#< tag that only three other people in the world understand

[neellscapsule]

a resounding heart attack

summary | there are three romance rules you have to follow: don't date coworkers, don't fall in love with flirty people, and never show how whipped you actually are. clark fails the three of them.

pairing | clark kent x wayne!female!reader

warnings / tags | pure fluff with a bit of suggestive stuff (language & actions), but nothing actually happening except lingerie photos that reader does not send but they are from a production :D. reader is a menace but gotham loves her ??? she's actually so cheeky so flirty so everything (just one chance pls). clark is blushing mess especially when it comes to her. mentions to a sad childhood because reader it's literally a wayne ?????

word count | 4.9k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first language so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

i've written this with david!clark on my mind but you can picture him hoverer you want. i also believe in battinson agenda for this specific version of clark :D

THERE ARE LITTLE THINGS IN THE WORLD THAT CAN AFFECT CLARK KENT.

All the types of Kryptonite disturb him in different ways. Red sun weakens him, dulling his strength and senses until he almost forgets what it feels like to be invulnerable. Magic does a number on him too, inexplicable and chaotic, like trying to hold onto smoke with bare hands. Other aliens with tech far beyond Earth’s understanding have hurt him, too. Kara once punched his arm and left it all purple — it healed fast, but it still hurt.  

There are, indeed, little things that can affect him. 

But you? 

You are at the top of that list.

He does not remember his heart beating that fast, almost inhumanly, on the edge of being impossible. Does not remember his cheeks ever being so red, his clumsiness bordering on being considered the dumbest man on Earth. Once he dropped his entire mug of coffee on his slacks just because you called him “Smallville” with that mischievous little smirk. 

Jimmy, Lois and practically everyone just laugh at him, his quirks, but he can't help it.

He can't help how much you affect him. Can't help how much he likes you. 

In his defense, there's no way he was able to not like you. Not only because he —and at least half the population— thinks you are hot. You are hot. Very much. He’s not going to lie to himself about that. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t feel like it was made for the front page of a magazine, but the kind that stuns you mid-sentence because of how effortless it is. You laugh too loudly sometimes, you talk with your hands, and you make eye contact like it’s a dare.

But it’s more than that.

You’re smart. Sharp as broken glass. Your writing is electric, biting in the way that Gothamites tend to be—your byline alone has caused five resignations, two public apologies, and one lawsuit (which the Daily Planet won). Not even Perry crosses you, that must count for something. You flirt with everyone, but with him, it’s different. You save your cheekiest lines, your softest smirks, your most infuriating whispers for him—as if you know how easily he folds.

The worst thing is not that you work together. No. Clark has a complete and long list about the worst —best— part of working with you.

In the first place, is that you share the same space with him. Your desks are pressed together, both of you facing one another, screens lit up, voices low as you trade edits, ideas, and insults. Your heel taps his shoe sometimes—grazing more than stepping. He’s convinced you don’t even notice it, that it’s just a habit, something subconscious.

From his seat, he sees you clearly. Memorizes your expressions like a song stuck on repeat. The way your eyes narrow when something doesn’t sit right. The sharp inhale before you pounce on a lead. You scrunch your nose when someone makes a poor argument, like it physically pains you to hear idiocy. You press your tongue briefly between your lips when you're deep in thought, which he pretends not to see but always does. You smile—oh, when you smile—it hits like sunlight through lead glass. Blinding. Honest. Beautiful.

The two of you share a corkboard pinned to the wall. His side is sparse—some clippings, a "Mighty Crabjoys" movie poster, and a coffee-stained sheet of work hours he never took down. But yours? Yours is filled to the brim, despite not being much space.

A series of colorful letters that spell your name, doodles, a Gotham National University pennant, and a printed photo of a night out with everyone —Lois, Jimmy, Steve, Cat, you, and himself included.

He hears the click of your heels before anyone else does.

It’s the kind of sound that parts his thoughts in two, makes them flutter like loose pages in a breeze. Sharp, rhythmic, deliberate. You don’t walk through the bullpen—you arrive. And every step pulls the air taut around him like fishing line. 

He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you. His entire body already knows. His hearing adjusts itself before he can think better of it—your heartbeat, lighter than most, steady and confident, like it owns time. Like it’s never once skipped or stalled the way his just did.

You turn the corner and he’s already looking, caught in the act—he knows you catch him. You always do.

You enter the Daily Planet like you own it, and in some subtle way, you do. Not because of your name. You don’t need money or threats to command a room. You have something worse. Charisma. Ease. Danger. Power in a smile that knows it has claws and doesn’t care to hide them.

Your skirt is black and short—unreasonably so. Illegal in several states, maybe. Certainly illegal in Clark’s heart, because it just stopped beating. Your white stockings gleam slightly under the lights, spotless and smooth and devastating. You’ve tucked your ironed shirt into your waistline like some kind of cruel, beautiful war crime. Gold glints from your ears, your wrist, the edge of your collar. Not fake gold, not plated. Real. Heavy. Old money.

You wear your wealth the same way you wear your grin—like a challenge.

You look over, the corner of your mouth curling, and say, just for him, “Good morning, Smallville.”

Smallville.

He could snap the pen in his hand if he weren’t careful. You say it so softly. So wickedly. Like you know. Like you know that he’s already halfway undone and you’re just playing with the bow.

Clark already had your coffee in his hand—he'd been holding it since 7:43 AM, exactly three minutes after he arrived. Two sugars, no cream. Lid slightly ajar because you said it kept the flavor from suffocating. He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he listened. He always listened.

He handed it to you with trembling fingers.

“Good morning,” he says, trying not to clear his throat.

You sit down, smooth the back of your skirt behind you with grace and muscle memory, and lean to the side, setting your bag against the leg of your desk. Your voice is light as you bring your phone to your ear again. He doesn’t mean to listen. But he hears everything. He always does.

“Alfred,” you say warmly. “Yes, I got here. No, no traffic, thank god. Yes, I remembered my meeting with Lucius over the computer. No, I’m not eating fast food for lunch. No— No, I will not talk to Bruce unless he sends Dickie over for the weekend. I already told him that.”

Clark’s cheeks heat just listening to you talk. Not because of what you’re saying. But because of how you sound when you say it. Comfortable. Confident. Unfiltered. Even the way you say Alfred is affectionate and biting at the same time. Gotham to your core.

“Alright, Alfie. Gotta go. No, I’m not drinking too much caffeine. That’s a lie and you know it. Bye.”

You hang up and turn your attention to the rest of the room, sweeping your gaze around the bullpen like a queen taking inventory of her court.

“What’d I miss?” you ask, reaching for your coffee.

Lois, across from you, didn’t look up from her monitor. “You missed Jimmy flirting with Marcie from legal. Again.”

Jimmy Olsen, from the far side of the square of desks, turned his chair with all the mock indignation of someone deeply unashamed. “I wasn’t flirting. I was complimenting her boots.”

“You told her she had the stride of an Amazon warrior,” Lois deadpanned.

“Well, she does!” Jimmy said, throwing up his hands. “That’s empowering. I’m being supportive.”

You sipped your coffee, giving Clark a wink over the rim. “You’re one scandal away from a harassment workshop, Olsen.”

“Pffft. I’ve dated half the women on this floor.”

“Exactly.”

Lois snorted, and Clark tried very hard not to laugh. He tried even harder not to stare.

It was pointless.

You leaned back in your chair, arching slightly as you stretched—your blouse pulling just enough to make Clark look away before he went blind from the effort it took not to look. You tapped your pen against your lower lip as you glanced at the whiteboard across the bullpen.

“I see no one’s updated the lead stories,” you said casually. “So we’re still pretending the mayor’s brother being caught in a LexCorp-funded apartment with two unlicensed bounty hunters isn’t news?”

Perry White’s voice roared from his glass office. “I’m waiting on confirmation before we blast that one, Wayne!”

“Oh, sorry,” you replied, not even looking at him. “I forgot the Planet’s new slogan: ‘Cowards First.’”

Clark coughed to cover his laugh, and Lois shook her head, grinning.

“Do you wake up and choose violence or is it just muscle memory at this point?” Lois asked, not even hiding the fondness in her tone.

“Neither,” you said, rolling your chair closer to the below edge of the desk. Your knees brushed his. He stopped breathing. “I wake up and check if Gotham’s still a hellhole. Then I make myself look nice for Smallville here.”

You smiled at him, devilish. Clark’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

Jimmy leaned over the desk, pointing between the two of you. “This,” he said, “this is why I never bother flirting with you. I don’t like losing.”

“Oh, lover boy,” you purred. “No one even asked you to compete.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “And I never will again. Lesson learned.”

Lois chuckled, returning to her screen. “Good. Maybe now you’ll actually write your piece on the sewage reform bill.”

Jimmy groaned. “Please. Why do I always get the sexy stuff?”

Clark finally found his voice. “Because last time you covered a robbery, you took a selfie with the suspect.”

“He was holding the stolen merchandise!” Jimmy argued. “What was I supposed to do—ignore the story?”

You shook your head with a dramatic sigh. “You’re the reason Perry has a ‘No Selfies at Crime Scenes’ memo pinned to the break room door.”

Clark smiles, ducking his head toward his screen, pretending to reread a paragraph he’s already proofed twice. But your heel taps his shoe under the desk—lightly, casually—and the impact goes straight to his ribcage.

You sip your coffee and sigh happily. “Mm. You got the vanilla right this time.”

“I, uh—yeah,” Clark says. “I remembered.”

“Of course you did.” You grin, crossing one leg over the other. “You always do.”

He forces his eyes to his monitor. His vision is fine, of course. Superfine. He could read microscopic text if he wanted. Right now, though, even large font blurs when you look at him like that.

Lois finally glances up and gives you a once-over. “Did you steal that skirt from a teenager?”

You make a scandalized noise. “Lois Lane. Jealousy is unbecoming.”

“I’m just worried HR is gonna pass out in the hallway.”

“Please. HR loves me. They send me memes.”

Jimmy leans over the divider. “Is it true you threatened that CEO with a bottle of wine?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Technically, I described what a bottle of wine could do in the hands of a woman from Gotham. The threat was implied.”

Lois huffed. “God, you two are unbearable before ten.”

You wink. “We’re unbearable after ten, too. Just more caffeinated.”

A comfortable hum settles into the bullpen after that. Everyone returns to work—Lois muttering to herself, Jimmy editing photos, the low murmur of keyboards and printer hums filling the space. Clark focuses on his article, or at least pretends to. The screen glows back at him, a half-finished headline blinking expectantly. He tries again.

From his seat, he can see you—your expression flickering through a dozen small emotions as you scroll through your inbox, narrowing your eyes, muttering curses at editors, grinning when Jimmy shows you a ridiculous photo of a dog wearing sunglasses. He watches you like a man stranded in the desert watches a thundercloud. With reverence. With thirst.

It’s stupid, probably. This crush. This...thing.

But then again, everything about you is a little bit dangerous. A little bit impossible.

And still—he wants it. Wants you. Wants this part of his life that feels so close to normal, even if it isn’t.

Because you don’t know.

You don’t know who he is. What he is. You flirt with him like he’s just a man. You smile at him like he’s not carrying the weight of ten thousand secrets on his spine. And when your heel brushes his shoe again, just lightly, he lets himself smile back.

Just a little.

Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.

Moving to Metropolis had been a choice . . . unexpected to everyone close to you. Well, you didn't have many close people back on Gotham that weren't your brother, Alfred, and Dick. And Dick was your nephew, so that must say something. 

Growing up as orphans took its toll on you and your brother, but each of you took different paths. While Bruce trained in his youth to become Gotham's vigilante—the glorious Dark Knight—adopting Dick while on it, you had become more of a celebrity, always the center of attention. 

When you came of age, you became a model —while studying multiple careers: you were fascinated with the aspect of having many degrees since you could remember— and it wasn't until you moved to Metropolis several years later that you abandoned your career altogether.

It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it. You really enjoyed being a model. Especially when the shoot wasn't shared—the modeling world was very competitive, and quite exhausting, too.

But it wasn't enough.

You went to therapy for many years. Your brother hadn't been able to be convinced, but Alfred had insisted so much that you had no way of refusing. And it was in one of your last sessions that your psychologist had mentioned something about a new lease on life.

Perhaps she didn't mean exactly moving to another city, but you took it like that.

Gotham had been your cradle and your crypt. It raised you, starved you, scarred you. It made you what you are. But it also stole a piece of you when it took your parents. You were only eight, and you still remember the scream your brother made—guttural, inhuman—as he held your tiny shoulders and covered your eyes. He’d been just a kid, too.

You loved Bruce, deeply. You respected what he became. But the way he chose to fight back… it wasn’t your way.

You had to find your own.

That's how you ended up in Metropolis, with an excellent letter of recommendation (or rather, a favor) that led you right to where you are now. You lived well, combining the money from your last name with your salary, in a safe area, on the top floor of a tall building.

Metropolis differed vastly from Gotham. While Gotham rarely saw a ray of sunlight, Metropolis seemed flooded with it. There weren't as many villains as in your hometown either, but the ones that did exist were either pure aliens or completely enhanced. Meta-humans, they called them.

And here they didn't have a vigilante. They had a hero.

Superman.

Your brother doesn't especially likes him. Doesn't hate him either way. He just wants you safe, and if Superman is there to protect all of Metropolis, then he must be there to protect you as well. 

You don't worry much about it. If it's about burglars, you have a gun, a taser and a pepper spray so powerful that you could be arrested in at least five countries. If it's about aliens . . . well, you had a good life.

Lunch breaks at the Daily Planet were a coin toss. Sometimes, you barely got a fifteen-minute window to scarf down a protein bar between deadlines and chaos. Other times, like today, you managed to sneak out with Lois Lane—two of the sharpest tongues in the city wrapped in designer sunglasses and sarcasm, tucked into a booth in a tiny diner four blocks from the office.

You liked this place. A hole-in-the-wall with cracking linoleum and a grumpy waitress who called everyone “sweetheart” and meant it in a way that could also mean “dumbass.” The coffee was terrible, but the fries? Perfect. Greasy, salty, served on cracked white plates with tiny cups of spicy ketchup. You and Lois had claimed the corner booth months ago, and no one had dared to sit there since.

You pulled your sunglasses off your head, tossing them onto the table as you sank into the squeaky vinyl seat.

“I swear to god,” you muttered, unbuttoning the top of your blouse to breathe, “if Perry gives me one more rewrite on that Luthor piece, I’m going to throw myself out a window.”

Lois smirked over the rim of her iced tea. “He only pushes you because your drafts are so clean. You know he likes to feel like he’s doing something.”

“Yeah? Next time he wants to feel productive, he can scrub the bathrooms.” You stabbed a fry. “He’s lucky I don’t invoice him for every time he makes me put a period after LexCorp instead of Lexcorp.”

Lois’s laugh was soft, knowing, the kind that made her seem lighter than she ever let herself be at work. “You need a vacation.”

“I need a raise.”

“You’re already rich.”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want Perry’s money too. I’m a capitalist pig. I want your money while we’re at it.”

Lois chuckled again, shaking her head. “Gotham.”

“Damn right.”

It was easy, this. Effortless. You’d always gotten along well with women—grew up around men who didn’t talk about their feelings and a brother who bottled everything up until it cracked through his ribs—but Lois? Lois was like steel wrapped in velvet. Smart, intense, loyal to a fault. You liked her immediately. She reminded you of a fox—sharp, beautiful, and always watching.

You weren’t sure when you’d become best friends. It had just… happened. Shared assignments turned into late-night editing sessions, which turned into wine-fueled gossip nights, which eventually became something deeper. It felt good to have someone like her. 

She didn’t care that you were a Wayne. She didn’t care about Gotham. You were just you to her. You hadn’t had that in years.

“So,” Lois said, her voice carrying that sharp edge she got when she was gearing up to dissect something, “are we gonna talk about it or do I have to drag it out of you?”

You blinked at her. “Talk about what?”

She gave you a look. The Lois Lane look. The one that could strip paint from a wall and force you to confess crimes you hadn’t even committed.

“Oh no,” you said, pointing a fry at her like a weapon. “I am not talking about it.”

“You are absolutely talking about it,” she countered. “Because you’ve been mooning over him like a teenage girl with a crush on her math teacher, and I’m this close to staging an intervention.”

