than before, and he knew it was because of that conversation.
But he didn’t have to address it.
Because soon enough, you’d forget about it.
Just like right now.
—
You were sipping a hot coffee, eyes locked on the dazzling view from Namsan Tower. The city stretched beneath you, glowing under the deep night sky, and Jungkook knew exactly what you were thinking.
“Wow. Seoul is really beautiful, Kook,” you murmured, your voice full of wonder.
But he wasn’t looking at the view.
He was looking at you.
You were glowing under the soft moonlight, the city lights reflecting in your eyes. He should be admiring the skyline, but you were the only thing worth looking at. He hated how much he loved moments like this, how much he wanted to preserve them.
So, without a word, he pulled his phone from his pocket, aimed the camera at you, and snapped a photo.
You notice Jungkook taking a picture of you, and without hesitation, you step closer, snatching his phone from his hand. A grin spreads across your face as you switch to the front camera.
“Come on, Kook, smile!” you say, glancing at him before snapping a quick selfie. The first shot catches him off guard, his expression unreadable, but you don’t stop there. You take a few more. Three, to be exact until you're satisfied.
Jungook watches you quietly, letting you have your moment.
“Honestly, a picture doesn’t even do justice to how beautiful this city is,” you say, handing his phone back before turning to admire the view again.
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer before he finally looks at the skyline, pretending to take in the same sight you are. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, voice smooth, controlled.
You glance at him, eyes curious. “Since you’ve lived here most of your life, are you used to seeing this view?”
Jungkook leans against the railing, watching the city lights flicker. “Hmm… I’d say yes, but I still find it beautiful.”
You hum in response, sipping your coffee. “Our city is nice too, but maybe I appreciate this more since it’s my first time here.”
A slow smirk tugs at Jungkook’s lips. Good.
Because you’d be here longer than you expected.
And by the time you realized it… you’d already have fallen in love with it.
You both linger around Namsan Tower a little longer, strolling past the endless sea of love locks. The air is crisp, carrying the quiet hum of the city below. You stop at a small booth selling locks, eyes lighting up as you pick one.
“Kook, let’s do one,” you say, already reaching for a marker. You scribble your initials on the lock, then his, before securing it onto the fence. With a grin, you toss the key away, watching it disappear into the night.
Jungkook watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes. You think this lock is what symbolizes your unbreakable bond? That’s cute. But it’s unnecessary.
With or without it, you’re his. He’ll make sure of that.
Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you in as he looks down at the love lock you just attached. “Unbreakable, huh?” he murmurs, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
If only you knew how true that was.
You’ve done almost everything there is to do in Seoul, and he knows you’ve loved every second of it. From the food to the culture, every little thing has captivated you. And watching you take it all in, smiling like this city is your new home, it’s a sight he could never get tired of.
One of the things he’s grown to love about you is how easily pleased you are. The smallest things make you happy, and that makes you easy to care for. Easy to keep close.
Even back in high school, you saw something in him that others didn’t. When people distanced themselves, you stayed. When they looked away, you looked closer. You chose him, even when no one else would.
Maybe it was a pity. Maybe it was something deeper. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you loved him, and that was enough. Enough for him to hold on, to fight for this, to shape this love into something unshakable. What others thought of him was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was you, your choices, your opinions. And as long as he could help it, your choices would always align with his. Even if that meant guiding them himself.
He took you around South Korea, but on his terms. It wasn’t the kind of vacation where every day was a new adventure. No, he kept it balanced. Some days for exploring, some for work. That was how it had to be.
You never argued. Never complained. Whether it was because you didn’t mind or because you simply chose not to voice it, he didn’t care. Silence was compliance, and compliance meant control.
And that’s exactly how he wanted it.
Jungkook followed a step behind you as you traced your fingers along the cold metal railing, your gaze lost in the beauty of Nami Island. The soft autumn breeze played with the hem of your pleated skirt, your oversized knitted sweater draping over your frame in a way that made you look so warm, so delicate. He couldn’t wait to take you home, wrap you up in his arms, and keep you there for as long as he wanted.
You stopped suddenly, turning to him with a soft smile. It was enough to make his heart stutter, but there was something in your eyes. Something distant. He quickened his pace, closing the space between you, and without a word, he took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as you walked side by side.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Kook,” you said, your voice light but careful.
He glanced at you, studying your expression. You were smiling, but he knew you too well, something was off.
“It’s a pleasure, love.” He waited, expecting you to say more. But you didn’t.
He hated that.
“How much do you love your stay here?” His tone was casual, but the question wasn’t.
“I really love it here, Jungkook. I really do. Korea is so different from home, but still, I love it here.”
Home.
The word made something dark coil inside him.
He pulled you closer, guiding your head against his chest before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He held you there as you walked together, feeling the warmth of your body against his, the way you fit so perfectly against him. You were his home, his peace. His.
But no matter how tightly he held on, he couldn’t control everything. He could make every decision for you, shape every choice in his favor, but there was one thing he hadn’t accounted for:
The possibility that you might make a choice of your own.
And that was the one thing he wasn’t prepared for.
Jungkook barely had time to remove his coat when he saw the worry in your eyes. You looked like you’d been waiting for him for a while, pacing, rehearsing your words. He already didn’t like where this was going.
“Jungkook,” you started, your voice edged with hesitation. “I just had a meeting with our senior. They need me back for a presentation with new investors and stakeholders. I also have to report to the board—”
He stopped listening. He didn’t need to hear the rest. The way your voice wavered, the way you clutched your hands together, he already knew what you were about to ask.
“Then let someone else handle it.” His tone was clipped, final, like it was the simplest solution in the world.
“I can’t!” Your frustration spilled over, your voice rising slightly. “I’m the Investor Relations Manager. It’s my job, Kook! No one else can do it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
He had already let you keep your job even though he preferred otherwise. It was his choice to allow it. And now, you were asking him to choose again? To let you go back?
“When are we going home?” Your voice softened, practically pleading now. “Kook, they really need me this time.”
He held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable, then casually looked away as he removed his coat, his movements slow, deliberate.
“I’m not sure,” he finally said, shaking off invisible creases in the fabric. “I’ll be busy for the next couple of weeks. I have deals to close, business meetings to attend. You know how it is.”
You swallowed hard. “Then can I go home first?”
That made him stop. Completely.
His fingers curled around the fabric of his coat, knuckles whitening as the air between you turned still. His dark eyes lifted to meet yours, and something flickered behind them. Something unreadable yet unmistakably dangerous.
“You’re leaving me?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but underneath it was something else.
Panic.
You stepped closer, shaking your head quickly. “Kook, I’m not leaving you. I just— I really need to go back. Just for work.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a slow, humorless scoff.
“Wow,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “After everything I’ve done for you, is it that easy for you to leave? Just because they called you? What? Once?”
“That’s not—”
Jungkook’s fingers twitched at his side, his breathing slow, controlled—too controlled. He could feel his patience thinning, unraveling like a loose thread he was trying desperately to keep together.
“They told you before?” His voice was quiet, almost calm, but there was something beneath it. Something sharp. “And you didn’t tell me?”
You flinched slightly. “I didn’t want to ruin your mood,” you admitted.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, jaw locking. “And now you’re blaming me?”
You pressed your lips together, frustration flickering across your face. “No, of course not! I just—I didn’t want to ruin our vacation, Jungkook. That’s why I kept it to myself. But I have to tell you now.”
He scoffed. “And you don’t think telling me now ruins it?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Well, that’s exactly what you meant, Y/N!” His voice was sharper now.
You blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was like a storm brewing, low, intense, unpredictable.
“I’ve been here, juggling everything. Work, time with you, making sure you have everything you need. And you—” He let out a dry laugh. “The second they call, you’re ready to drop everything. Just like that.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it. No words came out.
Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. The way your hands trembled slightly at your sides, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed back emotions you were trying so hard to hide.