Your entire body went hot, like she’d just shouted the truth to the whole diner. “Lois—”

“Don’t Lois me,” she said firmly. “You are painfully, pathetically, devastatingly whipped for Clark Kent, and it’s embarrassing for both of us at this point.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I am not whipped.”

“You’re whipped,” she said again, sipping her tea with infuriating calm. “You’re so whipped you buy your outfits based on how you think he’ll react. I saw you this morning. That skirt? That was a weapon of mass destruction.”

You peeked through your fingers at her. “Okay, first of all, I looked amazing. And second of all…” You hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe I wanted him to notice.”

Lois leaned forward, smug. “And did he?”

You hated that she was making you say it out loud. “He… looked at me.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes!” you hissed. “Lois, it’s Clark. He looks at everyone like they hung the moon. That man probably blushes at Perry when he’s in a good mood.”

Lois laughed so hard she nearly choked on her tea. “Okay, first, I wish I could un-hear that mental image. Second, you’re wrong. Clark doesn’t look at me like that. Or Jimmy. Or anyone. He looks at you like that.”

You snorted, leaning back against the booth. “He’s just… nervous. He’s nervous around everyone. That’s his thing. He’s like a giant golden retriever with anxiety.”

Lois leveled you with another one of her patented, withering stares. “You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly. “I work hard at it.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Y/N. He likes you. He’s just shy. Painfully shy. The man can barely string a sentence together when you’re around.”

Your heart gave an unhelpful little flutter, and you immediately tried to squash it. “Or he’s just… shy in general.”

“No,” Lois said flatly. “Trust me, I’ve known him for years. He’s quiet, but he’s not shy. He’s the kind of guy who’s comfortable letting everyone else take the spotlight. Except with you. You short-circuit him.”

You stared at her, trying to will yourself not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope led to heartbreak. And you’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. “You really think he likes me?”

Lois smirked. “I know he likes you. You could cut the tension between you two with a butter knife. Honestly, it’s nauseating.”

You bit your lip, fiddling with your straw. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s Clark. He’s kind, and sweet, and ridiculously good-looking, and—”

“And you’re crazy about him,” Lois supplied.

“Shut up.”

“You are,” she said, grinning like the devil. “You’re so gone for him it’s painful.”

You shoved a fry in your mouth to avoid answering, chewing furiously. But she wasn’t wrong. Clark Kent had somehow managed to completely undo you. Which was ridiculous, because you’d grown up surrounded by some of the most intimidating, impressive men on the planet. Bruce. Alfred. Hell, you had met the most attractive men on Earth while being a model…

Clark Kent made your heart beat like you were sixteen again.

“He’s so fucking cute.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Violently.” You popped another fry into your mouth. “Do you think he knows? Like, knows?”

Lois blinked at you over her straw. “Are you serious?”

“I mean… I flirt with him a lot.”

“You practically sit on his desk and purr.”

“He never flirts back.”

Lois put her drink down with a thunk. “Y/N. He stutters when you look at him. He spilled an entire latte on his lap last week because you called him Smallville.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Okay, but—he’s like that with everyone, isn’t he?”

“No. He’s not. He’s awkward, sure, but with you? It’s different. What I'm saying is that Clark Kent is terminally down bad for you. And has been since you showed up at the Planet for the first time in Prada heels and a war crime of a pencil skirt.”

You smiled, teeth flashing. “So you noticed that skirt.”

“Everyone noticed that skirt. Including HR.”

“Still not my shortest.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. And half the office thinks you’re already dating.”

You blinked. “They do?”

“Of course they do,” she said. “You two sit practically on top of each other all day. You bring him coffee, he brings you bagels, you touch his leg under the desk, he turns the color of a tomato… it’s a whole thing.”

You buried your face in your hands again, frustrated with yourself. “I’m going to die.”

Lois grinned wickedly. “Or you’re going to kiss him. Your choice.”

The walk back to the Daily Planet is slow, heavy with the weight of too many fries and just enough gossip to give the next hour of productivity a fighting chance. You and Lois move together the way you always do—shoulder to shoulder, stride for stride, two women used to commanding space and rarely apologizing for it.

Lois is telling you about a source she has in the Mayor’s office—a guy who apparently sweats like a faucet when asked about Luthor’s latest construction contracts.

“You should see him,” she says, half-laughing as you both round the corner. “One mention of ‘independent oversight’ and the man’s upper lip turns into Niagara Falls.”

You snort, adjusting your sunglasses on top of your head. “I’ll go with you next time. I’ve been told I have a very disarming presence.”

“Oh, you disarm alright,” Lois mutters, pushing open the lobby doors. “Mostly by blowing people’s equilibrium to hell.”

“Why thank you,” you grin. “I do my best.”

You ride the elevator up with the kind of easy silence only best friends share. Lois doesn’t press, not anymore. She’s said her piece about Clark—twice—and now she’s letting the cards fall where they may. Which is good. Because your heart is still somewhere back in that booth, fluttering like a moth caught in a lampshade.

The bullpen is quieter now, the post-lunch lull settling in. Phones ring, keys clack, and the occasional shout from Perry’s office cuts through like a cleaver. Jimmy’s at his desk, editing something with his headphones on. Lois splits off with a “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” and you answer with “That’s a very short list,” earning a wink and a wave as she disappears.

You move through the bullpen with purpose—heels tapping soft but steady—and you’re halfway to your desk when something catches your eye. Or rather, someone.

Clark.

He’s exactly where you left him: sitting ramrod straight, tie slightly loosened now, glasses perched just so, brow furrowed in concentration. From behind, he looks painfully composed. Too composed. The kind of composed that only comes from total panic.

And the screen in front of him?

Well.

That’s your face.

Your body.

A high-resolution photo splashed across his monitor, larger than life. You in pale green lingerie, draped across a white velvet couch, lips parted, hair tousled, gaze direct. The photo is a couple years old, but unmistakably you. From a Gotham editorial that never ran publicly, just teased in hush-hush corners of the internet and fashion magazines. A private, exclusive shoot—back when you still occasionally let stylists talk you into anything.

It wasn’t obscene, not exactly, but it was… suggestive.

Clark Kent is staring at it like it might explode.

You stop walking.

Then, slowly, carefully, like a predator who’s just spotted something delicious, you change course. You drift behind his desk with feigned nonchalance, the lazy curl of a smirk already blooming on your lips. He hasn’t noticed yet. He’s too focused. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You lean in close. Not too close—just enough. Close enough to breathe the same air. Close enough that he can feel the softness of your blouse graze the back of his shoulder. You rest your chin on the slope between his collar and the thick fabric of his suit jacket. He froze, every muscle going tight as though you’d just hit him with a Taser.

Your voice is warm honey when you speak.

“Well, well. I didn’t know I had a fan club.”

Clark jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

“Y-Y/N—!” His voice pitches up. He fumbles for the keyboard like it might save him, slamming a key—probably Escape, poor thing—but it only zooms the photo in further. Right on your midriff.

You raise an eyebrow, still resting your chin on him like you belong there. “Nice monitor, Smallville. That screen quality’s amazing. Did the Planet get new tech or are you just… investing in some private research?”

“I—No, I didn’t—This isn’t—” he’s turning bright red, hands practically slamming at the keys now in pure panic. The image disappears with a blur of motion, but the damage is done. The shade of him. Scarlet all the way up to his ears. You swear even the back of his neck is blushing. 

You grin, slow and wicked.

“Relax,” you murmur near his ear. “It’s not like I’m offended. I’d say I’m flattered.”

Clark makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a strangled gasp.

You step around his chair, finally moving to stand in front of him. Not that it helps. You’re still too close—just standing, slightly leaning into the wood. And you’re looking at him now. Really looking. Fingers resting lazily on the edge of his desk, eyes soft but unreadable.

“That’s an old photo,” you said conversationally, eyes flicking toward the screen. “At least two years, maybe three. I’m impressed you dug it up.”

He made a strangled noise. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, sure,” you interrupted again, smirking. “You just… accidentally stumbled across me in lingerie on a random Tuesday afternoon. Happens all the time.”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough with mortification. “I can explain—”

You tilt your head.

“But between you and me,” you say, voice low, “there are… better views than that photo.”

Clark blinks rapidly, shoulders so stiff they could crack. “Better—?”

You let the silence stretch, letting him squirm just a little longer. Watching him. Watching how hard he tries not to look at your mouth. Your legs. Anywhere but your eyes. He fails, beautifully.

You smile—real slow, like it knows too much.

“I mean,” you shrug, feigning innocence, “if you want an updated photoshoot, all you have to do is ask. I’m very cooperative when properly motivated.”

The sound that escaped him wasn’t even a word. More like a faint, startled noise from the back of his throat.

You straightened up at last, letting him breathe, and smoothed your skirt with a practiced flick of your fingers. “Anyway,” you said breezily, as though you hadn’t just completely destroyed him in front of his own computer. “I should get back to work.”

Clark turned slowly in his chair, wide-eyed and still visibly reeling, his tie slightly askew. “Y/N, I—”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “No need to explain, Smallville. Really. Just… try not to get distracted, hmm? Perry would hate for you to miss a deadline because you were staring at my legs on a screen.”

You gave him one last, devastating smile before gliding toward your desk, heels clicking softly on the floor. Behind you, you could feel his gaze follow you like a physical thing, hot and helpless and utterly, wonderfully Clark.

Yeah, maybe Lois was right.

[thefourofdiamondsart]

The king ran to embrace him;

more than a hundred times

he hugs and kisses him.

As soon as he got a chance

he gave him back all of his land;

he gave him more than I’m telling you.

“Bisclavret” by Marie de France, 12th C.

Prints available here!

[lurker-extraordinaire-657645]

people dont talk about the insane trauma bonding shit the exitors have to have going on enough. because i think about it constantly

[dearru]

the only exception ! | ft. hq boys

-> pairing: miya atsumu, suna rintarou, hinata shoyo x gn!reader | sfw | cw: quick blurbs! | mlist 

-> synopsis: you’re the only one who can get your boyfriend to do certain things. 

₊˚ෆ MIYA ATSUMU dislikes people cheering while he serves. His infamous topspins and floaters are renowned in the volleyball world– for good reason. To stake his control over the court, he refuses any distractions, and he silences the crowd with one flick of his wrist. He’s been known to give death glares to anybody, even his own fans, who disobey his command for quiet. 

So when you, his newly minted significant other, shatter the careful still Atsumu has crafted by bellowing out his name in an otherwise silent stadium, gasps ripple through the stands. 

Atsumu’s teammates freeze, interest piqued at how he’d react. Sure, you’re dating now, but Atsumu’s a very harsh guy. Nobody would put it past him to scold you on the spot. The ball bounces against the court once, twice, and then three times, like a ticking bomb. The crowd shifts uncomfortably, waiting for his anger to explode.

It never comes. 

Instead, he serves the ball as normal. It’s an ace. And when it’s over, he looks at you with a knowing grin of appreciation instead of his usual glare. 

Atsumu hates the shrill sound of cheers when he’s about to serve, but he’s come to find that if it’s yours– he doesn’t quite mind. 

₊˚ෆ SUNA RINTAROU is a generally expressionless guy. It’s gotten him into trouble more times than he can count.

When he sprained his ankle in middle school, he barely winced. When his little sister was born, he yawned. When he landed his first spike as a professional athlete, he hummed.

No matter the scenario, a disinterested look is permanently etched into his features. (The only exception is the upturn of his lips when he sees his friends doing something particularly idiotic.) 

It’s not that he doesn’t care– it’s just how he is. This is a truth that all those close to Rintarou have come to understand. 

This truth is why, when he introduces you to his loved ones for the first time, they’re stunned. They’re shocked when they see the bright red his face burns after you give him a kiss on the cheek. They’re floored by the smile that possesses his lips as he steals glances at you from across the room. They’re surprised by the look of absolute adoration in his eyes whenever you do really anything. 

Rintarou’s always been difficult to read, but for you, he’s feelings are entirely transparent.  

₊˚ෆ HINATA SHOYO always stays late to practice. Being the dedicated player that he is, he will train until his legs shake and his breath gives out. His teammates know never to approach him when he’s in his groove; otherwise, he’ll find a way to coax them into another round of drills. He’s an immovable force, immune to persuasion, and entirely impossible to convince to slow down.

“Leaving early” is not in his vocabulary. 

So when, one day, his teammates see him trek into the locker room before the sun has even set, they worry he’s gone ill. 

But when Shoyo reassures them, with a bright smile, that he’s just leaving early to meet with you, the new person he’s been seeing, for dinner– his teammates think he’s lost his mind. Their expressions of concern morph into ones of complete disbelief. 

What curse have you placed on the rigid player to compel him to act in such an uncharacteristic way? Have you threatened his family? Are you blackmailing him? 

The answer is none of the above. 

Shoyo doesn’t stay late to practice out of obligation. He does it because he adores what he does. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than on the court.

But recently, he’s come to discover that there’s one place he loves being just a smidge more. 

With you. 

–a/n: just smth quick i wrote to procrastinate studying! LMAO

shoyo tag: @cherrysurf

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers ⟢

one night was all it took for your world to unravel. you live now as a princess with no kingdom, a daughter without a family. but when jeonghan reminds you what it feels like to be selfish again, you're torn between reclaiming your birthright and surrendering to the comfort of his arms forever.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 23.8k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, angst, grief/mourning, slow burn, yearning if you squint i guess, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; remember when i said this was going to have two parts only? yeah about that... :') the lore was just A Lot, so to speak LOL. it's nigh impossible to conclude in two chapters, so surprise! there will be part three hehe (this is real, no more additions i PROMISE). and just a heads up to those seeing this fic for the first time, this is PART 2!! not a lot will make sense if you don't read part 1 (as linked below hehe).

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

★ SMUT TAGS; oral (f receiving), intercrural sex, drunk sex, they're both just yearning so much for each other your honor, jh still calls you 'your grace' in bed lol, explicit letters? they're freaky with their correspondences (think: medieval sexting), masturbation, fantasizing abt ur lover who's half a kingdom away

The portrait hall was colder than you remembered.

Your steps didn’t echo much across the marble, muffled by the hush that clung to the air like dust. It smelled of polished stone, old candle wax, and something harder to name. You weren’t supposed to be here, not alone and not this late, but no one stopped you anymore.

You walked the corridor slowly, trailing your fingers along the stone. Paintings lined both sides—every monarch who ruled before your father, frozen in oil and velvet, with stiff collars and colder eyes. You didn’t know all their names, but they were not the ones you came here for.

The last portrait at the end of the hall is framed in gold. Lit by a dozen quiet candles, it hung just a little higher than the rest.

Your mother.

You tilted your head back to see her face. She looked taller in the painting than anyone ever described—poised, regal, with a kind of beauty that didn’t invite affection so much as reverence. She looked like you. Or maybe you looked like her. You’d heard it since you were old enough to understand words—how you were her mirror. Her shadow. Her echo.

For a long time, you simply stared, hoping something might change. That if you stood still enough, the memory you never had might rise out of the quiet. That she might turn her head to smile and speak with you. 

“Your Highness.”

You didn’t turn right away

Siwon stepped closer, his shoes making no more noise than yours, and bowed low. Neither formal nor stiff, but familiar—the same way he always did with you and your father.

“You take after her more than you know,” he said softly. 

You kept your eyes straight. “But I never met her.”

“No.” Siwon stood beside you as he folded his hands behind his back. “But she’s with you, all the same.”

You hesitated. “What was she like?”

The king’s advisor was quiet for a long moment. When you looked up at him, he was watching the painting with something gentle in his face—like even now, after all these years, he was still trying to remember the sound of her voice.

“The queen was a quiet woman,” he said. “The court often mistook that for softness, for weakness, but it was far from that. I’d daresay, what she had was strength. She didn’t have to raise her voice to be heard.”

You didn’t answer, but you listened anyway.

“Her magic is… unique,” he said. “She could speak to animals.”

Your brow furrowed. “People can do that?”

He smiled faintly. “Not most people. But your mother could.”

Your chest tightened. The thought felt too large for you, too wild and far away.

“Do you think I can speak to animals too?” you asked.

Siwon turned to you fully, studying your face in the candlelight. His expression was unreadable, but not unkind.

“I do not know,” he told you honestly. “What I do know is this, Your Highness—you will be great. Just as the queen was. In your own way.”