He should feel guilty. He should care.
But he didn’t.
“The worst part?” His voice was softer now, but it was the kind of softness that made the air feel heavy. “You prove to me, over and over again, that I will never be your priority.”
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, but he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you.
Let you feel it. Let you sit in it.
Because this wasn’t just about work. This was about control.
And he refused to lose it.
“If you’re so desperate to leave,” he finally said, turning away, his voice cold and detached, “then go.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
Didn’t need to.
Because he already knew that you won’t leave.
He couldn’t understand why you insisted on working. It wasn’t like you had to. He was here, ready to give you everything. Yet, you kept holding on to something so insignificant when he had already built an entire fucking empire for you. Every deal, every dollar, every sacrifice, it was all for you.
When he started making real money, it wasn’t greed that drove him It was you. You were the reason he clawed his way to the top, the reason he burned through sleepless nights, the reason he never let himself fail. He stayed away, kept his distance, let you live your little life because he wanted to come back when he was ready, when he was powerful enough to make sure you could never slip through his fingers again.
The person you knew in high school? He buried him. In his place stands someone unrecognizable, someone untouchable. And yet, no matter how much money, status, or control he has, the thought of you walking away still eats him alive.
So before that can happen, he’s already making sure it won’t. Because what’s the point of having everything if he doesn’t have you?
You’re the only fucking reason he has to live.
Jungkook yanked his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving swiftly as he dialed the CEO of your company. He knew you wouldn’t leave. Not really. You couldn’t. But he wasn’t the type to sit back and hope. He made sure of things. He always did.
“Y/N won’t be coming back,” he said the moment the call connected, his tone cold, final. “Fire her. Tell her she’s being replaced by someone more competent.”
There was no hesitation on the other end. Just immediate agreement. As it should be. The moment the call ended, he exhaled slowly, satisfied.
He worked too hard, built too much, just to have you run back to a life that no longer served his plans. Everything he had, his success, his power, it was all for you. But if your choices didn’t align with his? Then you didn’t need choices at all. He still let you think you had them, of course. As long as they led exactly where he wanted.
And sure enough, he was right. You didn’t leave. Because for what? Work? You didn’t have one anymore.
He watched as you withdrew, as you curled in on yourself, as you let the weight of everything settle in. He didn’t stop you when you pulled away, when you cried, when you let yourself crumble under the reality he created for you. He let you feel the loss, the loneliness. Not because he didn’t care. Of course, he cared. He always cared.
But sometimes, he had to let you break on your own. Because only then would you finally see, he was all you had. Just like you were all he needed.
Of course, he didn’t let you cry alone the whole time. He gave you space just enough to let the weight of everything sink in, to let you feel small, lost. But he was always there, lingering in the background, ready to be the only comfort you had left.
Because he would never leave you to suffer on your own. Not when he was the one who put you in this position in the first place. But you didn’t need to know that.
Now, in the dim glow of the bedroom, he held you close, feeling the way your body trembled against his. His arms were firm around you, securing you exactly where you belonged. Right here, with him. He leaned against the headboard, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns on your arm, his presence steady, inescapable.
“I know it hurts now, love,” he murmured, his voice soft, patient, the perfect contrast to the chaos he caused. “But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this happened for a reason. You’ll be fine… Trust me. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be fine.”
He wiped the tears from your cheeks with gentle fingers, studying your face as if memorizing every vulnerable detail. And you didn’t say a word. You didn’t ask for help, didn’t fight to get your job back, didn’t even question why it all happened so suddenly.
Nothing.
Only quiet sobs escaped your lips.
And that was fine. More than fine.
Because as long as this kept you here, exactly where he wanted you. He could live with that.
You stayed home for the following days. Barely leaving the bedroom. Jungkook let you be, giving you space while he handled business, but that only worked in his favor. You weren’t going anywhere, and he didn’t have to worry too much. Not when he had eyes on you the entire time.
Of course, you didn’t know about the hidden CCTV in the apartment. You didn’t need to.
Most of the time, when he checked the feed, you were either sleeping, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, or watching TV. You looked drained, distant. Maybe even depressed. But he wasn’t too concerned. You’d be fine. You always were.
He also monitored your phone activity. He saw the messages, the way you still kept in touch with your friends and family, updating them on your life. But he noticed how carefully you chose your words, how you left things out.
And that? That satisfied him.
You defended him without being asked, without him even having to plant the idea in your head. You already knew what he wanted. You knew exactly what to say, how to make them believe that everything was fine. That’s how he knew you loved him just as much as he loved you.
You were such a good girl for him. So obedient.
He knew your friends didn’t like him especially Mina. Not that it mattered. If anything, it thrilled him to watch you choose him over them every time. To watch you stand by him, no matter what.
It felt so good.
And he wasn’t going to let you drown in misery forever. No, he made sure of that.
For the past week, he took you out every day. Five-star restaurants, designer boutiques, all your favorite places. He made sure you were surrounded by luxury, by comfort, by him. He wiped away every trace of sadness, covering it up with indulgence, making you forget, if only for a moment what had been taken from you.
But he wasn’t blind. He saw the shift in you. The way your smiles were forced. The way your laughter lacked its usual warmth. The way you were starting to notice.
But he didn’t have to do anything about it.
Not yet.
Because sooner or later, you’d understand. The life he was giving you was far better than the one you had before.
And when that realization finally sank in?
You wouldn’t want to leave.
—
Just like he promised, he was taking you to Busan to meet his family. It felt like a necessary step. An assurance of his love for you. A way to solidify things, to remind you that he was willing to give you everything, even parts of himself he didn’t care for.
He also figured this trip would help. A change of scenery. New faces. Because lately, the only person you had been around was him. Not that he minded, but he didn’t want you to feel isolated. Even if, in reality, that was exactly what was happening.
His relationship with his parents had never been close. Even as a kid, there was always distance. But after they dragged him back to Korea, forcing him away from you, that’s when he truly cut them off.
The only reason he still tolerated them now was simple.
They were the reason he worked so hard. The reason he built everything from the ground up. The reason he clawed his way to the top, just to have you in his arms again.
If not for that, he wouldn’t even spare them a second thought.
"I'm really glad you finally visited us after so many years, son. And you even brought your girlfriend with you," Jungkook’s mother said, her voice warm with nostalgia.
Jungkook barely reacted, keeping his expression smooth as he sliced through his food. You and he sat at the dining table with his parents, the scent of simmered broth and fresh side dishes filling the space. His parents were thrilled, probably thinking this visit meant something.
They had no idea how he really felt. And they didn’t need to.
“What do you do for a living?” His father’s voice cut through the quiet clatter of utensils. The question was aimed at you, and instantly, Jungkook felt your body tense beside him. Your hand, which had been resting lightly on the table, twitched just slightly and he clenched his chopsticks tighter.
Before you could even answer, he spoke for you. “She’s taking a break right now. That’s why we’re here for a long time.” His voice was even, but his grip had turned rigid.
You turned to him, your expression unreadable, but he refused to meet your eyes. Instead, he continued eating, slow and controlled.
“Really? But what did you do before?” His mother chimed in, her curiosity laced with harmless interest.
He wanted to shut this conversation down. Shift it away. Stop them from prying. But he had to play along.
“I was an Investor Relations Manager,” you answered, offering a small, polite smile before turning your focus back to your food.
His father hummed in acknowledgment, then turned to Jungkook. “Investor, huh? As I recall, your business is in the same field, isn’t it?”
Jungkook stabbed his chopsticks into a piece of meat, his jaw tightening.
“You never tell us much about your life. Even your business,” his mother added.
"All we know is you’re making millions and millions every day. If only you invested in your own parents’ business, that would be great.”
Jungkook mentally rolled his eyes, keeping his expression unreadable.
He would never invest in something like that.
And he sure as hell would never invest in the very thing that tore him away from you.
Jungkook could feel your eyes on him, waiting for a response. But he kept his gaze fixed on his food, forcing himself to chew slowly. It wasn’t worth talking about. Not now. Not ever.
Sensing the silence stretching too long, you spoke up instead.
“Actually, Jungkook and I met at work, and before that, the last time we saw each other was in high school. That’s where we really got to know each other.”
His mother giggled, a soft, nostalgic sound. “I still can’t believe you two are high school sweet—”
“Honey, they were only friends in high school!” His father cut in with a laugh.
“Oh, right! But if we hadn’t moved back here, maybe you two would’ve been dating since then!”
Jungkook tightened his grip on his chopsticks. The conversation was light, harmless even. But he wasn’t stupid. He noticed how you shifted in your seat, how your fingers grazed the table absentmindedly like you were holding something back. He could read you too well. He knew there was something you wanted to say but you didn’t.
And he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.
“If only he had introduced you to us before!” His mother sighed wistfully before turning her gaze to Jungkook. “You know, he was different when he was younger. More… open, I suppose. But ever since we moved back here, he became quiet, distant. We knew he wanted to stay in your country, he even begged us to go back but it wasn’t that simple.”
She looked at him then, a sad, longing expression crossing her face. “We’re proud of the man he’s become, of course. We just wish he could be open with us again. Let us back into his life.”
Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The sound of his father’s spoon clinking against his bowl suddenly felt too loud. The warm aroma of the food became nauseating.
This. This right here was why he had kept his distance. Why he loathed them.
Pathetic.
They sat there, spewing bullshit, acting as if they were the victims. Acting as if they deserved his time, his emotions, his fucking pity. They had no idea. They never took responsibility. Instead, they pointed fingers at him, as if it was his fault that everything turned out this way.
But it wasn’t.
It was theirs.
He was already done with this conversation. Done with this entire visit. He needed to get out of here.
With you.
The lunch dragged on longer than Jungkook would have liked. His parents kept the conversation going, moving from small talk to stories about their old business. Their grand rise and inevitable failure. They spoke as if reminiscing about something tragic, but all Jungkook heard was noise.
He barely touched his food, his jaw tightening every time they brought up the past. He masked his irritation well, but the tension in his grip against his chopsticks was telling. He just wanted to leave.
This was exactly why he never wanted to come here. Why he never wanted you to meet them. They talked too much. About things that didn’t matter. About things he never wanted you to hear.
And now, he could already tell. You had questions. You always did when something didn’t add up. And right now, after everything his parents had carelessly spilled, your mind must be full of them.
Of course, you didn’t ask in front of them. You wouldn’t. But he knew you too well.
And he was right.
Because the moment the car was back on the road, heading toward Seoul, your voice broke the silence.
“Your parents are nice.” Your voice was light, but Jungkook could hear the underlying curiosity.
“Uh-huh.” His response was flat, laced with sarcasm.
“They even wanted us to stay. They’re really accommodating, Kook.”
He saw you glance at him from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze locked on the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.
“I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”
Without warning, he overtook the car in front of him, the sudden movement making you flinch.
“Sorry, love.” His voice softened, one hand briefly leaving the wheel to rest on your thigh. A gentle caress.
He had spent all his patience back at that house. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his parents again.
“I didn’t know you had an older brother.” Your tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. An unspoken challenge. “It sucks that I only found out now. I just realized… I barely know anything about your past.” You sighed. “I feel bad.”
“That’s why I brought you home to meet them,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as sarcastic as it felt.
You studied him for a moment, like you were trying to read him. He gave you a small smile, his hand still resting on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles. A distraction. A way to keep you comfortable.
Then, you caught him off guard.
“Kook, why didn’t you invest in your parents’ business?”
His grip on the wheel tightened. He didn’t expect that.
You continued before he could answer. “You’re a big-time investor, right? It would help them a lot.”
“It’s not worth investing in. It’s already a failed business.” His tone was neutral, controlled.
“But they loved that business. Losing it broke them. Isn’t there any chance of bringing it back?”
“No.” His voice was sharp, final. “If there was, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
That was a lie. Even if their business was worth saving, he still wouldn’t do it. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve anything from him.
You looked at him again, hesitant, like you wanted to push further. To unravel the parts of him he kept hidden. But then, you seemed to realize he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.
So you stayed quiet.
Good.
As much as he wanted to tell you everything, how his parents ruined his life, how they ripped him away from you, he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you looking at him differently.
He’d rather keep you in the dark than let you see the parts of him he didn’t want you to understand.
—
It’s been a week since you and Jungkook visited his parents. And two weeks since you lost your job.
You haven’t told him about it. You haven’t asked about going home either. Not once. And it’s better that way. If you did, he already had an answer prepared, but he preferred that you didn’t ask at all.
You’ve become more obedient, following his lead without hesitation. You don’t ask for anything anymore. You don’t make requests. You just… comply.
It should make him happy. He decides what’s best for you, after all. But he doesn’t want you to turn into a lifeless doll, either. You should still function like a normal girlfriend and hold onto him like you need him.
And you do need him.
Jungkook wants to give you everything, especially now that you’re finally settling into his rhythm. He wonders if you realize how much he adores you like this. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you think this is just another day, another morning, another moment.
But to him, it’s everything.
You’re sleeping beside him, curled up and peaceful, completely unaware of his gaze lingering on you. His love for you grows stronger every day, so intense it nearly overwhelms him. It consumes him.
He rests his head on his arm, watching you, memorizing the way your lashes flutter faintly with every slow breath. His free hand moves on its own, fingers ghosting over your cheek.
His heart pounds in his ears.
The back of his fingers trail down to your lips, tracing the soft curve of them. You don’t even stir. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
Then, his fingers drift lower, down your arm, feeling the warmth of your skin. So soft. So delicate. His.
He could feel a familiar sensation growing between his legs as he touched your soft skin. He tried to ignore it but failed. The more he touched you, the more he thought about how much he wanted to be with you. He couldn't stop imagining all the ways he wanted to touch you, to be inside you. He felt his self-control slipping away as he placed his thumb finger on your lower lip, imagining how it would feel wrapped around him.
He couldn't help but look at your body, the outline of your breasts visible through your flimsy pajamas.
He have touched you several times but the sensation and feeling of your body was so intoxicating and addicting he couldn't get enough.
Fuck, Y/N.
He can barely keep himself from losing control. He desperately wants to bend you over and taste your lips but he knows that's not what he's supposed to do, so instead he slowly pulled his dick out and began to slowly stroke it while you sleep beside him, teasing himself.
He can’t help it but want to press you against the bed, taking in and enjoying every curve of your body, but he knows he can’t do that. Not now. He takes your hand softly in his, holding it warmly. His other hand slowly teases his dick, imagining how you’d feel under him, as he stares directly at your pretty face, his thoughts filled with nothing but how desperately he wants you, yet he holds himself back.
Damn it, love.
He gripped himself tightly, his dick throbbing and leaking a small amount of cum that he eagerly spread over himself, slicking his movements as he pumped it harder and harder, his eyes locked onto your peaceful sleeping face, silently begging for you to wake.
His hands, despite his best efforts to keep them still, began to roam down your body, splaying out over your stomach and slowly inching lower until his fingers splayed out over your pussy through the thin fabric of your sleepwear.
He wanted you to wake up as his body already halfway there even without your touch. He hoped your eyes would flutter open and catch him like this, his pants tented, his hips subtly humping the air, his hands twitching with the urge to grope your body again unconsciously.
"Fuck..." he hissed under his breath, losing control as his hand moved faster over his length, the wet sounds filling the room.
"Love..." he moaned your nickname, imagining it was your hand, your mouth, your heat around him rather than his own hands.
The soft, sensual moan that escaped your lips in your sleep sent electric jolts through him, making his grip on his dick tighten as he continued to stroke himself feverishly. He scooted closer, his fingers teasing your pussy through your clothes, rubbing slow circles over it.