You nodded, slowly, but your eyes were already drifting back to the painting. Her eyes were the same color as yours. But hers knew more. As if they had already seen the road waiting for you.

A faint breeze stirred through the corridor. One of the candles flickered, its flame bowing low before righting itself again. The shadows on the queen’s painted cheek shifted just for a moment, as if she’d breathed.

You stood very still.

Beyond the glass, an owl perched silently on a high branch, its feathers blending into the dark. You didn’t see it, but it watched you with eyes the color of tarnished gold—patient, ancient, and strange.

Siwon said nothing more. He only bowed once, and left you alone in the hush. You stayed a little longer to gaze up at your mother, memorizing the lines of a face you somehow already carried. Then, without a word, you turned and walked back down the hall. 

Behind you, the owl did not blink. Its eyes held no judgment. 

Only memory.

The road was longer than it should’ve been.

Ancarra sat beside Seraphia on every map you’d ever seen, but tonight, it felt impossibly far—like a dream slipping out of reach. Ahead, Soonyoung gripped the reins tight as the coach hurtled forward, the horses driving through the dark as if speed alone could outrun the ruin swallowing your homeland.

Minghao’s scheme was an attack on all fronts. He didn’t just seize the capital, he struck it like a blade to the heart, then sent his forces spilling outward into the neighboring cities before anyone could react. Fires erupted within hours. Screams echoed through the streets. Those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies left where they fell as a message.

You hated that you were fleeing while your people suffered. The guilt clawed at your chest, louder than the thunder of hooves or the distant roar of collapsing stone. You should’ve stayed. Fought. Died, maybe. Anything but this helpless retreat into the night.

The carriage jolted over uneven ground, wheels rattling as it sped through the dark. Inside, it was tense and still, save for the tremble in Joshua’s clasped hands. He sat across from you, his usual calm replaced by something sharper. You’d never seen him this shaken before, but how could he not be? He came to this kingdom to partake in your name-day celebration, and now you were all escaping from the ashes of the capital—its streets overrun, its people scattered, its sky lit with fire. 

Every now and then, Joshua looked like he might speak. A prayer, maybe. A scrap of comfort. He was good at those. But you didn’t move. Didn’t meet his gaze. Didn’t say a word.

So he stayed silent too.

Each breath you took was shaky as the night’s events replayed in your mind. From the argument that broke out between Jeonghan and Minghao, to leaving your father and Siwon and Reya behind. You wanted to scream, to cry, to tear the world apart until it made sense again. A pit had settled in your stomach, cold and unmoving, as if grief had anchored itself there before you’d even had time to mourn. 

You hadn’t even noticed Jeonghan shifting closer until you felt the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours. There were no clever remarks. No biting retorts. This silence was unlike him. Jeonghan had always met fear with wit, always masked discomfort with a smirk or a well-timed jab. Now, he just sat beside you like he understood. Like he knew that if he spoke, the weight you were carrying might shatter into something neither of you could hold.

You only realized you were shaking until Jeonghan shifted beside you, just enough that his voice could reach you without disturbing the hush in the carriage.

“Back in Seraphia,” he said quietly, “Joshua and I used to sit through hours of meetings. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even glance at each other without getting called out.”

Joshua stirred across from you, lifting his head just slightly at the mention.

“So,” Jeonghan went on, “we came up with a system.”

He reached down and tapped your knee once, light and deliberate over the fabric of your dress.

“One tap means ‘okay.’ Or ‘understood.’”

Then he tapped twice.

“Two means ‘I’m here.’”

You blinked, the simplicity of it landing with more weight than it should’ve. You turned to look at him, but Jeonghan wasn’t watching you—his eyes stayed focused somewhere just past the smoke-fogged window. He wasn’t trying to fix anything. He was just… offering.

Across from you, Joshua gave a faint, weary smile. “He’d overuse it,” he said softly, his voice hoarse but laced with familiarity. “Especially when he wanted me to lie for him.”

Jeonghan didn’t deny it. But he tapped your knee twice again.

I’m here.

You didn’t know where a trick like that would ever be useful again. But something about it made the carriage feel a little less cold. A little less like a coffin.

With a quaint sigh, you leaned into him just a bit, and finally let your eyes close as the carriage hurtled deeper into the night, toward a future that hadn’t yet begun—and away from everything you could never return to.

You fled Ancarra at midnight. You arrived in Seraphia at midnight, too.

Weary didn’t begin to describe it—there was a bone-deep exhaustion no salve could soothe, no rest could touch. But still, you pressed on because you had to. Because turning back was no longer an option.

The royal gates opened in silence.

No guards shouted. No horns were blown. Only those within the highest circle had been told of your arrival. Soonyoung stayed close. He hadn’t let go of your hand once since you left the carriage. Even now, as the royal halls unfolded before you, too lavish and too golden in the low candlelight, his grip was still tight, still trembling.

Jeonghan and Joshua led the way. Their home was pristine, but it was the tension in the air that choked you. Familiar, but no longer comforting.

You’d been to this castle before—more times than you could count. You’d played in these halls. Danced in that ballroom. Once tripped down those stairs and cried into the queen’s lap until she bribed you with an entire tray of sweets. And still, you’d never felt smaller than you did tonight.

The Seraphian king and queen were already waiting when you were ushered into one of the drawing rooms. They looked exactly as you remembered them: regal, elegant, kind. But this time, the queen didn’t reach for your cheek with a gentle tease. She reached for you like a mother.

“My dear,” she whispered, folding you into her arms. “Oh, my poor girl.”

That was all it took. Your knees nearly gave way, and you had to grip her robes to keep yourself upright. But you didn’t cry just yet. You just clung to her like a lifeline.

Soonyoung bowed hastily, words pouring from his mouth before anyone else could speak. “Your Majesties, I—please forgive me. If Renxing learns you’ve taken us in, they’ll see it as an act of war. We didn’t mean to bring that to your doorstep. We’ll leave at first light—”

“Nonsense,” said the king, rising to his feet. “You will do no such thing.”

The queen nodded. “You are children. Brave, loyal children—but still children. You should not have to live on the run. Not like this.”

Joshua stepped closer to your side, quiet but watchful. Jeonghan on the other hand, hadn’t moved far either—lingering near the door, as though still expecting trouble to follow through the threshold. But the queen looked at him then. 

“Jeonghan. Take them to the west wing. Let her rest,” she said all while smoothing a hand across your hair. “Tomorrow we’ll speak with the court, but tonight… She's home.”

Home.

You didn’t know if this place still qualified as that. But you let yourself be led away anyway, the promise of a bed and safety something you no longer had the strength to refuse.

Shortly after stepping into the west wing, Joshua handed you a change of clothes. The fabric was soft, finer than anything you remembered from Seraphia’s stores—lavender-dyed linen, threaded with silver at the hems. Fit for royalty. 

You barely registered it when he placed the bundle in your arms. Your eyes kept flickering to the stonework. The sconces. The tapestries. All things that reminded you of home.

Of a home that was no longer yours.

Jeonghan said nothing as he walked ahead, guiding you and Soonyoung down the hall. He knew these corridors like the back of his hand. You remembered once accusing him of being born with the entire palace floor plan stamped into his skull. Now you trailed behind him like a ghost, your hand still clasped around your advisor’s. When you reached the two doors at the end of the hall, the older prince opened both. 

“These rooms are yours for as long as you need them.”

Soonyoung started to step away, finally giving you a little space. But your grip tightened, your breath catching in your throat.

“No,” you said quietly, urgently. “Don’t.”

Your advisor blinked. “...Princess?”

You turned to Jeonghan. You hadn’t called him by name once since fleeing the castle, but now, your voice cracked under the weight of formality. “May I share a room with him? Just for tonight.”

It was strange. The way the words sounded in your mouth, like they belonged to someone else. But you couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone. You were used to the velvet canopy of your bed. The tinkle of windchimes outside your window. Reya curled beside your feet, a silent guardian through the night. Tonight, you had nothing. 

No father. No Reya. No home.

You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And Soonyoung—

He was the last piece of Ancarra you had left.

“Of course.”

Your eyes met Jeonghan’s for only a moment. He didn’t press. Didn’t question. Didn’t flinch at the unspoken wound in your gaze. He simply told you, “Rest easy. I’ll be right next door if you need anything.”

And then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Joshua quickly excused himself to his own bedchambers down the hall as well, bidding the two of you a good night’s sleep. The concern lingered in the younger prince’s gaze, but like Jeonghan, he knew better than to press. You wouldn’t know how to respond in your current state either.

So for tonight, you clung to what was left. To Soonyoung’s hand, and the sound of your own breath.

The council chamber was stifling. Heavy with incense, arguments, and the scent of fear. Seraphia’s nobles lined the carved obsidian table, draped in silk and pride. The royal mages sat to the side, faces sharp with suspicion. You stood beneath their scrutiny like a shadow that did not belong.

“…and still, we do not know the full scope of the damage,” one mage—high-collared and ageless—was saying. “No formal declaration. No surviving messengers. Instead, we’re relying on the testimony of fugitives.”

You flinched at the word.

Soonyoung stepped forward immediately, jaw tight with barely restrained frustration. “Her Highness is not a fugitive. She is Ancarra’s rightful heir.”

“And Ancarra,” one noblewoman drawled, “may very well be gone.”

Jeonghan, seated beside the Seraphian king, said nothing. But you felt his gaze flick toward you, subtle and reassuring. His fingers drummed once, then again, against the dark wood of the table. Two quick taps.

It came and went like a ripple in still water. But you caught the message, and with it, the ache in your chest lightened just slightly. Jeonghan couldn’t speak now, not when the room brimmed with eyes trained on every twitch and breath. But he had found a way to reach you anyway. 

I’m here.

His father leaned forward.

“We have no confirmation,” the king said. “There have been no proclamations from Renxing. No movement at our borders either. Everything surrounding Ancarra has been… suspiciously quiet. We mustn’t act hastily.”

“You are asking us,” another noble spat, “to shelter the target of an imperial coup. The general of the Renxing army ransacked her castle—what happens when he turns his gaze here?”

“And what happens,” Soonyoung countered, “if we do nothing? If we let Renxing consume one kingdom after another while we pretend not to see?”

A harsh silence fell.

Someone muttered under their breath, “We are not ready for war.”

“We don’t have to be,” Jeonghan said at last, voice calm but deadly precise. “Not yet, at least.”

All heads turned.

“The princess and her advisor will remain under our protection,” he went on. “If Renxing wanted to make a move, they would have done it already. Minghao isn’t a fool—he’s waiting to see how the other kingdoms respond. How we respond.”

“And if our response is weakness,” someone murmured, “he’ll strike.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Not with the sight of your father’s blood still fresh in your memory. Not with Reya’s last words still echoing through you like the toll of a funeral bell. But you felt Jeonghan’s gaze on you again, a flicker of warmth in a room gone cold.

Two taps on the table.

I’m here.

Time passed like molasses. Slow and suffocating.

In the weeks that followed, you learned what it meant to haunt a place while still being alive. You were a ghost in the Seraphian castle—seen but untouched, spoken of but rarely spoken to. After that council meeting, the king swore every noble and mage present to silence. A blood oath of secrecy. Your name, your survival, your very presence within Seraphia’s marble halls became a state secret punishable by death.

You knew it was necessary. Still, it left a hollow sort of guilt in your chest. How many of them resented you for it? How many feared the noose for sheltering the broken thing Ancarra left behind?

You had nowhere else to go.

So you stayed. Hidden.

Some days, you didn’t rise from bed. Others, you sat at the same window for hours, watching the sunlight shift across the floorboards without ever touching your face. Birds came sometimes—tiny, curious things you would have spoken to once without thinking. But now their songs only deepened the quiet inside you.

You didn’t speak to them.

You didn’t speak much at all.

Soonyoung tried, in his quiet and patient way. But even he couldn’t always get through. He gave you space, and Jeonghan filled in the spaces you didn’t know how to ask for. He never pushed. Never chided you for letting yourself drown in your grief. 

Instead, he left things for you to have. A fresh cup of tea on your bedside table. A shawl when the castle halls turned bitter cold. A book he thought you might like, even if the pages remained untouched for weeks. Joshua would come by to spare you the exact same kindness every now and again, but it was different when it was Jeonghan. 

You weren’t used to this version of him. It even unsettled you at first. You’d built your walls tall and sharp, braced for the inevitable moment he’d strike a nerve just for the fun of it. But it never came. Jeonghan did not demand anything from you. Not even conversation.

He simply remained.

Sometimes, you would catch him watching you from the doorway of whatever room you’d choose to linger in that day. Not like a hawk, but like a boy who’d once laughed too loud and too often, now standing very still for fear of making you disappear. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but you let him linger. 

One morning, you actually made it to the dining hall.

You weren’t even that hungry, but Soonyoung had pressed gently and Jeonghan had waited in the corridor without saying a word, just long enough for you to force yourself out of bed and into something clean. That was how most things happened lately. Not because you wanted them to. But because the people who hadn’t left you yet… waited long enough.

You sat alone at a small table in the far end of the hall, poking at a bowl of warm barley stew. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the morning sun slanted through stained glass in ribbons of gold and violet. You barely noticed.

“Princess?”

You looked up.

The woman that approached you was unfamiliar. Mid-thirties, maybe. Her pale robes were brushed with ink black sigils and constellations. You’ve studied Seraphia's geography before, so you vaguely recognized the embroidered crest on her clothes. She was a royal mage of Aragorn, one of the southern cities.

You blinked at her, unsure what to say. The woman didn’t bow, but she placed her hand gently over her chest in a gesture of greeting.

“I hope I’m not intruding, Your Highness. My name is Taeyeon,” she said softly. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You stared for a second too long, then dropped your eyes back to your half-eaten bowl. 

“I’m… still alive.”

The words escaped your lips with no real thought. You hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but they were true. And in some small, exhausted part of you, it felt like that was enough. However, Taeyeon didn’t smile at your answer, nor did she grimace. All she offered in response was the slightest nod of her head. 

“It’s a relief that you’re very much alive,” she said. “But, Princess, are you truly living?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because that sentence cut straight through you like a drawn blade. Your spoon fell gently back into the bowl as your chest started to ache. Your breath hitched before you could stop it, and in that flicker of pain, you remembered:

Ancarra will never die as long as you live.

You had survived that night; you were surviving still, but you weren’t living.  Not in a way Reya would have believed in. Not in a way your father would have wanted for you.

Taeyeon didn’t press you for an answer. She simply stood there, hands folded loosely in front of her, watching with the kind of stillness that made you feel like she saw more than she should. Not just your body seated at the table, but the frayed thing beneath it trying not to come apart.

After a moment, she spoke again. 

“In Aragorn, when we lose someone,” she said, “we say: May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.”

You lifted your head. Taeyeon gave a small smile before continuing.

“It means there’s no shame in not feeling whole,” she explained. “Sometimes the part of us that knows how to live stays behind with the ones we lost. But that part can find its way back, when we’re ready to want it again.”

You couldn’t respond, but you didn’t turn from her, either.

Taeyeon inclined her head again. “Forgive me for interrupting your morning, Princess. I’ll take my leave.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, robes trailing soft behind her, the sigils on her sleeves catching light like starlight on ink. 

That evening, the castle was quiet. 

You sat by the window, letting the breeze pull through in slow, whispering drifts. Moonlight spilled across the floor in a soft silver veil. You hadn’t lit a candle. The dark felt easier somehow—like it knew how to hold the ache without asking you to explain.

Taeyeon’s words still echoed in your chest.

May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.

You repeated it in your head like a spell, tracing it over the ache in your ribs, the hollow behind your sternum. And for the first time in weeks, you felt… lighter. As if some part of you was no longer curled in on itself.

A knock at the door broke the quiet.

Soonyoung stepped inside after your soft murmur of permission. His brows were drawn, a solemn expression fixed to his face as he closed the door behind him. He looked exhausted—but it wasn’t just that. You recognized it now. Determination. The kind that didn’t come without a cost.

“…There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.

You looked at him. And your stomach twisted before he even began.

“I’ve made the decision to return to Ancarra. Or beyond, if that’s where the truth leads.” His voice was calm, but beneath it, his hands were clenched. “It’s been more than a month, and we still don’t know what Minghao truly wants. Or if the Renxing emperor is even complicit in his actions. That silence is not mercy—it’s misdirection.”