His breath hitched as he felt the dampness seeping through your thin pajama bottoms, signaling your body's unconscious response to his touches. He gently slipped his hand inside, finding your folds slick and warm, a soft whimper escaping his lips at the contact.
As your eyes flutter open, you catch the erotic sight before you. Jungkook was furiously pumping his dick, clear fluid leaking steadily from the tip. The wet, obscene sounds of his strokes filled the air.
“K-kook, what are you doing?” Your voice was low and husky and your arousal was obvious, making him lose control faster.
Without warning, he covered your body with his, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, dominating it as his body pressed you into the mattress. His weight pushed your smaller frame down, causing your chest to rise and fall rapidly.
He humped against your center like a wild animal, marking your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses and sucking hickeys onto your jaw. His lips traveled down your chin, your jawline, your neck, leaving red, passionate marks. He was practically dry humping you, his control shot.
"Love..." He growled softly, hearing your shaky voice. Your arousal made him hungry. He yanked your shirt off, his mouth latching onto your breast without warning. You threw your head back with a loud moan as he sucked hard, his other hand pinching and rolling your nipple.
He could feel your softness against his tongue, the way you filled his mouth perfectly. He sucked harder, his hand squeezing your other breast possessively.
He kissed lower, trailing his lips down your stomach, his hands pulling your pajama bottoms down slowly. He peppered kisses on your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your lower belly. "Lift your hips, Y/N..." He whispered, his voice muffled against your skin.
He spread your thighs wider, diving between them. He flattened his tongue against your entrance, licking upwards to catch your wetness. "Damn," He muttered, watching you toss your head back. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly while pushing two fingers inside you.
God, you’re so fucking beautiful.
He watches you play with your breasts. Your fingers twisting your hard peaks made him harder. He pushed his fingers deeper, his mouth suctioning around your clit. Your moans grew louder, your back arching off the bed. His free hand spread your thighs wider apart.
Your nails dug deeper into the bed as you neared the edge. He suddenly pulled back, leaving you empty and disappointed. Before you could protest, he pulled his pants down and pressed the tip of his hard dick against your clit. His head rested on top of you, grinding his tip against you.
"K-kook… please?" He smirked wickedly, watching you throw your head back. He ground his tip against your sensitive nub, teasing you.
He paused his tease and grabbed your face, staring harshly into your eyes. "Remember this...you're mine." He grumbled, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was desperate and hungry, his tongue dominating yours immediately. He pushed his tip inside you slowly before thrusting hard. “Do you understand that?”
"Do you understand?!” He growled, his deep voice echoing. He thrusts his hips harder, watching your breasts bounce. He repeated himself slower, "Answer the damn question." His fingers dug into your hips painfully. "Use your words,"
"Yes!” You answered with a tear in your eyes as his movement became faster.
"Fuck, Y/N," he panted against your lips, his body shaking when both of you reach orgasm. He remained buried deep inside you, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're mine. Only. Mine." He enunciated each word slowly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes filled with love and adoration. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much it hurts.”
—
You’re such a good girl. So obedient. So perfect for him.
Jungkook always knew you’d get there eventually. You’re adjusting—slowly, but that’s okay. He can be patient. He understands that change takes time.
But he’s not blind. He sees how quiet you’ve become, how your laughter has faded into silence. You talk less, do less. Even when he offers to take you out, most of the time, your refuse. You spend most of your time curled up in bed, staring at your phone or watching TV, lost in some world that isn’t his.
That’s fine. You’ll come around.
He tells himself it’s just part of the process. Your adjustment period. You’re still settling into your new reality, learning to accept that this is your home now.
But even if he understands, that doesn’t mean he likes it.
He misses the way you used to be. The spark in your eyes, the way you used to tease him, the way you’d reach for him without thinking. That version of you is slipping away, fading like a dream upon waking.
Does he regret this? Is he having second thoughts?
Never.
This is only temporary. He knows that if he wavers now, if he lets himself get soft, he’ll never have what he truly wants.
So he won’t.
Instead, he’ll remind you.
He’ll give you all the attention you need, fill every empty space in your mind until there’s no room left for doubt.
“Lately, you’ve been watching a lot of baking videos,” Jungkook muses, his voice casual. It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, and he got home earlier than usual. You’re curled up on the couch, a snack in hand, eyes fixed on the TV.
He moves closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before catching your lips. He feels you relax beneath him, just slightly.
“Nothing really to watch,” you reply, brushing it off.
Jungkook settles beside you, his gaze never leaving you as he reaches for a snack. His fingers trail absentmindedly along your thigh, slow and deliberate.
“I was thinking,” he starts, his tone light, “maybe you’d like to take baking lessons? Learn how to do it yourself.”
“That’s not necessary, Kook,” you say with a small laugh. “I just find it entertaining, that’s all.”
He hums, rubbing slow circles into your skin. “Then do you want to do something? Yoga classes, maybe?”
Silence.
You hold his gaze, but there’s something in your expression that makes his stomach tighten. You hesitate, as if weighing whether to say what’s really on your mind. And suddenly, he regrets even asking.
He should change the subject. He should pull you back into something softer, safer. But before he can, you speak.
“Well, if you have something in—”
“When are we going home?”
His whole body stills.
For a second, he doesn’t move. The words settle between you, heavy and suffocating. He exhales, slow and measured, before finally standing.
“I’m not sure yet,” he says, already walking toward the dining hall. “I told you, I have a lot to handle, love. I’ll let you know when.”
Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He turns on his heel, heading toward the dining hall. He pulls the refrigerator open as he grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off before pouring himself a glass. The sound of liquid hitting glass fills the silence.
He knows you're there before he even turns around.
Your presence lingers, hesitant but heavy. He takes his time, swallowing the water then he finally turns to face you.
“I miss home, Kook.”
Home. That fucking word again.
Ever since you started mentioning home, Jungkook has felt a slow, burning irritation clawing at him. The word itself is harmless, but coming from your lips, it feels like a blade. You and he have different definitions of home, and every time you say it, it grates against his nerves.
“We’ve been here for three months already, and I really, really miss home.” Your voice wavers, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and it makes his irritation flare hotter.
“Aren’t we living in the same home either way?” His voice drips with sarcasm, his patience thinning.
“That’s not what I mean. I miss my family, my friends, my country—”
“And you don’t think I feel that too?” He cuts you off, his tone sharper now.
The glass in his hand meets the kitchen island with a dull thud, his fingers tightening around the rim before he releases it. His gaze, dark and unreadable, locks onto yours.
“Do you think I don’t want to go back?” He exhales harshly. “I planned to stay here for a vacation. But I had to handle so many things because, for what? To fucking build the life I want for us!” His voice rises, his frustration cracking through the surface. “I’m not doing this for myself, Y/N. I’m doing this to secure our future.”
Tears finally spill down your cheeks as you look at him, and something about it. The way you’re crying, the way you’re making him feel like the villain making his jaw tighten.
“Tell me,” he steps forward, closing the distance between you, his presence towering over you, “do you really think I’m keeping you here just because I want to?” His voice dips lower, but the intensity in his stare is suffocating.
You shake your head quickly. “Kook, that’s not what I meant!” Your fingers tighten around his, desperate, pleading. “Of course, I appreciate you! I’m sorry if that’s how it sounded, but that’s not what I meant—”
You keep talking, rushing to defend yourself, but Jungkook isn’t listening anymore.
His mind is elsewhere.
Your words dissolve into the background as something deeper stirs inside him. He watches your lips move, watches the way you hold onto him like you’re afraid of slipping away.
Before you can finish, he pulls his hands away, wiping his own tears like he’s trying to erase the moment entirely.
Then he steps back.
“I think we should give ourselves some space.” His voice is quieter now, but distant, detached. He turns, ready to walk away.
But before he can take another step, you do something that surprises him.
“Jungkook, no!”