“... So you’re leaving me?” Your body tensed, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. “You’re leaving me alone?”

Soonyoun’s expression grew even more pained. “I must, Your Highness. It’s the only way we can take back the kingdom.”

You stood too quickly. The chair screeched behind you.

“But you don’t even have magic, Soonyoung!” Your voice cracked like glass. “How will you protect yourself? What if—what if—”

“He won’t go alone, Your Grace.” 

The interruption came from the doorway.

Jeonghan leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. You didn’t even notice him slipping into your bedchambers. 

“Soonyoung asked for my counsel before he made this decision. Seraphia will assign him two of our finest knights. They’ve been given clearance to act under our name, and they shall die before they let harm come to him.”

But none of that comforted you. None of it made the hollow, aching grief in your chest feel any less unbearable. Because it wasn’t just about strategy or survival.

It was about losing the one constant you had left.

“I can’t…” Your voice was hoarse as tears slipped past your lashes. “I can’t lose you too.”

Soonyoung crossed the room in three strides, and this time, he didn’t wait for permission. He held you as your breath shook, as your hands clutched at his sleeves, as all the agony you’d kept buried for weeks came tumbling loose from your chest.

“You won’t lose me,” he murmured into your hair. 

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Swear it. Swear you’ll come back to me alive. Swear you won’t even think about letting yourself get killed out there.”

Soonyoung  raised a hand to his heart and bowed his head solemnly. 

“I swear it. “On Ancarra. On my life. I will return to you.”

At that moment, you believed him.

Because you had to.

The library was quiet this afternoon.

You sat tucked into your usual corner, nestled between shelves that reached toward the vaulted ceiling like ancient sentinels. A book rested open in your lap—one Jeonghan had brought you days ago—its pages worn at the edges, words curling like ivy down the margins. The scent of dust and cedar wrapped around you, warm and unintrusive.

You'd begun venturing beyond your chambers more often now. Not much. Not far. But it was something. The worst of the weight had lifted, even if grief still hung from your shoulders like a veil. You could breathe again, even if each breath was fragile.

But you still kept your distance.

The Seraphian nobles who roamed the castle in silks and polished boots looked at you like a stain on the tapestries—an echo of a ruined kingdom. Their glances were sharp and slick with quiet disdain, and so you’d learned to disappear before they could speak your name.

Here in the library, though, no one expected anything of you.

You had just tucked your knees beneath you, settling deeper into the window seat’s cushions, when the door eased open with a soft creak.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway with a bundle of red roses in his hands.

You blinked. “What… is this?”

The prince stepped inside, the edge of his cloak brushing the floor like a velvet shadow. “What does it look like?” he said, one brow lifting. “Am I not allowed to bring flowers to my betrothed?”

You stared at him. Then at the roses. Then back again. “…Did you pick those from the palace gardens?”

“Not quite. Shua bought them for me from a florist in the city.” A crooked, boyish smile tugged at his lips. “So maybe it’s a gift from him, too.”

You took them slowly, careful not to crush the velvet petals. The scent was unexpectedly sweet—deep, almost honeyed. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured. Then, with a bitter little laugh, “But… can I still be called your betrothed when my kingdom is in ruins?”

Jeonghan didn’t even hesitate. He crossed the room without hesitation and sank into the seat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched.

“I’m betrothed to you,” he said, brushing your cheek delicately with his knuckles. “Not your crown. Not your court. You.”

The roses trembled slightly in your grip. You looked down at them, then at his other hand resting between you. That warmth beneath your ribs stirred again. Like the first hint of spring in frozen ground.

You lowered your gaze, letting the silence settle between you.

The roses in your lap were the same deep red as the ones that always bloomed late in your garden back home. You hadn’t thought about those roses in months. Maybe longer.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the stems.

You’d spent over ten years loathing Jeonghan. Not because he was a stranger. but because he never missed a chance to get under your skin. He’d tease you until your temper frayed, smirk when you snapped, and always walked away looking far too pleased with himself.

And by some twist of fate, the two of you fell into each other in ways that would have made his mother faint. You hadn’t stopped being confused. Not when he kissed you back behind that statue of a winged-lion. And certainly not now, with red roses in your lap and his breath soft beside your cheek.

If only he’d been like this from the start, you thought. We would’ve been married at eighteen.

But you didn’t say it aloud. You didn’t dare. Because what if this was just another version of him you didn’t know how to keep?

“…Thank you,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan didn’t look away when you voiced your gratitude. He just nodded once and then leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the moment stretch into something more familiar. 

“You know… since you’ve been out and about lately, I was wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If you’d be interested in getting a bit of exercise.” His mouth twitched. 

You blinked. “What kind of exercise?”

“The kind that gets your blood moving. Not a walk in the gardens or a stroll in the city,” he added, as if reading your mind. “Something a little more… hands-on.”

You arched a brow. “Are you offering to fight me?”

“Please.” He huffed a laugh. “I like my bones unbroken.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“I was thinking,” he continued, “the captain of the royal guard is in the capital for once. He’s only around for a few days, and I figured… he might be a good sparring partner. If you’re interested.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the roses in your lap. You hadn’t picked up a sword in—gods, months now. Maybe longer. Before everything fell apart, you’d been too busy preparing for your name-day. For the wedding. For the future you were supposed to have. But now that future was uncertain, and you were tired of feeling like a ghost inside it.

You let out a slow breath. “All right. It’s about time I stretched my legs.”

“Perfect. Seungcheol gets cranky in the mornings, but it’ll be worth your time,” he reassured.

That’s how you found yourself following Jeonghan to the castle’s training grounds. You were given a set of training clothes before you left—the fabric lighter than your usual garments, loose enough for movement, fitted enough not to snag. 

The castle’s training grounds were nestled behind the east wing, flanked by low stone walls and a cluster of blooming trees that masked the sound of the city beyond. A rack of weapons stood at the far end, well-maintained and meticulously ordered. You could see chalk lines on the ground, which Jeonghan said were for marking the sparring space.

Everything here breathed discipline.

The captain of the royal guard was already at the center of the yard, shirt damp with sweat, muscles taut with the effort of repetition. He held a longsword in one hand, his other arm wrapped loosely behind his back, and swung with precise, unhurried control—over and over, like a pendulum. 

“Seungcheol does that a thousand times every day,” Jeonghan whispered. “Exactly a thousand. He won’t stop until he hits the count.”

You watched the glint of the blade arc through the air again. “Why?”

“He says if his body forgets how to move, his men might not live long enough to remind him.”

At the sound of your footsteps, Seungcheol paused mid-swing. He didn’t sheathe the sword—just lowered it, slow and steady, turning to face you both. His expression was unreadable. Eyes sharp beneath dark brows, jaw set in a way that suggested he didn’t approve of being interrupted.

“Captain,” Jeonghan greeted, polite but casual. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

Seungcheol’s gaze flicked between the two of you before sparing a shallow nod. “Your Highness.”

The prince gestured toward you. “We were hoping you’d spare some time. She wants to spar.”

Seungcheol’s frown deepened. His eyes settled on you again, more pointed now. “Pardon the bluntness, but I’ve heard from the staff you’ve barely left your bedchambers these past few weeks. You’ve been… recovering.” His tone didn’t mock—but it didn’t soften either. “You’re in no condition to spar.”

You met his scrutiny with a calm smile.

“Then,” you said gently, “would you please help build my strength back up?”

For a moment, the only sound was wind through the leaves, and the faint creak of leather as Seungcheol’s grip tightened on his sword.

He didn’t answer right away. He studied you for a moment, like someone measuring the weight of a blade before deciding if it would bend or break. Then, wordlessly, he turned and walked toward the weapons rack.

Jeonghan leaned in, voice low beside your ear. “That’s as close to a yes as you’ll get from him.”

You followed the captain, pausing at the display of steel. Seungcheol gestured for you to take your pick, and you scanned the rack quietly until something caught your eye. 

A light looking blade with a slender edge and a modest curve—closer in length to a saber than a broadsword. It wasn’t built for brute force. It was built for speed and control. For footwork and momentum. You tested the balance with a quick flick of your wrist, feeling it settle in your palm like it belonged there.

“I’ll go easy,” Seungcheol said once you faced him across the chalk-marked sparring circle. His tone wasn’t patronizing, just careful.

“Don’t,” you replied simply. “I won’t learn anything that way.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. Then he lifted his blade.

You moved before he did.

Not because you were faster, but because it was how you fought. Nimble and reactive. Fencing had been etched into your body since you were a child; every muscle remembered the rhythm of lunge and parry, advance and retreat. That grace had bled into your swordsmanship over the years, giving you a certain elegance that traditional soldiers often lacked. Where Seungcheol’s footwork was grounded and economical, yours was fluid—almost like you were dancing. You ducked and pivoted, letting your momentum carry you in and out of reach.

Still, the difference in strength was undeniable.

Even with Seungcheol clearly restraining his strikes, each blow sent shockwaves through your arms, your shoulders, your core. You felt it everywhere—sinew, bone, the spaces between your ribs. It didn’t help that your body was still readjusting to this level of activity. Your blade met his again, sparks flaring where metal scraped metal. You twisted your body, slipped past his side, and landed a touch against his arm. It wasn’t a real wound, but a point nonetheless.

Seungcheol adjusted his stance, looking more serious.

Despite his earlier protests, it was clear he wasn’t holding back where it counted. He saw you not as a princess, or Jeonghan’s betrothed, or a grieving shadow—but as a fighter. And he responded accordingly.

It wasn’t easy. But that was the point.

For the first time in weeks, you felt something more than the dull ache of loss. You felt fire in your muscles, purpose in the press of your feet against the dirt. Your pulse thundered in your ears—not with fear, but focus.

By the time the sparring session wound down, your limbs ached in the best possible way—burning from use, not from injury. Seungcheol lowered his blade and gave you a curt nod, sweat darkening the collar of his tunic. 

Jeonghan, ever dramatic, clapped twice as he stepped back into the ring. “I thought nothing could top your archery, but clearly, I was mistaken. If I’d known you could dance like that with a blade, I might’ve started picking fights even sooner.”

You gave him a flat look, but the smile you tried to suppress betrayed you.

Nearby, the palace maids arrived with a tray of refreshments: cool water, fresh fruit, and honey-dusted pastries. Jeonghan plucked a slice of melon and collapsed dramatically onto the grass, gesturing for the two of you to join him.

Seungcheol accepted a waterskin and sat with a soldier’s ease, posture still straight. He glanced at you over the rim as he drank. “You don’t fight like most nobles, much less a princess. Who trained you?”

You wiped your brow with a cloth, accepting a small plate from one of the maids. “The captain of the royal guard in Ancarra,” you replied, selecting a piece of apricot. “Yesung. He was my master since I could walk straight. My father trusted him a lot.”

Seungcheol paused mid-chew.

“You know him?” you asked, catching the subtle shift in his eyes.

“I’ve heard of him,” he said eventually, voice neutral. “Respected name, even here in Seraphia.”

But there was something else—something he didn’t say. The tension around his jaw hinted at it. His gaze drifted off, distant, like he was weighing the risk of continuing.

You watched him carefully, but he said nothing more.

Instead, you exhaled and reached for your cup. “I regret not spending more time training,” you said softly. “When I got older, there were just… too many duties. My blade started collecting more dust than not.”

Seungcheol looked at you then. “You’ve still got the edge. It’s not gone. Just dulled from disuse. You get it back by doing what you did today.”

Jeonghan leaned his head back on the grass and let out a satisfied sigh. “And by winning dramatically in front of handsome soldiers,” he added unhelpfully. “That helps.”

You snorted into your drink. Seungcheol rolled his eyes.

The walk back to your bedchambers was quiet, the sun already dipping behind the spires of the palace, painting the corridors in molten gold and deepening shadows. The soreness in your shoulders had begun to settle into something warm and satisfying, and your thoughts floated somewhere between the scent of red roses and the weight of Seungcheol’s blade against yours.

Jeonghan walked beside you with an easy, unhurried gait, arms folded behind his back. For a while, he said nothing.

Then, casually, “You two got along fast.”

“Hm? Who?”

He glanced at you. “You and Seungcheol.”

You laughed. “You set that match up, remember?”

“I did,” he said simply. “Still. You didn’t hold back.”

“Neither did he.”

You stopped at the entrance to your chambers and turned to him with a no-good smile. “Wait—are you jealous?”

The prince scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you, your voice dropping into something deliberately teasing. “Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia, green with envy because someone dared to match me blow for blow.”

“I’m not envious of Seungcheol.”

“Oh? Then why the face?”

“I do not envy his swordsmanship,” he clarified slowly. “But I don’t particularly enjoy watching someone else touch what’s mine.”

You opened your mouth to remind him that one: you do not belong to anyone; and two: sparring with Seungcheol was his idea, but Jeonghan moved before you could get the words out.

The prince pushed you gently but firmly against the nearest wall, the cool stone kissing your spine through the thin fabric of your tunic. Your eyes widened instinctively, darting down the hallway for any unfortunate witness. But no one was there. 

“Jeonghan—”

His face was too close. You could see the mischievous glint in his eyes now edged with something darker, something you weren’t used to from him. His palm rested just beside your head, the other curling lightly around your hip.

“I may not be a fighter,” he whispered, “but you know very well how good I am as a lover.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

And just like that, Jeonghan stepped back, smirking faintly as if nothing had happened at all. “I’ll let you have your bath,” he said lightly, already walking away with a brief wave. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Princess.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as he disappeared around the corner, carrying the heat of the moment with him.

To Her Highness, the Princess of Ancarra,

I hope this letter finds you in a place of quiet strength. It has been a few weeks since we last spoke, but your presence has lingered with me. I write to you not only to offer my continued condolences, but also to speak plainly of something I withheld during our first meeting.

You see, I sought you out not only because of political curiosity—but because I had heard whispers of your beast magic. There are few in this realm who bear such a gift. Beast magic, as I know it, is more than just communication or communion with the animals you encounter. And in the right hands, it can move worlds.

Forgive my boldness in bringing this to you now. I know you may still be in mourning. I know healing rarely follows a straight path. But if your heart is ready—if your spirit stirs with the thought of reclaiming that part of yourself—I wish to offer something more than words.

There is a mage here in Aragorn. Older than most, and not fond of titles, but a veteran in every sense. She has mentored magi of all kinds, but has always been drawn to those with wild souls, whose power doesn’t stem from structure, but from instinct. I believe she would take you as a student, if you so wish. You will have space, safety, and the freedom to shape your magic on your own terms. 

Should you agree, sign the edge of this letter in ink. I have enchanted the parchment to alert me of that choice, and I will come to you shortly, wherever you may be. But please only do that when you’re certain that you wish to leave the capital. My method of travel takes quite a toll on me, and I must prepare accordingly. I ask for no immediate answer. Only that you consider what your power might become, and what peace you might find in knowing it better. 

May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.

With respect and warmth,

Kim Taeyeon Royal Mage of Aragorn

You had already read the letter by the time the light slanted low across the windows, gilding the old stone floors in gold and ash. It lay open on your lap, creased in the middle where your fingers had pressed too tightly—half from surprise, half from the rush of hope you hadn’t meant to feel.

When it first arrived, you thought of Soonyoung. Your heart had leapt, sharp and high into your throat. But no, Soonyoung wouldn’t send letters. He wouldn’t risk a paper trail, not when enemies watched every corridor and whisper. 

Still, the disappointment lingered. And yet... Taeyeon’s letter had been a surprise. 

She’d written with care, but she hadn’t danced around her purpose. You read the letter twice. Then a third time. The ink smudged faintly where your thumb had lingered too long.

Now, hours later, you sat in the small borrowed study near Jeonghan’s wing, the one with the wisteria vine crawling halfway across the outer windowsill. The Seraphian castle was beautiful, but it wasn't home. You missed the way the light fell in Ancarra’s hallways. You missed Soonyoung’s presence like a missing sleeve in winter—a functional, familiar part of you.

You’ve been training your swordsmanship again even when Seungcheol had already departed for his next mission. But gods knew that adjusting had been slow for you. On top of the fact that you were practically inconsolable for the first few weeks, the guards didn’t know how to speak to you, the maids were too kind, and the Renxing forces remained ghastly quiet. Taeyeon’s letter didn’t fix any of those things. But it gave you something you hadn’t had in a long time: direction.