Before he can take another step, your arms are around his waist, locking him in place. Your grip is desperate, too tight, too frantic, like you're afraid he'll vanish the second you let go.
“N-no… please, let’s talk about this now! Please don’t leave me again.”
The way your voice breaks sends a thrill through him. You’re crying—really crying—and he didn’t expect it. Not like this.
“Please don’t leave me again! Let’s talk about this now. P-please don’t leave me alone.”
Your hands clutch at his back, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt like you're trying to anchor yourself. When you pull back to look at him, your face is soaked, lips trembling, eyes blown wide with fear. Fear.
His heart pounds so hard it’s almost painful. A rush of something hot, something intoxicating, swirls inside him. You need him.
You really need him.
“W-we can talk about this now. Just please, don’t leave me alone.”
You bury yourself into him again, squeezing so tightly he almost forgets to breathe.
Jungkook stands frozen, overwhelmed by the moment, his pulse hammering in his ears. His breath comes out unsteady as his lips curl into a slow, hidden smile. He wants to laugh. Fuck, he wants to celebrate.
Because this. This is exactly what he’s been waiting for.
You’re clinging to him. Begging. Terrified at the thought of losing him.
You get it now, don’t you?
After a long pause, he finally moves. His hands glide up your back, soothing, reassuring. He exhales softly, letting just enough warmth seep into his voice.
“Okay, love. We’ll fix this.”
He’s too happy. A little too happy.
Your reaction, it was unexpected, raw, perfect. The way you clung to him, the way your voice cracked, the way you begged, fuck, it’s all replaying in his head like a song on repeat. It was beautiful. You need him just as much as he needs you. You just proved it.
And that means one thing: You’ll never leave. Not really.
You might resist, you might hesitate, but in the end, you break exactly how he wants you to. He doesn’t just control you, your whole existence is wrapped around him now, woven into his life so tightly there’s no escape.
But then, why?
Why did you suddenly bring up home? Why now, after all this time?
His jaw tightens. Something triggered you. Something. Or someone.
He doesn’t need to guess. He already knows.
It’s past 2 AM when he finally moves. The room is quiet, bathed in the soft blue glow of the nightlight. You're asleep, curled up in the king-sized bed, your breathing slow, steady and peaceful. Completely unaware.
Jungkook reaches for your phone on the bedside table, unlocking it effortlessly with his Face ID. He leans back on the couch, screen illuminating his face, and scrolls straight to your messages.
He knows exactly where to look.
And of course, he was right.
His smirk is slow, dangerous, curling at the edges as he reads.
You: I miss you too! I’ll see you soon once I return.
Mina: As you should. I’m so sick of being with Henry all the time! When are you even coming home? You’ve been there since forever.
Chloe: Yeah, Y/N. I thought you’d only be there for a vacation? You never said you’d stay this long.
You: Not sure with Jungkook. He has a lot of business to do as of now.
Henry: Are you even part of his business? Last time I checked, you and he were there for a vacation, not for business. Seriously, Y/N, he’s caging you at this point.
His smirk twitches.
And then, there it is. A missed video call, two fucking hours.
Yesterday. While he was too busy working to notice.
His fingers tighten around the phone. Of course. They filled your head with bullshit.
How stupid of him to let this slip.
It won’t happen again.
He locks the phone and sets it back on the table, gaze flickering toward you. You’re still fast asleep, unaware that your little secret is no longer a secret.
Jungkook leans back, exhaling through his nose, his mind already working.
He’ll fix this.
He always does.
Jungkook doesn’t waste time.
The moment he discovers what your so-called friends have been whispering in your ear, he takes action.
First thing in the morning, before you even stir awake, he makes a call. The kind of call that isn’t exactly legal. By noon, he’s holding a sleek, black signal jammer in his hands, fresh from the black market. Compact, powerful, and silent.
He won’t resort to something as obvious as taking your phone away. That’s not the game he plays. No, no, no. He wants you to believe you’re still in control. That your world isn’t shrinking. That nothing’s changed.
Because that’s the key, you can’t miss what you don’t realize you’ve lost.
He positions the device in a discreet spot, its range wide enough to swallow every signal in the apartment. But, of course, he’s thought ahead. He installs a high-power signal booster for himself because while your world goes dark, his remains crystal clear. He still needs to monitor things. Track things. Track you.
It doesn’t take long for you to notice. The way your fingers swipe at your screen again and again, waiting for something to load. The way your brows knit together when nothing does. The way you glance around, confused, frustrated.
He sees it all.
Your world is already shrinking, and you don’t even realize it yet.
Jungkook leans back in his chair, a slow smirk forming.
“Weak signals happen sometimes, love. It’ll come back. Don’t worry.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling you onto the couch, wrapping you in his arms as the TV played in the background. What else could you do, really? Without a working connection, entertainment options were limited, and he had to pretend he was dealing with the same issue. TV was the perfect distraction. One that kept you close to him.
In a way, he liked this. No phones, no interruptions. Just the two of you, undisturbed. The thought alone made his heart flutter.
The next day, the situation hadn’t changed, and he knew frustration would start creeping in again. So he took you out. All day, keeping you occupied, keeping your mind off things. You didn’t resist. Why would you? There was nothing to do in the apartment without the internet, no one to talk to, nowhere else to turn.
A museum date. He half-expected you to get bored, but to his surprise, you didn’t. You wandered through the exhibits with wide, fascinated eyes, taking in every detail, pointing out the ones you liked best. Jungkook watched you more than the art. Watched the way your lips curved in a smile, the way your fingers traced the air as you spoke. You weren’t hard to please. Anything he laid out in front of you, you embraced, appreciated, accepted.
That was what made it so easy to love you.
And that was what made him tighten his grip.
Because something so easy, so pure, could be taken away in an instant.
He wouldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. You were already his, and keeping you meant protecting you. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.
For the third, fourth, and fifth day, nothing changed. The signal jammer stayed on, and you stayed unaware. He kept you entertained when he was home, making sure there was always something to distract you. Movies, dinner, his arms wrapped around you on the couch. But when he wasn’t around, all you had was the TV.
That was fine. That was good.
Whenever he was out, he tracked your location. He never mentioned it, of course. He played dumb when you casually told him where you went, what you did to pass the time. It made things easier. It reassured him. You were still being good, still keeping him in the loop, still showing him without even realizing it that you loved him. That you weren’t going anywhere.
And that was all he needed.
Because as long as you kept being this obedient, this trusting, you wouldn’t even notice the strings wrapped around you, pulling you exactly where he wanted.
But of course, no matter how much control he had, some things still slipped through the cracks.
He thought he had everything covered. That as long as you stayed close, as long as you kept looking at him the way you always did, nothing would change.
But even the most perfect plans had flaws.
It was a cold Thursday evening when Jungkook stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him as droplets clung to his skin. A towel hung low on his waist, and the heat from the water still lingered on his body, contrasting the chill in the air. He had just returned from a long business meeting. Another deal closed, another win under his belt. You were in the kitchen, insisting on making dinner, and he let you.
As he pulled on his nightwear in the walk-in closet, he instinctively reached for his phone. But his fingers met empty space. His usual spot? Empty. Bedside table? Nothing. Maybe he left it outside? That was unlikely. His phone was always with him.
The frustration simmered. His brows furrowed as he searched every possible surface in the bedroom. It wasn’t there. His chest tightened. And then—
A ringtone.
Not from inside the room. From outside.
His breath caught. His phone wasn’t on silent. You were hearing it.
A sharp pulse of panic shot through him as he shoved the bedroom door open. The sound grew louder, the vibrations almost rattling in his ears, until he saw you.
Standing at the dining table.
Staring at his phone.
A cold sensation crawled up his spine, harsher than the evening air. His fingers twitched. His heart pounded, slamming against his ribs, too fast, too loud.