A quiet knock stirred the air. You tucked the letter under a book, as if it were a secret.

The door creaked open to reveal Jeonghan, relaxed as ever in a loose cream shirt and embroidered vest. Behind him trailed Joshua, who offered you a polite smile, hands folded behind his back.

“Fancy going out for a drink?” Jeonghan asked, like he was inviting you to a garden stroll and not suggesting a public outing for a supposedly hidden political exile.

You stared at him. “A drink?”

“Mhm. In the city.”

“You mean the city city? Where people... live?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Well, yes. Unless you’ve found a secret tavern in the catacombs.”

You glanced from him to Joshua, as if the latter might somehow provide clarity—but Joshua only gave you a sheepish little shrug, like he’d already tried and failed to talk Jeonghan out of this idea.

“Jeonghan,” you said slowly, “your father threatened the entire royal council to keep my presence here quiet. And now you want to parade me around in broad daylight?”

He snorted. “First of all, it’s past dusk. Second, I’m not parading anyone. Third,” he clapped a hand on Joshua’s shoulder, “this one sneaks around all the time and hasn’t been caught once. If anyone can get you in and out without raising suspicion, it’s him.”

Joshua rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “We’re going to The Bitter Swan. My—uh, my lover works there. She’s a bartender. Best in the kingdom.”

That actually made you pause.

Joshua had been engaged some time ago—before Ancarra fell, before the world started collapsing beneath your feet. You didn’t know the full story, only that it hadn’t ended well. But now, he looked... different. Not visibly changed, but lighter in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re seeing someone?” you asked, more surprised than you meant to sound.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yes. For a while now.”

You nodded, something soft brushing against your chest. It was relief, you realized. You were glad for him.

You glanced at the hidden letter, then back at the two boys. “Fine,” you said, rising reluctantly from your seat. “But if I get recognized and we end up sparking an international incident, I’m blaming both of you.”

Jeonghan grinned, wholly unrepentant. “Noted.”

The Bitter Swan was tucked between two shuttered bakeries and lit by a pair of storm glass lanterns swinging above the doorway. The place was alive with sound—laughter, the shuffle of boots on worn floorboards, the clink of glass—and warm in a way that most Seraphian halls, no matter how finely gilded, never quite managed.

You kept your hood up until you were past the threshold, nerves twisting sharp beneath your ribs. But no one gave you a second look. No one whispered. No guards came bursting through the door with drawn blades.

Joshua led the way, weaving easily through the crowd with Jeonghan at his heels. You followed, careful not to draw attention. Then you saw her—behind the bar, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back with a leather cord. Her smile cracked open the moment she spotted Joshua.

“Well?” she called. “Did you bring me anything worth my time or just more of your sweet talk?”

Joshua grinned and flicked his fingers, conjuring a small daisy out of thin air. It hovered for a moment, pale and delicate, before he caught it and stepped behind the bar to tuck it behind her ear.

His lover groaned. “Every time. It’s always a daisy.”

“And you always keep it,” he said, smug.

You tried not to stare. Not at her, or at the way Joshua’s magic came so easily now. You hadn’t realized how long it had been since you saw him do that. Since he let himself do that.

Then he turned to you. “This is Yoona,” he said, gesturing proudly. “Yoona, this is—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You already told me. Don’t say it out loud or you’ll blow her cover.”

That startled a laugh out of you. “You told her?”

“I trust her,” Joshua reassured. “Besides, she would have figured it out before I even said anything. Might as well cut to the chase.”

Yoona winked. “Your cloak screams ‘I’m totally not a royal in disguise.’ Kind of reminds me of someone who used to do the same thing around these parts.”

You blinked. Then laughed again when Joshua’s ears flushed red. 

Jeonghan slid onto the barstool beside you like he belonged there. “Could I get an Oak Walker for myself and the lady? Shua said he’ll be our designated chaperone for the evening.”

You blinked. “You just decided I’d like it?”

Jeonghan shrugged, a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. “Everyone likes an Oak Walker.”

The night unfolded slower than you'd expected.

At first, you stayed stiff, elbows tucked, back straight, eyes flicking toward the door every time it creaked. You scanned faces, counted exits. Even as Yoona poured drinks with practiced ease and Joshua lingered at her side like a puppy off-leash, you couldn’t quite unclench your shoulders. You kept your hood up for the first half hour.

But then Yoona started talking.

She shared funny little anecdotes from her years working the bar. About a traveling bard who sang so terribly he cleared the room, or the night a drunk warlock accidentally enchanted every pint glass to sprout legs and sprint off the counter. Her storytelling was effortless, the kind that made even strangers lean in. Somewhere between the second and third tale, you realized you'd relaxed. Your hand had drifted away from your hip. You weren’t glancing at the door anymore.

The Oak Walker helped, too.

It was deceptively smooth—sweet with oak and vanilla, warm with something spiced—but it hit harder than it had any right to. You told yourself you were sipping, pacing yourself, being careful. Then your empty glass would surprise you again and again.

Yoona snorted every time you ordered another. “You’re going to end up horizontal if you keep that up,” she warned, sliding yet another refill your way.

You stuck your tongue out at her.

At some point—when exactly, you weren’t sure—Jeonghan had moved closer. He was sitting right beside you now, his thigh brushing yours every so often as you shifted. His posture was lazy, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that suggested he’d been tracking your slow descent into tipsiness for some time.

“You’re swaying,” he murmured near your ear.

“I’m not,” you argued before promptly hiccuping.

“Gods, you’re such a lightweight.”

You glared at him. Or tried to. “Shut up or I’ll stab you with a sword next time I get my hands on one.”

Jeonghan barked a laugh. “Drunken threats. Very classy.”

But his arm, which had come to rest around the back of your chair somewhere between the second and third drink, stayed where it was. Steady, warm, and protective. You didn’t even notice when you let yourself lean into the space he made for you. Just a little.

The three of you left Bitter Swan not long after your fifth—sixth?—Oak Walker.

To be fair, it wasn’t your idea. You were perfectly content demanding another glass while challenging a very large, very confused sailor to an arm-wrestling match you absolutely would have lost. But Joshua caught Jeonghan’s eye across the bar, and that was all it took.

“Time to go,” Jeonghan said, patting your shoulder lightly. You squawked in protest but didn’t resist too hard when they flanked you—Joshua at your right, Jeonghan at your left—as if you were some rare treasure they had to smuggle back to the castle.

The streets outside were quieter than you expected. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing curfew, and the fog had begun to settle low over the cobblestones.

You, however, were a menace.

“I’m not drunk,” you declared at one point, even as your boot missed the edge of a step and Joshua had to steady you with a hand to your elbow.

“Of course not,” Jeonghan said. “You’ve just decided stairs are beneath you.”

“They are. Stairs are a scam. A royal scam. Heh, royal. That’s funny.” You paused, frowning. “Wait, no. That was supposed to be a joke. Go back.”

“I’m afraid we can’t rewind time, Princess,” Joshua said patiently.

By the time they got you to the carriage, you had insisted on giving a passionate speech to a very disinterested cat, tried to compliment a streetlamp, and proclaimed your full, undying allegiance to the Bitter Swan and all its patrons.

Inside the carriage, nestled between velvet seats, the city slowly falling away behind you, you finally slumped back with a long sigh.

“This was nice. I never got to go out like this back home,” you mumbled, head tipping toward Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I also like when you’re like this. All... not princely.”

He made a quiet sound in his throat, something between a scoff and a laugh. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

“No, you don’t get it,” you said, voice softer now—slurred at the edges, but anchored by something true. “You walk around like nothing touches you. You flirt like it’s a game, like none of it matters. But it’s like… no one actually knows you. Not even me, and I’ve been engaged to you for ten years.”

A breathy laugh slipped from your lips before fading into a quiet, almost wistful smile.

“But when it’s just you like this... it makes me feel like I can breathe.”

Jeonghan stilled beside you.

Joshua’s brow furrowed across the seat. He looked at his brother, then back at you. You didn’t seem to notice. Your head lolled back against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut.

“Even if you’re a smug bastard,” you added faintly. “Don’t get ideas.”

The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken. Joshua turned, meeting Jeonghan’s stunned gaze with one of his own. Neither of them said anything.

But the look they shared said enough.

Back at the castle, the journey to your room was a blur of hushed giggles, missteps, and Jeonghan hissing at you to keep your hood up while Joshua kept watch for wandering guards.

By the time the three of you reached your door, you were hanging heavily off Jeonghan’s arm, still swaying from the Oak Walkers. Joshua muttered something about returning to the pub to keep Yoona company until closing before slipping away into the shadows like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Inside your chambers, Jeonghan helped you sit at the edge of your bed. “You’re going to regret all six of those drinks in the morning,” he said mildly, crouching to unlace your boots.

“Mm, but they tasted like joy,” you mumbled, tugging at the laces of your bodice.

Jeonghan helped with the ties carefully, without looking where he didn’t need to. He passed you your nightgown and turned his back while you changed, though that didn’t stop you.

“You’re very noble all of a sudden,” you said, grinning lazily. “Trying not to peek?”

“I’m showing you the courtesy of basic decency.”

“You didn’t care about basic decency when we—” you hiccuped, then giggled, “—when we kissed behind that statue of a winged lion. You still remember, don’t you?”

He paused, his back still turned, jaw tightening faintly.

Once you were dressed, Jeonghan turned to tuck the covers around you. “Get some sleep,” he said quietly, smoothing the blanket near your shoulder.

But before he could pull away, your arms slipped around his waist from behind.

“Are you really going to go,” you murmured against his back, “just like that?”

He sighed, long and steady. “You’re drunk, Your Grace. It wouldn’t be proper.”

You tilted your head, voice featherlight and slurred with sleep and something else. “It wasn’t proper either,” you said, “when you touched me like that in the solarium. What’s your point?”

He stilled.

Then slowly—almost reluctantly—he turned to face you. His hands found your shoulders, firm but not rough. His expression had lost all pretense of ease. For once, Jeonghan didn’t smile.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said firmly.

But he didn’t move away.

You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers when you reached out to touch his chest. His pulse rabitted beneath his sternum, like this moment held more weight than the two of you were willing to admit. Jeonghan didn’t move. He could only grip your shoulders like you might shatter if he didn’t. Or maybe the one he’s keeping from unraveling is himself. 

You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your breath warm against the hollow of his throat. “You haven’t kissed me in so long,” you said softly. “Why is that, Jeonghan?”

His jaw tensed. “You’re mourning. It isn't the right time.”

You tilted your head, defiant despite the haze in your mind. “When is it ever the right time with you?”

“Princess—”

“You always hold back,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice a thread pulled tight. His grip on your arms tightened just enough to betray the shift in him. “You flirt. You tease. But you never let yourself go too far. As though anything beyond stolen trysts is suddenly too dangerous for you. Tell me—” your eyes searched his, “is that why you haven’t married me yet? After all this time?”

Jeonghan was right. You didn’t know what you were saying at all. 

If you were sober, these words would’ve stayed buried behind the iron seal of your mouth. You hated the thought of being bound to Jeonghan. It was why you’d begged Soonyoung to delay the wedding for as long as he could.

So why were you spouting all this nonsense now?

“That’s not true,” Jeonghan said hoarsely.

You leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to burn like one. And with a quiet, tantalizing whisper, “Then prove it.”

That did it.

His restraint, so carefully held, snapped in an instant. His hands slid to the sides of your face, cradling it like something precious right before his mouth crashed against yours. There was nothing tentative in it—no diplomacy, no distance. Just months of longing, of near misses, of moments swallowed by duty and danger, unraveling all at once.

When you gasped against his lips, his hand curled around the back of your neck, and you thought, dizzy and triumphant: 

Finally.

You reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling. The fabric shifted under your clumsy fingers, but coordination was beyond you now—your limbs soft, your blood warm and slow with drink and heat. Jeonghan caught your hands gently. 

“Be patient,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your knuckles.Then he moved slowly, guiding you back against the pillows. You shivered as his hands slid down your sides, a reverent touch that made your breath hitch.

You could only arch into him as he settled between your thighs, drunk not just on the Oak Walkers but on the ache of him, on months of silence breaking like a tide. And when his mouth found your skin, your name a prayer between his teeth, you thought:

Let them find out. Let the whole castle burn. Just not this. Don’t take this away from me.

His lips traced fire along the inside of your thigh, and you bit down on a moan—more out of disbelief than modesty. Jeonghan, with all his control and quiet arrogance, was unraveling before you, piece by piece.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Tell me this isn’t just the alcohol acting out for you.”

You blinked down at him, flushed and breathless. “It’s not. And you know it.”

“If I keep going, I won’t be able to pretend nothing’s changed tomorrow.”

Jeonghan met your eyes, and without thinking, you reached for him—hands threading through his deep red hair. 

“Then don’t pretend.”

Once the words left your lips, he surged upward to kiss you again. It was deep and consuming, like a dam finally giving way. You clung to him, pulling him closer, and the weight of him, the feel of his breath tangled with yours, made your head spin more than the whiskey ever could.

You felt the tremor in him, not from fear, but from feeling. From how deeply this meant something.

“I should’ve said something,” he murmured into the curve of your neck, voice wrecked. “Back in Ancarra. Before everything fell apart.”

“You still can,” you whispered, tilting his face to yours. “We’re not gone yet. I’m still here.”

Maybe that was the most dangerous truth of all—that despite the kingdoms collapsing, despite Renxing’s siege and the shadows gathering at every border, this moment felt more real than any prophecy, any throne. Just skin and breath and the way Jeonghan looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

You smiled faintly, heart thudding. “I think I’m starting to.”

Then he kissed you again—fierce and open and hungry for all the time you’d lost. And this time, you didn’t hold back either.

Not when his hands tangled with yours above your head, not when his mouth trailed lower, slower, lingering in places that made you gasp his name like a prayer. 

When his mouth finally touched where you wanted him most, it was with unbearable tenderness. A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary, your hips twitching toward him. He moaned softly at the sound, as if the taste of your pleasure was more intoxicating than wine.

Jeonghan didn’t rush. He mapped out your cunt with his mouth, tongue tracing patterns that made your legs shake. His lips sealed around the most sensitive parts of you like he wanted to unravel every breath, every thought, until only he remained.

And you let him.

Your back arched as a wave crested inside you, and still he didn’t stop—drawing moans from you like music. His hands anchored your hips, firm but never demanding. 

It wasn’t control. It was devotion.

When release finally came, it tore through you like a storm, and Jeonghan held you through it, never looking away—his gaze dark, intense, and awestruck. You reached down breathlessly, pulling him up to you. His lips were wet, his cheeks flushed. You kissed him without hesitation, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Jeonghan’s breath was still heavy as he hovered above you, eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every inch. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing over your lip. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. 

You tilted your hips toward him, guiding him between your thighs. His breath caught as he realized, as your legs pressed around him, skin on skin, warm and slick and aching.

“This,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I want you like this.”

For a moment, something flared behind his eyes. Hunger, need, maybe even love. But then he huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. 

“Not when you’re drunk, Your Grace.”

You blinked up at him, still breathless, heat pulsing in every part of you as disappointment started to simmer just beneath the lust. “But—”

“I can give you something else,” he said, and leaned down to kiss your cheek—gentle yet maddening. “Something that can make you feel good regardless.”

Confusion started to seep into your face, but Jeonghan answered by grabbing both of your thighs as he let both of your legs dangle across one shoulder. The angle was odd, but something told you he wanted your thighs pressed closely together. 

You were about to let out a quiet protest until he undid his trousers, hauling his cock from the confines of his clothes with a sigh. 

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your mutual desire was too much. Then, tentatively, he slid his length between your thighs, fitting perfectly into the space where your heat welcomed him, even without the final joining.

The friction was maddening.

He rocked forward, slow and careful at first, your slickness easing every motion. The head of his cock dragged against the seam of your sex with every thrust, the pressure hitting just right, over and over. You squeezed your thighs tighter, gasping his name as he groaned—low and hoarse, like the effort of holding back was burning him from the inside.

“Gods, you feel—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, hips stuttering against you. “I’m not going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t hold anything back.”

And he didn’t.

His rhythm grew faster, desperate. The sounds he made were nothing like the prince the world saw. This was Jeonghan stripped bare, undone by the feel of you, by the friction, by the intimacy of it all. Your hands gripped his back, your bodies flush, breath tangled between moans and whispers of each other’s names.

His thick head caught on your clit with each pass. Part of you just knew Jeonghan deliberately did that to spur your pleasure just as much as his own. And as he continued to piston his hips, you found yourself growing dangerously close to the edge once again.

“J-Jeonghan,” you whimpered, tears streaking your vision. “I… I—”

The words were lost as your orgasm crested like a tidal wave, washing over your entire body until the water pulled you under. You shook beneath him as ecstasy rushed  through your veins, but Jeonghan remained steadfast in fucking himself between your thighs, letting you ride it out.

When he came, it was with a trembling cry whispered into the air, spilling between your thighs as his body shuddered against yours. You held him through it, stroking his arm, grounding him all while he collapsed into you.

You stared at the ceiling, the soft hush of dawn just beginning to graze the edges of the sky. There was no clock here, no crown, no war bleeding at the borders of your memory. Only the warmth of his body, the scent of him lingering on your skin, and the echo of your name on his breath.

And for a moment, you wanted to stay like this.

You wanted to forget Ancarra. Forget Minghao’s blade slicing through everything you’d ever built. Forget the looming war and the kingdom you were supposed to save. You wanted to let the world burn and bury yourself in this fleeting mercy.

You shifted slightly, curling closer to Jeonghan.

Maybe just a little longer.

The capital of Ancarra was a corpse wearing its own crown.

Soonyoung kept his head low beneath the hood of a merchant’s cloak, blending into the flow of hushed voices and weary footsteps. Smoke still clung to the skyline, the charred bones of once-proud towers jutting upward like broken fingers. The flags bearing the royal crest were torn down, replaced with strange foreign emblems—Renxing’s deep red and black, fluttering like bloodstained silk in the wind.

Where once there had been music, laughter, street hawkers and flower-sellers, now there was silence. Watchful, suffocating silence. Soldiers patrolled every alley, every market. People avoided eye contact. The bakeries had stopped baking. The temples stood shuttered.

The king was dead. 

The princess had vanished. 

And Minghao had claimed a throne he never earned.

Soonyoung moved quickly through the ghost of the city he once knew, slipping through side streets and old guard passages, the kind of hidden routes only a fixture of the palace could recall. He’d asked his knightly chaperones—the ones Prince Jeonghan loaned—to stay back for this one. They’d refused at first, but Soonyoung always had a gift for convincing others to his whims.

He reached the outer walls of the castle, scaled the crumbling servant stairwell, and ducked behind fallen scaffolding before finding a familiar breach behind the armory—one that led straight into the lower corridors.

Inside, the air was damp with mildew and blood. Tapestries had been ripped down, and the scent of iron lingered in the halls. He heard boots echo overhead and paused, listening. Then, with careful precision, he descended into the dungeons.

That’s when the strangeness began.

Locked behind rusted bars weren’t just criminals or dissenters—but beasts. Hunched and hostile things with glowing eyes and matted fur. Creatures with scales, tusks, or too many limbs, some caged and chained, others muzzled or sedated. All trembling in the cold. All watching. It made no sense.

And then came a low growl.

Soonyoung turned just in time to dodge a lunging wolf—wild-eyed, massive, its teeth bared. It would’ve ripped his throat out if not for the blast of cold that knocked the beast backward. Ice exploded against the wall, sending a dusting of frost across the floor.

“Easy,” came a low voice from behind another cell. “You’ll spook the rest of them.”

Soonyoung turned, breath caught. “Siwon?”

The older man looked tired but alive, dark hair damp with sweat, his hands bound but his magic clearly not entirely suppressed. “Nice disguise,” he muttered. “You always did look better in rags.”

“You’re alive.” Soonyoung rushed forward, already brimming with questions. “What happened? Why are there beasts in the dungeon? What the hell is Minghao planning?”

But Siwon raised a hand, glancing toward the stairwell. “Quiet. They’re keeping me alive for now—to broadcast Minghao’s ‘generous new rule’ when the time comes. And for when the princess resurfaces. I’m leverage.”

“Leverage and locked up with beasts?” Soonyoung hissed.

Siwon nodded grimly. “They’ve been experimenting. Testing something. I don’t know what it is yet, but—” His eyes flicked to a cage where another animal that looked too much like Reya lay unnaturally still. “I think it has to do with cursed magic.”

Soonyoung paled. “Cursed magic? But that’s—”

He didn’t finish. Footsteps echoed down the corridor accompanied by shouting. Torchlight flickered around the corner as Soonyoung felt his stomach drop.

“Go,” Siwon said, voice urgent. “You can’t be caught.”

Soonyoung hesitated, hand curling into a fist. “I’ll come back. I’ll get you out.”

Siwon gave him a thin smile. “Just bring her back in one piece. That’ll be enough. Oh, and Soonyoung?”

“What?”

“...Tell the princess it was Yesung who did it,” he said with bated breath, “The one who betrayed us. The one who sold the kingdom off to Renxing.” 

The information struck Soonyoung like lightning in the middle of summer. Yesung? The captain of the royal guard? But as much as he wanted to probe Siwon for more details, time was running out.

With one last glance at the wolf pacing behind the bars, Soonyoung turned and vanished into the shadows.

Morning hadn’t come yet. The world outside was still cloaked in that hushed, pre-dawn blue, the kind that made you wonder if time had stopped altogether. Your head pounded and your body ached in places you didn’t expect, even though Jeonghan was careful. Even though you didn’t go all the way.

He was still asleep beside you, one arm draped lazily across the bed, red hair spilling over his cheek like spilled ink. His face looked softer in sleep. Open, vulnerable. You found yourself staring too long.

You didn’t hate yourself. Not like you thought you would. Instead, you felt something worse. The slow, terrifying crawl of something tender. Something like the beginning of love.

Because for a moment, you forgot everything that mattered. Jeonghan let you forget what it meant to survive, and helped you remember what it felt like to simply exist.

But now, in the quiet, it hit you like cold water: staying here made you complacent. Safe. Soft. You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And every second you spent here pretending otherwise was another second lost.

Your gaze drifted to the window. The letter still sat on the table beside it, right where you left it. You rose without a sound, careful not to disturb him, and took up the quill and ink.

Taeyeon warned you that her method of travel required preparation, that you should only sign when you were sure. You expected it would take a day or two—maybe more. So you thought you’d have time. Time to think, time to say goodbye. Time to figure out how to look Jeonghan in the eye and explain why you couldn’t stay. You thought you could sign it now and still have a moment to breathe.

But the moment your name met the parchment, the magic activated with a pulse of light.

The letter glowed gold, the ink lifting from the page like threads spun from starlight. Then it curled in on itself, folding and folding until it collapsed inward and blossomed into a glowing portal—right there, in your room. You stumbled back in disbelief, heart hammering, the rush of air from the magic tousling your hair.

And then, from the other side of the portal, Taeyeon stepped through.

There was no fanfare, no sound but the hum of power quieting in the air around her. The royal mage surveyed the room calmly—eyes briefly catching on the prince still fast asleep in your bed, shirtless and oblivious—before settling on you with a look somewhere between curiosity and disapproval.

“You were going to leave without saying anything?”

You hesitated. You planned to write him a letter. Maybe to wake him with a kiss, or not at all. You hadn’t decided. But none of that mattered now, not with Taeyeon already standing there, the magic still warm and thrumming behind her like a living thing.

You glanced at Jeonghan, at the peace on his face you almost convinced yourself you deserved to see one last time. 

Then you nodded.

“It’ll be easier that way,” you murmured. “It’s not like I have anything to bring with me anyway.”

Taeyeon didn’t argue. She only lifted her hand toward you.

You took it.

And with one final glance at the life you nearly let yourself want, you stepped into the portal. The air folded around you like silk and silence.

The letter vanished. The portal closed. The room was empty.

And all you left behind was the shape of your absence.

You stepped out onto the balcony and caught your first real glimpse of Aragorn.

The southern city stretched far beyond what you expected—sunlit and sprawling, built into cliffs and winding hills, with a hundred mismatched rooftops like shattered pieces of stained glass. It didn’t have the symmetry of the capital, or the soft elegance of Seraphia. It was a riot of color and sound even from a distance. Banners flapped. Smoke curled from chimneys. Somewhere below, someone shouted, and laughter followed like a wave.

It was chaos. But it felt alive.

You’d bathed and changed in Taeyeon’s estate, which wasn’t so much a home as a half-forgotten villa carved into the side of a ridge, overtaken by vines and mountain wind. It had a well-worn warmth, like someone had lived here a long time and only kept what they needed.

Taeyeon joined you on the balcony, pulling her hair into a loose twist. Out of her usual robe dotted with magic sigils, she didn’t look like a royal mage. She looked like someone’s older sister. Someone who could disappear into a crowd.

“Southern cities like Aragorn are free,” she said, following your gaze. “Too far from the capital for the crown to keep a firm grip. That’s why I brought you here.”

You blinked. “And the king?”

“Doesn’t know.” She smiled faintly. “Nor does the queen.”

Your chest tightened. The guilt sat bitter on your tongue, but before you could speak, she added, “There’s another reason.”

You glanced at her, and she said, quietly, “Refugees from Ancarra have been trickling into the southern cities. Mostly women and children. Soldiers who deserted. Farmers who fled. Those far enough from your capital to not be held hostage by that tyrant general.”

The words knocked the wind out of you.

“What—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” she said calmly. “But you’re not ready to see them. Not yet.”

You tried to object, to insist—but your voice caught, and she looked at you like she could see every fracture in your heart.

“I know it’s been a while, and you’ve been waiting on news from Ancarra as much as the rest of us. But even I can tell you’re still bleeding, Princess,” she said. “There’s a time for reunions. And a time to gather yourself. Let’s start with food.”

Taeyeon led you down into the city, into the belly of Aragorn, where stone staircases spiraled through sloped streets, and balconies overflowed with drying laundry and flowerpots. She took you to a tavern built into the bones of what might’ve once been a watchtower. 

It was cramped, loud, and the air was thick with spice and woodsmoke. You couldn’t imagine someone like her here. But Taeyeon walked in like she’d been coming for years.

“Lady Taeyeon!” a woman called from behind the counter.

Another man shouted, “She’s brought a friend! Should we be nervous?”

The royal mage raised a hand in greeting, utterly unfazed.

You watched in quiet disbelief as the room seemed to fold around her presence, not with reverence, but with the easy familiarity reserved for someone who belonged. No one bowed to her or whispered about her greatness. They greeted her like someone who knew the names of their children and the best time to buy peaches at the market. 

It was strange to see someone like Taeyeon received not as a myth, but as a neighbor.

She didn’t hesitate. She ordered for you both without ceremony—“You need to try the stuffed flatbread,” she said—and waved off your hand when you reached for coin. With practiced ease, she slipped through the crowd and guided you to a table tucked beneath a cracked window, where the breeze carried in the mingled scents of rosemary and dust.

As you settled into the corner seat, your plate still steaming between your hands, a flutter of movement caught your eye. A small brown bird—scruffy, no larger than your palm—landed neatly on the cracked windowsill beside you. It tilted its head, eyes trained on the food, and let out a sharp chirp. You smiled, at first thinking nothing of it. But then the bird spoke.

That smells like heaven. Is that stuffed with cheese? I’d kill for cheese.

The voice was bright and insistent in your mind, clear as thought but not your own. For a moment, you froze—your fingers tightening around your fork. It had been so long since you let yourself listen. You’d shut that part of yourself away the moment you left Reya behind, too afraid that hearing the voices of animals would remind you of everything you abandoned.

But here, now, something in you had gone quiet enough to let it in again. No pressure. No grief. Just the sound of the wind, the hum of the tavern, and a hungry bird with far too much personality.

Without thinking, you broke off a corner of your flatbread and offered it up. The bird hopped forward with greedy joy, clutching the crust in its beak before flying off again, wings catching the light like a wink. When you turned back to the table, Taeyeon was watching you with an amused look.

“You haven’t been listening lately,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

You looked down at your plate. “No.”

“Why?”

You didn’t answer right away. “Because if I heard them, I’d remember Reya. And if I remembered him, I’d start mourning. And mourning takes time I didn’t want to lose.”

Taeyeon nodded, slow and knowing. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her chest. “Instinct magic like yours is a funny thing. It doesn’t demand permission—it just lies in wait until you’re ready to use it again.”

You paused, fork halfway to your mouth, the word catching like a splinter in your thoughts.

“Instinct magic?” you echoed. “Is that what I have?”

Taeyeon didn’t answer immediately. She was watching the bird again, which had settled on a rooftop across the street, fluffing its feathers against the wind. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet—not lecturing, not grand, just a simple truth shared over brunch.

“Magic like mine—you study it, shape it, discipline it until it bends to your will. It’s rigid and mathematical. A spell goes here, a sigil there. If you mess up the sequence, things fall apart.”

She looked at you then.

“But yours… yours doesn’t wait for a spell. It listens. It lives in your body, in your breath. It’s older than theory; wilder, and much closer to the roots of things.”

You frowned slightly. “But I can’t control it.”

“No,” she agreed. “You don’t control it. You coexist with it. That’s why it scares people, or why they don’t think it’s real magic. And probably why you stopped trusting it.”

You turned her words over, trying to fit them into the corners of yourself that had long gone quiet. You’d never thought of your gift as anything so dignified, it was just something you had. Like a birthmark. Something no one else quite understood, even when they pretended to.

But instinct magic—that felt like a name you hadn’t known you needed.

After brunch, Taeyeon turned to you with that same unreadable calm. “Do you want to meet Hanya now? The veteran mage I mentioned in my correspondence?”

You didn’t have anything better to do. And something in you—maybe curiosity, maybe restlessness—said the sooner, the better. You nodded.

Taeyeon gave a short hum. “Then we better bring her a gift first.”

She led you into a narrower, more tangled part of the city, where the buildings leaned in on each other like gossiping friends and flowering vines crept along every fence. A painted sign above a crooked door read Vines & Embers.

“The shop’s run by a plant elemental named Hyejin,” Taeyeon explained as she pushed open the door, “and her husband Chan—he’s a fire elemental. Bit of an odd couple, but they make it work. Somehow.”

A little bell jingled overhead, and a young man with tousled hair and a permanently sunburned grin looked up from the doorway.

“Lady Taeyeon?” he greeted, eyes lighting up. “What can we do for you today?”

Behind him, a woman waved lazily from the counter, where she was pruning something that looked like a rose crossed with a starfish.

“Just the usual for old Hanya,” Taeyeon called back.

Hyejin gave a knowing nod and disappeared into the back room.

Chan lingered near the door, folding his arms as he looked between the two of you. “And this must be…?”

Taeyeon didn’t miss a beat. “My niece from the coast. She’s visiting for a while. Poor thing needed some fresh air after the capital.”

You blinked once, then remembered to smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ahhh, makes sense,” Chan said, beaming. “You’ve got her eyebrows. And the general look of someone who's been breathing too much palace air.” He winked.

You didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but you let it slide.

As Hyejin worked in the back, Chan kept the conversation going, bouncing from gossip about the midday heatwave to which blossoms had opened early this year. Eventually, the topic veered toward the refugees.

“Some of the Ancarra folks came through here last week,” he said. “Quiet lot. Tired eyes. They don't ask for much—just space to rest. Hyejin's been growing nightshade and balm to help with the headaches. Too many of 'em wake up screaming.”

You kept your face as still as stone. 

Taeyeon didn't look at you, but you felt her shift ever so slightly—her sleeve brushing yours in what could have been an accident. Or not.

Just then, Hyejin emerged with a bundle wrapped in waxed paper and tied with gold thread. It smelled of lavender, iron, and something like starlight or ozone. A few pale blue feathers, still shimmering faintly, had been tucked beneath the twine.

“She’ll know what it means,” Hyejin said simply.

“Of course she will,” Taeyeon replied, reaching for the package. “Thanks, Hyejin. And tell your husband to stop setting fire to the begonias.”

Chan coughed. “I swear they like it. It’s character-building.”

You followed Taeyeon out of the shop with the bundle in hand, still wondering what kind of person received a gift like this—and what exactly you were walking into next.