Without thinking, he strode forward and snatched the phone off the table, immediately declining the call. His grip was tight, white-knuckled. He could feel your eyes on him, could see the way your expression shifted, shock, realization, suspicion.
Then, you moved.
You pulled your phone from your pocket, swiped through the screen, and then your jaw clenched.
Slowly, you looked at him.
Brows furrowed.
And then, without a word, you turned your phone around and showed him the screen.
“How come you can get calls when I can’t even reach you?” Your voice had that sharp edge, like you were daring him to slip up.
Jungkook’s grip on his phone tightened for a second. Just a second before he let out a slow breath. One you wouldn’t even notice.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, meeting your gaze without hesitation. “I’ve had signal since yesterday.”
Your brows furrowed. “What? That doesn’t make sense. I don’t have network service. No internet, either.” You scrolled through your phone, frustration seeping into your voice.
“Maybe it’s your phone. Not the network.”
“Huh? How does that even—”
“I don’t know, love. I’m not a technician.” His tone was casual, a little too nonchalant, as he turned to walk away.
But you weren’t letting it go.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was sharper now, accusing. “You knew I’ve been complaining about this for days!”
Jungkook exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening, but his voice was still even. “I didn’t notice right away. And I’ve been out, haven’t I? Besides—” He scoffed. “Do you even see me using my phone when I’m home?”
Your frustration boiled over. “Ugh, this is so annoying! What the hell?” You jabbed at your phone aggressively, like pressing harder would somehow force it to work. When it didn’t, you let out a groan, tossing it onto the table with a thud before running a hand through your hair.
Jungkook clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the irritation crawling up his spine. “Y/N, can you calm down? It’s just a phone. We’ll fix it.”
“You don’t get it!” You snapped.
Your voice cracked slightly, your chest rising and falling with every frustrated breath. “That’s my only way to keep in touch with my friends and family while I’m stuck here! It’s the only thing I have to pass the time! I have nothing to do, Jungkook. It’s draining! I feel exhausted just… existing like this!”
His stomach twisted.
Not because of what you said, but because of the way you said it. This was the first time he’d seen you this raw since your last big fight. It was like catching a glimpse of something real. Something he wasn’t supposed to see.
And honestly? He didn’t know how to feel about it.
His fingers curled, nails pressing into his palms, but his face remained unreadable.
“Okay,” he finally muttered. “We’ll get your phone fixed.”
That was all he said before turning on his heel, walking away, leaving you standing there, stunned.
The moment Jungkook stepped into the bedroom, he lost it.
His phone hit the bed with a dull thud, but it wasn’t enough. His hands went straight to his hair, fingers tangling in frustration as he paced back and forth, his mind spiraling.
Anytime now, you could put the pieces together.
Anytime now, you could realize everything.
No. No. No. That cannot fucking happen.
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached, teeth grinding as he tried to force himself to think. He needed a solution. Fast. But every scenario felt like a loose thread, something that could unravel the carefully built illusion he had created around you.
His breath came out sharp and ragged, his chest rising and falling as panic crawled up his spine. His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms.
Calm down. Think.
Would replacing your phone be enough? Could he make it seem like it was just a defective device all along? Should he play dumb, act as if he had no clue what was going on?
Fuck. Think!
He’d always been careful. Always one step ahead. So why was he unraveling now?
Why did this feel different?
He sucked in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He was just being paranoid. That’s all this was. He had handled worse. He had controlled worse.
This was just another obstacle.
And like always, he’d find a way to make sure you stayed exactly where you belonged.
But he was wrong.
Because the moment he woke up, you weren’t beside him.
It felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over him, freezing him in place. His body tensed, fingers gripping the sheets as he blinked, trying to process the empty space next to him.
No. No, no, no.
He had stayed up late, trying to think of a way to fix things. He didn’t even realize he had slept in. And now, you were gone.
His hands were already shaking as he pushed himself out of bed, his heart pounding.
“Y/N?”
The bathroom, empty. The closet, empty. The longer he searched, the faster his panic grew.
He stormed out of the bedroom, checking every corner of the apartment, but you were nowhere to be found. His breathing turned ragged, his vision tunneling. His fingers fumbled as he reached for his phone, opening the tracking app.
There you were. Not far.
A mall.
Fuck.
His jaw clenched so hard it ached. He already knew what you were doing.
His mind raced, self-loathing creeping in. How the fuck did I let this happen? He had been so careful. He had planned everything so perfectly. And yet, somehow, you slipped away.
His grip tightened around his phone as he immediately dialed a number. The person he hired to watch you.
“Find her,” Jungkook ordered, his voice dangerously low. “Now. And tell me exactly what she’s doing.”
Ending the call, he exhaled sharply and let his body drop onto the couch, his knee bouncing as he tried to steady himself.
Calm down.
He had dealt with things like this before. He knew exactly what to do. You were easy to convince, easy to pull back into his world. You always had been.
There was no reason to panic.
Because no matter what, he wouldn’t let this ruin everything.
He had come too far, done too much. What was the point of stopping now?
Minutes later, his phone buzzed. An update.
You had bought a new phone.
Of course, you did. He expected it. He had already planned his reaction, the perfect lie to feed you. He knew how to twist things, how to shape reality into something that made sense to you.
He was ready.
This was just another obstacle, a minor inconvenience. Soon, everything would be back to normal.
Or at least, that was the illusion he forced himself to believe.
Because the moment you walked through that door, his world shattered.
All the confidence, all the carefully built lies, gone.
The second you speak the truth, everything he worked for started to crumble.
You stood in front of him, unmoving, while he lounged back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. The apartment felt colder than usual, the lack of sunlight casting a dull, gray shadow over everything, including you.
You looked drained.
Dressed in a white knitted sweater under a long black coat, paired with jeans, you slowly unwrapped the scarf from your neck, gripping it tightly in one hand while your other held a paper bag.
He already knew what was inside.
The new phone.
Your eyes locked onto his, unblinking, unwavering. There was an intensity in them that made something deep inside him churn, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he was the first to break the silence.
“Was it really that hard to wake me up and let me know you were going out?” His voice was laced with sarcasm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You just couldn’t wait to get your phone fixed, huh? Had to rush out and buy a new one?”
He scoffed, shaking his head.
You didn’t answer.
You just stood there, staring at him with eyes filled with something far worse than anger. Disgust. Your jaw clenched so tightly he swore he could hear your teeth grinding, and then he saw it.
A tear.
His smirk twitched, faltering for just a second.
“What’s with the face, love?” he drawled, tilting his head. “I thought you fixed your little problem?”
His voice dripped with mockery, but something inside him twisted, because he could feel it.
Your tears fell silently at first, but then you inhaled sharply, steadying yourself before speaking.
“My phone was jammed,” you said, voice shaking. “Both my phone and the internet connection were jammed.”
Jungkook felt a flicker of something. Surprise, irritation, but he masked it, tilting his head as if your words were nonsense.
“How would your phone be jammed?” His tone was casual, almost amused, like he was humoring you.
You let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. Ask yourself.”
The sharpness in your voice sent a ripple of irritation through him.
“How the fuck is my phone jammed while yours isn’t?” You took a step closer, eyes burning with fury. “Does that make any sense to you? Both my laptop and my phone had no signal the entire fucking week, while you were just fine.”
His jaw tightened.
That bastard. The man he hired had left out important details. He hadn’t reported that you had your phone checked.
Fucking useless.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He scoffed, forcing his voice into something more natural. “I didn’t have service either. You know that. We were both—”
“No!”
The single word sliced through the room, loud and unwavering. It caught him off guard.
“I checked your phone this morning,” you continued, voice shaking with restrained rage. “I checked your laptop, too. And both of them had WiFi.”
His fingers twitched. His mind raced.
“Then that’s not my problem anymore—”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Your voice dropped to a whisper, slow and deliberate.
Jungkook felt a chill run down his spine.
“Or…” You took another step forward, your eyes locking onto his like you were staring into something dark and rotten. “Is this just what you wanted me to believe?”