Taeyeon brought you to the edge of the mountains the same way she fetched you from the capital—through a shimmering cut in space. You stepped through the tear in the air and landed on solid ground, but she stumbled slightly as the portal winked shut behind her.

“You okay?” you asked, catching the way her hand gripped her hip a second too long.

She straightened, gave a breathless laugh. “I’m fine. Spatial magic has its price. It would be too powerful otherwise.”

You frowned. “What kind of price?”

Taeyeon shrugged. “Call it the law of equivalent exchange. Power doesn't come from nowhere. I burn a little bit of myself every time I open a gate like that.” She glanced back toward the now-empty air. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

You didn’t press further. Because ahead of you, nestled into the foothills, was a crooked little house stitched from stone, ivy, and old wood, half-sunken into the slope like it had grown from the mountain itself. A windchime of bones clicked gently from the awning. Chickens wandered the yard, unpenned. A goat napped on the porch. A monkey dozed in the rafters.

You could hear them all. Thoughts like quiet murmurs in the back of your head—curious, distracted, and alive. It had been so long since you let yourself listen to animals, yet here, among the clamor, you felt your magic stir like an old song.

Taeyeon stepped onto the porch and knocked once, sharply. No answer.

She knocked again.

A rustle, then a grumble. “Go away! I’m not buying anything and I’ve got enough potions to last through winter.”

Taeyeon didn’t flinch. “It’s me. I brought someone who wants to study under you.”

For a while, there was only silence. But then came the groan of old hinges. The door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with tangled gray hair and a face carved deep with lines. She squinted at Taeyeon first.

“I told you, I’m too old to be anyone’s damn teacher.”

You stepped forward quickly, holding out the bouquet from Hyejin’s shop. “These are for you, ma’am,” you offered.

Hanya didn’t even look at the flowers. Her gaze landed on you—and stopped. Her face went still. For a second, it was like she didn’t see you at all, but something beyond you. 

Then she slammed the door shut.

“Teacher,” Taeyeon said flatly, rubbing her temple, “that’s not very polite.”

“Get that girl away from here.”

“She came all the way from the capital.”

“I don’t care if she came from the moon. I’m not touching that cursed magic. You hear me?” A pause. Then quieter, like a huff of disappointment: “You should’ve known better.”

You stared at the door, still holding the flowers. “What does she mean?” you whispered. “Cursed magic? I just talk to animals. That’s all I can do.”

Behind the wood, Hanya hissed, “That’s not all you can do at all. And if you don’t know it yet, you will. And when that happens, you’ll wish you’d never come knocking.”

Taeyeon only sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with quiet resignation. “Leave the gift,” she murmured. “There’s no getting through to her today.”

You hesitated, glancing again at the shut door. But you obeyed, setting the bundle of paper and twine neatly by the threshold. The goats watched you with interest. The monkey stretched out a lazy limb and scratched its side. You stepped back down onto the grass and asked, “What even is it? The gift, I mean.”

“She’ll feed her beasts with it,” Taeyeon said.

You blinked. “Beasts?”

Taeyeon nodded, gesturing toward the scattered creatures dotting the property. “Hanya practices beast magic. Like you, she can understand and talk to animals.” Her eyes lifted toward the awning, where the monkey now dangled by its tail. “These ones? They’re naturally drawn to her. But sometimes, more dangerous ones come too. Wild wolves. Mountain cats. I’ve even seen a wyvern once.”

You stared. “And she just… lets them near her?”

“They come and go. She doesn’t cage them. She tames them.” Taeyeon smiled faintly. “They all love those flowers we brought. It’s called cindersong. Has a scent only beasts can smell, something sweet and strange and grounding. Hyejin grows them by hand. That bundle will be gone by nightfall.”

You looked again at the door, now just a closed shadow in the stone. “If our magic isn’t so different… why’d Hanya refuse to teach me?”

Taeyeon was quiet for a long time.

Then she glanced once more at the shut door and said, “Let’s head home. We’ll talk more there.”

Back at the estate, the portal spit you out into stillness. The sun was lower now, and so was Taeyeon’s energy. You noticed the tremble in her fingers as she straightened her robes, the slight wobble in her step. 

But before you could offer help, a maid appeared—someone you hadn’t seen this morning, with cropped hair and quiet hands. She moved without a word, as if she’d known what was needed long before you arrived.

A steaming towel was pressed into Taeyeon’s palms. A small vial uncorked beneath her nose. A flask of something bitter and glowing, passed from hand to hand as she gulped it down. By the time you reached the study, Taeyeon looked a little less hollowed-out, though her eyes were still rimmed with strain.

You both sat. She didn’t waste time.

“She was from Ancarra too, you know,” the royal mage said quietly. “Hanya.”

Your breath caught. “She was?”

Taeyeon nodded. “She never talks about it. I didn’t even know for years. I only knew her as the former royal mage here, in Aragorn. She was the one who taught me everything I know.” She exhaled slowly. “But beast magic... that’s an old kind of magic, almost ancient. It was hers long before she came here to Seraphia.”

“She said I’ll regret coming to her,” you murmured.

Taeyeon’s eyes softened. “She doesn’t mean that. But there’s a theory—just a whisper, really—that instinct magic, beast magic, whatever you want to call it, was born in Ancarra. That it came from there and nowhere else. But no one remembers how. Or why.”

You tilted your head. “No one?”

“I tried looking,” she said. “I went to Ancarra once. Searched your libraries. Your temples. Nothing. No records. Not even mentions. It’s like the world agreed to forget it.”

Your chest tightened. “So now they call it... cursed?”

Taeyeon’s lips pressed into a line. “That’s the word people use. Cursed. Dangerous. Unnatural.” She shook her head. “But I don’t know why. Teacher never explained.”

The silence came like a tide. You let it wash over you.

Then, softly: “But she recognized you. Your blood. That voice inside you. It frightened her. Maybe you reminded her of who she used to be. Or what she ran from.”

You looked at your hands. They didn’t feel cursed. But they didn’t feel innocent either.

Before you could form a proper response, there was a knock at the study door. Taeyeon raised her head. “Come in,” she called, and the quiet maid from earlier slipped in with barely a sound. She didn’t speak. Just walked up to you, placed an envelope in your hands—not Taeyeon’s—and bowed before disappearing again.

You stared at the envelope, then at Taeyeon, who was already laughing under her breath. “Minjeong,” she explained. “A woman of few words. But I promise she knows everything before the rest of us do.”

You barely registered the words. Your gaze had dropped to the wax seal now pressing cold against your thumb. The crest of Seraphian royalty gleamed there in deep red, too familiar to mistake.

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

Taeyeon’s smile faded into a sigh. “That boy’s fast. I thought we had at least a week.”

You blinked. “What?”

She didn’t elaborate. So you cracked the seal and opened the letter.

Jeonghan’s handwriting was sharp as ever—elegant and scathing in equal measure.

Dear Princess,

Congratulations on your daring escape. Truly, I admire the stealth. Slipping away in the morning without so much as a goodbye kiss? Bold of you. One might say... cowardly, but let’s be generous.

I’m writing this from my private study, where I’ve spent the last several hours wondering if you were kidnapped, murdered, or simply decided I was a regrettable phase of your mid-royal crisis. I even considered the possibility that you ran off with Choi Seungcheol, but he just came back to the castle again, equally clueless of your whereabouts. 

In case you're wondering how I tracked you down: say hello to Dandelion. He’s the highly trained storm petrel currently biting your finger, unless someone else suffered that fate and handed this to you instead. He can locate anyone in the world by scent. (Yes, even yours, and yes, you smell like roses and rain, it’s weird.)

Now. If you do not respond—promptly—and assure me that you have not been carted off by Minghao’s forces or worse, eloped with a royal mage named Kim Taeyeon, I will stop at nothing to find you.

I am, after all, a very concerned fiancé.

Yours unwillingly, Jeonghan

By the time you reached the bottom, Taeyeon was sipping her tea again, trying to hide a smirk behind the cup. 

“Storm petrel?” she asked mildly.

You stared at the paper. “He named it Dandelion.”

Taeyeon hummed. “Affection is such a strange language.”

Later that evening, you decided to dignify the whining prince with a correspondence of your own, lest he level his own kingdom the same way Minghao did to yours. 

You lit the candle with a flick of your fingers and settled at the desk in the bedchamber Taeyeon lent you. The flame wavered with the breeze drifting in from the open window, casting long shadows over the parchment. Dandelion the storm petrel hadn’t left yet. He perched like a judgmental gargoyle on the bedpost, fluffing his feathers with great, self-important fuss.

“I’m not writing a novel,” you muttered.

I’ve been waiting, he chirped back, more sullen than stern. The eldest prince said I’d be plucked and roasted if I returned without your reply.

“Dramatic as always,” you sighed, but the guilt twisted in your stomach anyway. You pulled the blank sheet toward you and smoothed it flat. The ink smelled sharp, like iron and smoke.

And then, under the dim, flickering light, you began.

Jeonghan,

Thank you for your concern. Truly, the mental image of you pacing around your study, catastrophizing my disappearance, is something I’ll cherish. 

I’m safe. Not kidnapped. Not murdered. Not swept away by a charming stranger (though Taeyeon did try to buy me stuffed flatbread, which I’m beginning to suspect was a bribe). No need to summon the cavalry.

You may relax your Very Concerned Fiancé act. I didn’t vanish to hurt you. I left because I needed clarity—on my magic, on myself, on what all of this means now that Ancarra isn’t mine to call home. I didn’t say goodbye because I knew you’d try to stop me, and I didn’t want to leave angry. I wanted to leave clean.

But you found me anyway. Of course you did.

I’ll write again soon. Don’t storm the continent in the meantime.

Not yours, Go Die

P.S. You are the regrettable phase of my post-royal crisis. Get your timeline straight.

P.P.S. Dandelion lives in constant fear of becoming your next lunch. He’s feathered, not marinated. Be nicer to animals, Your Highness.

You tucked the letter into the envelope with a final sigh, sealing it with the wax Taeyeon had left on the writing desk. Dandelion, still perched on the bedpost like a little sentinel, fluttered down as you approached.

“Here,” you said, offering him the letter. “To Jeonghan. Straight to the capital.”

The storm petrel took it delicately in his beak, clamping down with practiced care. But when you eyed him skeptically, wondering how on earth a creature his size could cross a continent with a letter in his mouth, he made a raspy scoffing sound that sounded an awful lot like offense.

“Right. Sorry for doubting you,” you muttered, raising your hands.

He tilted his head. You’re not so bad, he seemed to say. Tell that fiancé of yours to feed me something better than dried sardines next time.

With that, Dandelion turned, wings unfurling in one smooth movement. He took off toward the open window, a flash of white feathers disappearing into the night sky. You watched him vanish into the starlight, feeling oddly... lighter.

Still alone in the room, you crawled back into bed, the mattress soft but unfamiliar. You lay in the dark, arm tucked beneath your head, and tried to make sense of the day. The bizarre flower shop. Hanya’s slammed door. Taeyeon’s reluctant honesty. You still had no leads on improving your magic, not when your supposed mentor treated you like a plague, so maybe you’d go back to the one thing you could rely on—your body. Training. Swordwork. Something solid. Something that didn’t vanish the second you thought you understood it.

Just as your thoughts began to settle into that decision, the sound of flapping wings returned. You sat up, expecting to see Dandelion again. Maybe he forgot something.

But it wasn’t him.

An owl now perched on your window’s edge, dark-feathered and still as a shadow. Its eyes gleamed gold in the candlelight. It didn’t blink. It didn’t move. And yet, it didn’t feel ominous. Quite the opposite. You couldn’t explain it—but something about its presence was… calming.

You barely noticed the way your eyelids started to droop. A deep, sudden fatigue swept over you like mist.

When you finally fell asleep, it was under the owl’s silent, unblinking gaze.

It had been a few days since you arrived in Aragorn, and the stillness was starting to press in around the edges. Jeonghan hadn’t written back—not a word, not even a feather—and though you tried not to let it bother you, his silence echoed louder than you expected.

Taeyeon was doing what she could. She promised she’d talk to Hanya again, try a gentler approach in-between her duties as a royal mage. But even magic couldn’t untangle years of someone else’s pain overnight.

And you… you’d been trying too. You'd crept through the market in borrowed clothes and a pulled-down hood, heart racing, hoping to slip by unnoticed. The refugee quarter wasn’t far. You made it to the edge more than once—close enough to hear voices in your own dialect, smell the cooking you remembered from your palace kitchens—but each time, something in you buckled. You turned back. Not yet. Not today.

So instead, you trained.

Taeyeon had told you that Chan trained under a warrior named Jongkook, and now here you were—bruised, panting, and flat on your back in the dirt.

"You're dead again," Chan said sheepishly, hovering over you with a hand outstretched. "Sorry about the fire."

You blinked up at him, still trying to catch your breath. The edge of your tunic was charred, the singed fabric curling at the hem like dead petals. He’d almost set your entire sleeve ablaze during a block that got a little too passionate. Again.

"I noticed," you muttered, grasping his hand and letting him haul you to your feet.

Jongkook only watched from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, unreadable behind his weather-worn face. “How many times do I have to tell you—you’re relying on your feet like they’re swords.”

“Force of habit,” you said through clenched teeth.

“No habit survives the battlefield if it gets you killed.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Not when you knew he was right. You'd been trained in precise swordplay, elegant footwork, and quick reflexes—all the hallmarks of a princess pretending to be a warrior. But Jongkook wouldn’t let you touch a blade, not until you learned to fight with your body alone.

No weapon. No titles. No shortcuts.

Only fists, breath, and bruises.

Back in Ancarra, the very idea of you brawling would’ve caused a scandal. Fencing was already a rebellion in silk; hand-to-hand combat would’ve been cause for exile. And yet, here you were, sweating like a farmhand and aching in places you didn’t know existed.

Jongkook finally grunted and motioned for the two of you to follow. “Enough for today. Come eat.”

You didn’t expect lunch to be anything more than a few dried rations or stew on a stone fire, but Jongkook surprised you. His home was humble, tucked into a cluster of pine trees, but the smell of simmering broth and grilled meat hit you before the door even opened.

"You cook?" you asked, incredulous, as he set down bowls with a practiced hand.

“I fight. I eat. I survive.” His voice had no hint of ego—just fact. “Same as you’ll do.”

Chan handed you a bowl and gave you a crooked smile. “I can’t feel my shoulders.”

You lifted your own bowl, still wincing as you sat. “I can’t feel my dignity.”

Chan snorted. Jongkook said nothing, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. You might’ve been losing the fights, but something told you that you were starting to win something else.

You returned to Taeyeon’s estate just before sundown, dust and sweat clinging to your limbs after another brutal round of training. The moment you stepped past the threshold, Minjeong was already there—silent as ever, like she moved on ghosts’ feet.

“My Lady won’t be back until morning,” she said.

You blinked. “Sorry—what?”

It was the first time you’d heard Minjeong speak. Her voice was soft but steady, like a stream running beneath snow. She tilted her head at your reaction, not bothering to answer.

“Any requests for dinner?” she asked next, as if nothing strange had just occurred.

You shook your head. “Anything will do.”

Minjeong nodded once and disappeared into the house, leaving you standing there with the peculiar weight of her words hanging in the air. Taeyeon wouldn’t be home tonight. That… felt strange. She’d been a constant since your arrival—a reliable north. The house felt too large without her.

You marched up to your bedchambers, peeling off your outer tunic, planning to draw a bath after grabbing a change of clothes. Taeyeon had filled the wardrobe with outfits tailored for your size—soft cottons and loose robes you wouldn’t have been allowed to wear in Ancarra. She really had thought of everything. You were in her debt more than you could say.

But before you could open the drawers, you noticed the flick of movement by the windowsill.

A storm petrel.

Not Dandelion. This one was sleeker, darker, its feathers almost blue in the candlelight. It perched stiffly, an envelope clenched between its beak.

“Are you alright?” you asked gently, stepping closer.

No answer, just a quiet ruffle of wings. You took the letter from its beak and the bird lingered like some feathered guardian by the window. Even if it didn’t bother talking to you, you could tell that this one was waiting for you to write up a response as soon as you could, too. 

You turned the letter over, and your heart stuttered when you saw the same dignified wax seal as before. You broke it with one finger.