Jungkook didn’t say a word at first. He just watched you, his gaze unwavering, calculating.
He couldn’t afford to make a mistake now.
“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this.” His voice was measured, carefully laced with disbelief, like he was hurt. “Why would I even do that?”
Then, quieter, like he was nursing a wound only he could feel. “Why do you always blame me when things go wrong for you? Even when it’s your own fault?”
You scoffed, tilting your chin up defiantly. “And how exactly is it my fault that my phone was jammed? That’s not something I could have done to myself, intentionally or unintentionally!”
“No, Y/N.” His voice hardened. “I’m not just talking about the jammer. I’m talking about everything, all the accusations, all the times you’ve turned on me, made me the villain in your little stories.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you even bringing all that up? We’re talking about the jammer—”
“Because that’s the problem!” His voice rose suddenly, sharp and unwavering. “You always blame me. The moment something inconvenient happens, it’s Jungkook’s fault. Like it’s second nature to you.”
He took a step forward, but you stood your ground. Your eyes locked onto his, unflinching, before you exhaled and turned to leave.
Panic flashed in his chest.
No.
In an instant, he was behind you, gripping your wrist, firm, but not enough to bruise.
“Are you seriously walking away right now?” His voice was dangerously low, breath uneven. “We’re still talking.”
You yanked your hand free without hesitation. “There’s nothing left to say. This isn’t going anywhere.”
Jungkook clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
His fingers twitched at his sides, the rage bubbling beneath his skin.
“What?” His voice was strained, barely holding back his temper. “You accuse me of this bullshit, throw it in my face, and then just walk away?”
You took another step toward the door of the bedroom, but this time, you hesitated. Then, slowly, you turned back to face him.
Your expression was unreadable. Empty.
“Yes,” you said, voice hollow. “Because you’ll never admit it. You’ll just twist everything, turn it all around, like you always do.”
Jungkook felt his stomach twist at the way you were looking at him. It was like you were seeing him now, really seeing him.
And then, without another word, you turned your back on him and walked away.
For the first time in a long time, Jungkook didn’t know what to do.
Jungkook felt like his mind was slipping. Too many thoughts, too many emotions crashing over him at once. He couldn’t process what just happened. He needed clarity, needed to understand you. Because suddenly, he couldn't read you anymore.
He hated that.
He stormed into the bedroom without hesitation.
“Why are you doing this to me, huh?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tense air the moment he stepped inside. “Is this your way of getting back at me? Because I didn’t let you go home when that’s all you’ve been crying about for months? Is that it, Y/N?”
You turned to face him, brows furrowing. “What are you talking about? I never said that!”
“Oh, so you don’t say it, but you show it instead?” His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, his breathing growing heavier. “You think I like watching you change? Seeing you drift further away when all I wanted was for you to wait? You think I enjoy having you next to me when I can tell your mind is somewhere else? That you’re just enduring being with me?” The words poured out of him, unfiltered, his voice trembling with something raw.
“I’m not pulling any act, Jungkook. That’s all in your head.” Your tone was flat, detached.
That only set him off more.
“Oh, fuck it, Y/N! Just tell me the truth—”
“No, you tell me the truth!” You cut him off, voice ringing through the room. “Tell me why you jammed my phone! Tell me why you’re tracking me!”
Jungkook froze. His breath caught in his throat.
His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, but he said nothing.
You took a step closer, pointing at him with a shaking finger. “You think I didn’t know? There’s a tracking chip inside my phone. And what? You’re going to sit there and twist it around again? Pretend it’s my fault that a tracker magically ended up in my phone? Just like how you jammed my signal?”
Your voice was sharp, relentless.
Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
He just stood there, staring at you. Eyes dark, jaw clenched, mind racing.
Jungkook watched you with hollow eyes, his mind spiraling as your words cut through him like a blade.
Enough.
You’d had enough of him.
He should’ve seen this coming. The way you looked at him differently, the way you hesitated before answering, the way you started pulling away, piece by piece. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to hear.
“I ignored all the red flags,” you said, voice shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe them away. “I kept telling myself you were doing it because you loved me. I swallowed every truth right in front of me, thinking it was for my sake. But everyone was right.”
Your lips quivered as you exhaled shakily.
“You’ve been manipulating me. You’ve been making me blind to everything you’ve done.”
Jungkook’s fingers curled into his palms, his nails digging into his skin.
His jaw clenched. His breathing slowed.
“And you know what?” You let out a bitter laugh, eyes glassy. “You are right. This is my fault. Because I let you do it. I let all of this happen.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going, pushing the knife in deeper. “I loved you. I fell so fucking deep that I couldn’t even pull myself back up.”
That’s when he noticed—
You were packing.
You weren’t just throwing words at him, trying to wound him.
You were leaving.
You grabbed your phone, your wallet, a small pouch, only the essentials. Because you weren’t planning to come back.
The thought made his vision blur with rage.
Something inside him snapped.
His breathing turned eerily calm. The thick mask he had been wearing, the patient, loving, understanding Jungkook you thought you knew, shattered in an instant.
"You think you can just leave like that?"
His voice was soft, almost tender. But it sent ice down your spine.
You froze, fingers gripping your bag. When your gaze met his, your whole body tensed.
He took a slow step forward. Then another. But he stopped midway, slipping his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.
"After everything I’ve done for us—" his lips curled into something twisted, "you think I’m going to let you walk away that easily?"
He let out a quiet chuckle. Low. Cold.
Your breath hitched.
And then he saw it—
The way your eyes darted to the door. The way you shifted ever so slightly, like you were ready to bolt.
He tilted his head, gaze darkening.
"Why are you stepping back?" His voice dropped even lower. "Are you scared?"
You didn’t answer.
His smirk widened, his steps slow and deliberate as he closed in on you.
He backed you into the wall, trapping you in place.
"Because you should be."
Jungkook's grip on reality was slipping, but he didn’t care.
He loved you.
Loved you so much that if keeping you meant becoming the villain in your story, then so be it. If he had to be the bad guy to make you stay, he’d do it without hesitation.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
“Is this what your friends planted in your head?” His voice was calm, too calm. Each word rolled off his tongue deliberately, like he was savoring them. “They’ll say anything, won’t they? Whisper the nastiest things to break us apart because they don’t understand. They don’t matter in this relationship.”
He took a slow step backward.
"That’s why I didn’t want you around them in the first place.” His tone was gentle, almost affectionate, but the weight of his words was suffocating. “The more time you spend with them, the more they poison your thoughts. Filling that pretty little head of yours with lies.”
Jungkook sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed.
“But you just had to be stubborn. Kept pushing my buttons. And now look where we are.”
His gaze flickered down to your parted lips, to the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard. He move closer to you once again and leaned in just enough to catch the way your pupils dilated.
His smirk widened.
“So yes,” he whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is your fault.”
You flinched.
He saw the way your body trembled, the way your fingers curled into your palms like you were trying to steady yourself. But what made him really grin, what sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine, was the quick, fleeting glance you threw at the door.
You were considering running.
How cute.
A quiet chuckle left his lips as he watched you inch back, your breathing shallow, your mind scrambling for an escape.
Too bad.
You weren’t going anywhere.
Jungkook tilted his head, watching you with something between amusement and disbelief.
“I can’t believe you’re still thinking of leaving when you have nowhere else to go.” His voice was light, almost teasing, as if the idea of you escaping was a joke.
Then, without warning, he ripped the phone from your hand and tossed it across the room. The sharp crack echoed as it shattered against the floor.
Your breath hitched. “Jungkook, please. You’re scaring me.”
But he wasn’t listening.
He grabbed your laptop from the coffee table, eyes dark with something unhinged, and in one swift motion, hurled it against the wall. The device split in two on impact.
You screamed.
Your breath hitched as you stared at the shattered remnants of your phone and laptop. The metallic clatter of destruction echoed in the room, but it was the eerie silence that followed that made your blood run cold. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The only sound was the erratic pounding of your heart.
Jungkook exhaled slowly, his eyes locked onto yours with a satisfaction that made your stomach twist.
It was done.
There was no turning back now.
His fingers twitched at his sides before he took a step forward, closing the distance between you two. You flinched, instinctively stepping back until your legs hit the edge of the bed.
“You don’t need them anymore,” Jungkook murmured, voice dangerously soft. “I’m all you need.”
You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “Y-you… you didn’t have to do that.”
He tilted his head, watching you, drinking in your helplessness like it was a drug. “I did,” he said simply as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Now, there’s nothing left to come between us.”
You wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of his words pressed down on you like an immovable force. There was no way out. No reaching for help. He had stripped you of everything, piece by piece until all that remained was him.
Jungkook reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek, a mockery of affection in the way he cradled your face. “You’re mine,” he whispered, the words sinking deep into your skin, your bones. His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. “Say it.”
You trembled, lips parting, but no words came. A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes before he crushed his mouth against yours.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was raw and possessive, his lips crashing against yours with bruising force. You struggled, hands pushing against his chest, but he was stronger.
“J-Jungkook, no—”
“You’re mine, Y/N.” His breath was hot against your lips, his grip unrelenting. “You’re fucking mine, and no one will ever have you but me.”
His mouth trailed down to your neck, teeth grazing over your skin before he sucked harshly, marking you like a brand.
You fought. You squirmed. But he didn’t care.
Because in that moment, the last of his carefully crafted mask shattered.
This was him. The real him.
And now, you finally saw it.
You had seen glimpses before, but you ignored them, forced yourself to believe they were nothing. That he was nothing more than a man who loved too much.
You were wrong.
You had unknowingly created a monster. A monster that could no longer be controlled.
And now, it was too late.
Because every path that once led to freedom was gone, every exit sealed shut.
And you were trapped.
Trapped in the darkness with him.
As he pulled away, he wiped a stray tear from your face, his smile almost gentle. “That’s my good girl.”
The finality in his voice made your stomach drop. There was no escaping him.
Not now. Not ever.
-end-
I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing it! This was supposed to be a one-shot, but when I started writing, it turned into a two-shot lmao. And just when I was about to finish it, I thought about making it a three-shot, but then I realized it wasn't really necessary hahaha
If you have any comments or suggestions to help improve my writing, please don't hesitate to let me know. Thank you!
taglist: @llallaaa @strawberryberrygirl @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @jincapableoflove @jenniebyrubies @sunshineishopejihyo @kooayu
Reblogging so I don't have to scroll though tons of things to find it when I have time to read it.
ALL CREDIT TO ORIGINAL CREATOR OF MASTER LIST.
(if owner wishes to have it removed pls feel free to say so and I will, it's no problem 😊)
intro: her m.list | knj
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞singe dad au.
❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader
❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut
❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 93k (current)
❥ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠: on-going
⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: see each chapter
⇥ find the playlist here
➾ Main Storyline:
⊛ Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
⊛ Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
⊛ Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
⊛ Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12
⊛ Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
➾ Minis:
❥ Mini #1 - in which Jimin wants his ‘sea doctor’ noona to save his friend’s goldfish
❥ Mini #2 - in which YN and Jungkook go on an ice cream date
❥ Mini #3 - in which YN is sick, and Namjoon and the boys take care of her
❥ Mini #4 - in which YN and Taehyung go to the stationery store and then paint together
❥ Mini #5 - in which YN is completely exhausted from work and Namjoon takes care of her
❥ Mini #6 - in which everyone celebrates Hoseok’s birthday
❥ Mini #7 - in which YN, Namjoon and the boys go to a petting zoo
❥ Mini #8 - in which YN and Namjoon go on a date
❥ Mini #9 - in which YN, Namjoon and the boys celebrate mother’s day
❥ Mini #10 - in which YN, Namjoon and the boys celebrate father’s day
Great work
Masterlist
Below you will find our new and updated Masterlist, containing the characters we’ve written for as well as events that we’ve held. Now I am aware that for some people on Mobile that these links don’t work, unfortunately I have no idea as to why they don’t work and there isn’t much I can do about it. Some of these links may not lead anywhere or come up empty because we haven’t written for some of the characters yet but rather they are ones some of us will be writing for from now on. I hope this helps all of you my Little Rogues.
Class 1A
Eijiro Kirishima
Izuku Midoriya
Katsuki Bakugou
Mashirao Ojiro
Denki Kaminari
Koji Kouda
Shouto Todoroki
Tenya Iida
Fumikage Tokoyami
Mezou Shouji
Hanta Sero
Yuuga Aoyama
Mina Ashido
Kyouka Jirou
Ochaco Uraraka
Tsuyu Asui
Momo Yaoyorozu
Tooru Hagakure
~
Class 1B
Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu
Monoma Neito
Yosetsu Awase
Shihai Kuriro
Itsuka Kendo
Yui Kodai
Kinoko Komori
Ibara Shiozaki
Pony Tsunotori
Setsuna Tokage
~
Other Classes
Tamaki Amajiki
Mirio Togata
Nejire Hadou
Yuyu Haya
Hitoshi Shinsou
Mei Hatsume
~
Other Schools
Inasa Yaorashi
Camie Utsushimi
Yo Shindo
Tatami Nakagame
Kashiko Sekigai
~
Pro-Heroes/Others
Hawks
Tsunagu Hakamata (Best Jeanist)
Shinya Kamihara (Edgeshot)
Rumi Usagiyama (Miruko/Mirko)
Ryuko Tatsuma (Ryukyu)
Kugo Sakamata (Gang Orca)
Yu Takeyama (Mt. Lady)
Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fatgum)
Shino Sosaki (Mandalay)
Ryuko Tsuchikawa (Pixie-Bob)
Tomoko Shiretoko (Ragdoll)
Sir Nighteye
Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead) / Dadzawa
Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)
Toshinori Yagi (All Might)
Ectoplasm
Nemuri Kayama (Midnight)
Ken Ishiyama (Cementoss)
Snipe
Higari Maijima (Power Loader)
Sekijiro Kan (Vlad King)
Emi Fukukado (Ms. Joke)
Rei Todoroki
Sirius
Kaoruko Awata (Bubble Girl)
Eri
Nezu
Tensei Iida (Ingenium)
Shinji Nishiya (Kamui Woods)
~
Villains
Tomura Shigaraki
Kurogiri
Dabi
Himiko Toga
Jin Bubaigawara (Twice)
Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner)
Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress)
Kai Chisaki (Overhaul)
Hari Kurono (Chronostasis)
Shin Nemoto
Kendo Rappa
Chizome Akaguro (Stain)
All For One
Gentle
La Brava
~
Type
Scenarios
Headcanons
~
Themes
Orange
Lime
Lemon
Grapefruit
Angst
Hurt
Comfort
Fluff
Platonic
Character x Character
Art
Poly
Emergency Requests
~
AU’s
Omegaverse
Villain AU
Fantasy AU
God AU
Witch AU
Dragon AU
Supernatural AU
Mermaid AU
Kitsune AU
Vampire AU
Shapeshifter AU
Demon AU
Zombie AU
Apocalypse AU
Stripper AU
Elf AU
~
Writer Mods
Mod Lady Lucifer (Lady Bitch Tits)
Mod Pasta
Mod Miss Magpie
~
Art Mods
Mod Void
Mod Kitten
Mod Bready
~
Retired Mods
Mod Eclipse / Momma Dragon / Undead Raven
Mod Inky
Mod Pumpkin
Mod Shortcake
Mod Pomme
Mod Sourpatch
~
Events
Explodoweek 2018
700 Followers Event
Mirio Weekend Event
Christmas 2017 Event
New Years 2018 Event
Demon Event
Birthday Event
PastaLosta Event
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