Princess,

So you can write. I was starting to worry the storm petrel union had gone on strike. You know, I thought I’d be angry when your letter finally arrived. But I read it three times instead. I think I hate how well you know me.

Dandelion is alive, thank you very much. Traumatized, perhaps, but alive. He’s been flapping around like a nervous maid since his return. The cook offered to pluck him for stew and I haven’t had the heart to correct her yet. I might. Depends on my mood.

As for you—don’t vanish again. Not without telling me first. It’s very hard to be a dramatic, wounded fiancé without an audience. Also, if you think you can just slip away from me after that very passionate night we shared, you are sorely mistaken. My spine still hurts, by the way. I’m convinced you were trying to kill me.

I miss you. That’s the part I wasn’t going to write, but here we are.

I’m glad you’re safe. Even if you’re halfway across the continent dodging affection and soul-searching.

Your eternal headache, Jeonghan

You didn’t realize you were grinning until the nameless storm petrel let out a low coo from his perch—watching you with the bored impatience of someone who had five more deliveries to make and a schedule to keep.

So you picked up your pen and got to it.

Jeonghan,

Three times? That’s almost romantic. I would accuse you of sentimentality, but we both know your ego would never survive the scandal.

I’m glad Dandelion survived his brush with death and domestic labor. He deserves better than you, frankly. If you let him become soup, I’ll never speak to you again. 

As for that very passionate night—I wasn’t trying to kill you. If I were, you wouldn’t have walked again, let alone written me such a smug letter. But I’ll take the compliment. I’ve been told I leave an impression.

Don’t worry. I won’t vanish again. Not without warning. Not unless I have to. (There it is, my honesty for the week.) I didn’t expect your letter to hit as hard as it did. You miss me—and I believe you. That’s the part I wasn’t going to write. But here we are.

I’ve been training these days, sparring with my fists instead of a sword. I lose a lot, but I think that’s the point. You’d laugh if you saw how bruised I am right now. My fellow mentee said it builds character. I told him I liked mine just fine before.

I miss you too.

Don’t let them make a martyr out of you while I’m gone.

Still not yours, Ancarra’s rightful heir

You didn’t sleep well.

The letter from Jeonghan sat folded beneath your pillow, like a charm you pretend didn’t matter. You read it again before the sun rose, and again while pulling on your boots. 

Every morning since arriving in Aragorn, you told yourself tomorrow. Tomorrow, you would go to the quarter Taeyeon had quietly given to the displaced people of Ancarra. Tomorrow, you would face the ones you’d left behind. But “tomorrow” kept slipping further out of reach, buried under bruises, training drills, and the uneasy ache of being both too much and never enough for the person you used to be.

Taeyeon had done more for them than you could have asked before you even set foot in the city. The district she gave them had once been a lively hub of artists and potters, abandoned years ago after a flood rerouted the river. Now it stood reclaimed—tent cloth strung across old balconies, makeshift hearths glowing behind broken windows, and gardens sprouting defiantly between the cracks of sunbaked stone. 

The people of Aragorn had helped them, quietly and without fanfare—sharing food, teaching them how to barter, offering stories instead of suspicion. Their reception of your people was so much warmer than how the royal council welcomed you and Soonyoung the day you arrived, and you received that knowledge with quiet relief.

You didn’t know what you expected to feel, walking into that space. Guilt was a given. Shame too. But the nausea that coiled in your gut—that was new. You kept your hood up and your hands hidden, as if either could disguise the lineage stamped across your face.

Hyejin spotted you first.

She stood beneath the faded awning of an old workshop, sleeves rolled high and violet-stained hands doling out jars of nightshade balm. Her presence was a calm one, even surrounded by the sick and weary. You watched her laugh gently with an elder as she re-wrapped the woman’s wrist, murmuring something too soft to hear.

Then her eyes flicked up.

“Oh!” she called, brightening. “You’re Lady Taeyeon’s niece, right? What are you doing all the way out here?”

You froze. Right. That was the description Taeyeon gave to them—her niece, a woman just visiting from the capital. Nothing more. It was safer that way.

You opened your mouth, but then someone else called out to you.

“…Princess?”

You turned.

A middle-aged woman stood at the edge of the path, a basket of foraged roots slipping from her arms. Her eyes widened as if she were seeing a ghost. You didn’t know her. Not by name, not by face. She was one of thousands you’d failed to protect. But the way she looked at you made your throat tight. It wasn’t just recognition, it was faith. And that was harder to bear.

Now she fell to her knees.

“Princess,” she choked, tears welling fast. “It’s really you. Thank the gods, you’re alive. We—we thought you were gone. We thought they—”

Her voice broke, and you dropped beside her, grasping her hands before she could press her forehead to the dirt.

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t. You don’t have to—”

But more eyes had turned. More voices picked up. Murmurs of your title wove through the narrow street like wind in dry leaves. And the nausea returned when you dared to look at Hyejin.

She stood very still, a jar of balm still cradled in one hand. Her gaze swept from the kneeling woman to you, her expression unreadable. You braced for a question. A quiet who are you, really? But it never came.

Instead, Hyejin held your gaze for a moment longer, then offered a small, knowing smile. With a slight dip of her head, she turned and slipped away into the crowd, leaving you exactly what she had given the others: space.

You stayed kneeling beside the woman longer than you meant to, your hands still wrapped around hers. She was trembling, her tears falling silently now, one after the other.

Then the others began to gather.

They didn’t crowd, not exactly. But one by one, they drew closer—shuffling feet and hesitant steps, eyes wide with something like reverence. One man offered you a stool. A girl no older than ten held out a cup of watered tea with both hands. Someone murmured something about fanning you, someone else about soup.

You tried to stand, to wave it all off, but the attention followed like a tide. Hands reached to steady you, voices overlapped.

"Let her sit, she must be exhausted."

"Princess, do you need anything? Say the word—"

“No,” you said, gently but firmly. “There’s no need for that.”

They quieted.

You looked around at the faces—lined with fatigue, hollowed by worry, but still somehow soft. Still kind. “I’m no different from any of you,” you said. “Titles don’t matter now. I’m just another child of Ancarra who had to run.”

A few exchanged glances, unsure. Still, the space around you loosened. Their fussing eased, retreating into murmured apologies and lowered gazes. You hated the way the word princess seemed to build a wall no matter how gently you tried to tear it down.

You accepted the tea from the little girl with a nod of thanks and turned to the group.

“Has there been any word?” you asked, voice quiet. “From home?”

The silence that fell was louder than words.

A few exchanged glances before a younger man finally spoke. He had a bandage along his forearm and eyes that looked far older than his face.

“There’s been nothing since we crossed the border. No letters, no couriers. Not even smuggled word from the traders. It’s like the land itself closed up behind us..”

He paused, voice growing rougher. “But before that... we saw enough.”

Another woman nodded, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “The new king… He’s changed everything. The patrols. The laws. People vanish, sometimes whole families if they so much as defy him. The soldiers say it’s for peace and order—but they act more like hunters than guards.”

Your heart ached with every word. For the longest time you could only assume that Minghao would seize the throne the moment he’d killed your father, but hearing from the citizens’ mouths that he’s been bastardizing the place you called home… You couldn’t even begin to fathom how to feel about it. 

All of a sudden, someone else muttered, “And the animals...”

You turned toward the speaker, a boy barely in his teens.

“They're not right,” he said. “Things from the mountains and the marshes showing up in the city. Creatures we’ve only heard in stories. I saw one—twice the size of a horse, with eyes like glass. The guards didn’t even flinch. They walked it like it was trained. And when they ordered it to kill my parents…” 

Your hands tightened around the cup.

“Minghao has been gathering beasts all across the kingdom, Your Highness,” said an elderly man, leaning on a carved cane. “My daughter told me that his armies brought them into the capital in droves. Those that he wasn’t interested in experimenting on were given as pets to his high-ranking soldiers…”

Experimenting? For what? 

Minghao had always been a steady, gentle presence in your life. Despite the harshness of his upbringing as a Renxing royal, he never let it harden him, at least not with you. He was the one who first placed a bow in your hands, one of the few who stood beside you when others scoffed at the idea of a princess learning to fight. He never saw you as less for wanting more. And for a long time, you remembered what it felt like to trust him.

So why did this sound like something he’d planned for a very long time?

Your people’s eyes clung to you, heavy with hope that hadn’t been asked for, but had somehow taken root the moment they recognized your face. It wrapped around you like ivy, quiet and persistent, tightening with every breath.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“You’re the rightful heir,” the woman in front of you whispered with hope. “We don’t ask for miracles. Just… tell us you haven’t given up. Tell us we’re not waiting for nothing.”

A few others murmured in agreement.

You met her eyes. Then the eyes of the boy who’d lost his parents. The man with the bandaged arm. The old man with the cane. Each one etched with wounds and wear, and yet—each one daring to hope again.

And in your chest, something twisted.

I don’t know what to do.

The thought tried to rise, thick and shameful. You didn’t know how to reclaim a kingdom, or face someone you once trusted with your own life. You didn’t know what it meant to be queen, or even if you wanted to be.

But you remembered your father—how even in the face of every problem the throne had to face, he never once let the people see the storm in his heart. His spine had been a spine for all of Ancarra. When grief nearly drowned you, his voice was still the one you searched for in the dark. 

You rose slowly to your feet, pressing the tea back into the girl’s hands with a soft smile. The circle around you widened just slightly, respectful and watchful.

“I know it’s been hard,” you said, your voice calm, steady—more than you felt. “For all of us. We’ve lost so much. But we’re here, we’re still alive. That means something.”

A few people nodded faintly. Others just watched, unmoving, like they were afraid this moment would vanish if they blinked.

You turned to look at them one by one, drawing strength from their presence even as their weight settled deeper on your shoulders. “We may not be in Ancarra anymore, but Ancarra still lives—in us. In our choices. In what we fight for. That hasn’t changed. That won’t change.”

You breathed in slowly, deeply, like your father used to before addressing a court that expected miracles. You remembered how he never flinched when the weight of the country bore down. How he didn’t always have the answers, but he never let them see his doubt.

He was gone.

Now it was your turn.

“We don’t know what’s coming next. But I promise you—” You paused, squaring your shoulders. “Whatever it is, we’ll meet it. Together.”

A long silence followed. Then someone whispered, "For Ancarra."

Another voice echoed it. Then another. Until the street hummed with the quiet beginnings of belief. You didn’t let yourself cry, though you wanted to. Because you were not just some girl lost in a country that wasn’t her own. 

You were Ancarra’s future. 

The sun had begun to dip when you returned to Taeyeon’s estate. The cobbled path was golden in the light, and the silence of the grounds wrapped around you like balm. You half-expected to find the courtyard empty again, but as you stepped through the arched gate, a familiar voice called out:

“You’re just in time for tea.”

You blinked, surprised.

Taeyeon sat on the front porch, a delicate porcelain cup in one hand, the other resting loosely across her lap. She looked far too serene for someone who had been managing half the city’s magical logistics. Her dark hair was pinned back today, but loose strands shimmered around her face in the late light. A second cup sat beside her, already steaming.

“I thought you were still out,” you said, walking closer. 

Taeyeon smiled apologetically and gestured to the seat beside her. “I had to tend to some administrative tedium. The mage’s guild gets skittish every time I miss a meeting—afraid I’ve gone off to start a war, probably. But now I’m back. And far more free to help you with the Hanya issue.”

You sank onto the cushion beside her with a sigh and reached for the tea. “Minjeong’s cooking was plenty company,” you said truthfully, a little grin tugging at your mouth. “Seriously. I’ve never had noodles like that.”

“She takes it as a personal offense if anyone walks away hungry,” Taeyeon said fondly.

For a few beats, the quiet settled in. Then you set your cup down and turned toward her, more serious now. “About Hanya…”

Taeyeon arched her brow.

“I wanted to tell you… you don’t have to scheme on my behalf.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I want to speak to her myself.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head, lips twitching. “What spurred this on?”

“I met with some of the Ancarrian refugees today,” you said quietly. “They’re still holding on. Somehow. And they looked at me like I’m still someone worth believing in.”

Her smile deepened, warm and proud. “You are someone worth believing in.”

You looked away, the words settling somewhere too close to the bone.

“Okay,” Taeyeon said. “I’ll take you to Hanya at first light. But for today—rest. You still have bruises from your sparring sessions at Jongkook’s. I’m afraid Prince Jeonghan will have me maimed alive if he finds out I permitted those blemishes on you.”

You snorted, the tension easing from your shoulders. “He would not.”

“Speaking of that prince,” she added, “he sent another letter for you. The bird’s already waiting by the window of your room.”

You blinked. “Already?”

Taeyeon laughed cheekily. “I think he’s working through separation anxiety in written form.”

You thanked Taeyeon quietly and slipped back into the house, the scent of roasted nuts trailing from the kitchen. As you passed, Minjeong barely looked up from her chopping, but she gave a small nod, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. You returned it before heading upstairs.

Your room was bathed in amber light. The shutters had been opened just enough to let the sun filter through, casting golden stripes across the floor. Perched on the windowsill was a familiar bird—indignant, and unmistakably sulky.

“Dandelion,” you breathed.

He stared at you like he’s been waiting for hours.

Took you long enough.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a mood.”

You would be too if someone plucked you out of the royal aviary at an ungodly hour reeking of alcohol. Dandelion fluffed his feathers with great offense. Is that guy really your type? He’s a little insane, you know.

“He’s plenty insane,” you corrected, not bothering to answer his question as you reached for the letter he’d placed on your nightstand. “Jeonghan woke you up just for this? Couldn’t even wait until morning?”

With no bribe, too! Not even the crust of a honey biscuit. Ungrateful bastard.

You stifled a smile, already recognizing Jeonghan’s dramatic scrawl on the parchment. But as your eyes parsed through the words he’d written, a scowl slowly rooted itself on your face.

Princess,

Do you know what the problem is with Oak Walker? It makes a man honest.

I was going to write something refined. Polished. The sort of letter your new mage friends would be proud of. But then I started thinking about the way you looked the last  night we were together—moonlight on your collarbone, moaning like the pretty thing you are—and suddenly, grammar didn’t feel that important anymore.

Do you ever think about it? The way you ruined me?

I haven’t slept a full night since. My bed’s cold. My back still aches. My staff won’t meet my eyes. They think I’m possessed. And maybe I am because every time I close my eyes, I see you beneath me, skin flushed, breasts bouncing, my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours.

You should come home. I promise to let you pin me to a wall as revenge for the last time I did that to you. Or the floor. Or the damn balcony—I’m not picky.

Yours in body and soul,  Jeonghan

P.S. If you burn this, I will know. I will feel it.

You stared at the letter.

The words were very much still there.

Your ears burned. Your soul burned.

“…He did not just—”

Your voice strangled itself in disbelief as your gaze flitted wildly across the page, trying to make sense of the absolute audacity bleeding from every line. And oh, there it was again—my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours—and—

You slapped the parchment face down on your desk like it had personally wronged you.

From the desk, Dandelion ruffled his feathers. You alright? Did he insult your ancestors or something?

You made another strangled noise and slapped the letter facedown, as if that would undo the image now seared into your brain. Gods, you could see it all again—Jeonghan’s mouth on your skin, the way his voice had gone hoarse whispering your name, the heat of his body against yours, the—

You groaned and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes. “He’s actually insane.”

You keep saying that, Dandelion said dryly, and yet you’re redder than a boiled beet.

“I’m not—! Shut up.”

Just say the word and I’ll drop something in his bathwater. Maybe something that turns his voice high-pitched for a few hours.

You gave him a look. “You’re supposed to be neutral.”

I’m not that neutral. A pause. So. Am I taking a response back? Or should I just cough dramatically near his ear for a full day and let him know it’s from you?

You groaned again—but this time, you reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. “He’s not getting the last word.”

Dandelion chirped happily. That’s the spirit.

Jeonghan,

Have you completely lost your mind?

Actually, don’t answer that. I already know the answer. No sane person sends that kind of letter via bird in the middle of the night, without so much as a crumb of food for the courier. Dandelion is offended. I am mortified beyond belief. 

Do you even remember what you wrote? You’d better hope not, because if you ever say any of that out loud to my face, I’ll make good on the “pinning you to the wall” part, but not the way you meant.

Gods, Jeonghan. I came to Aragorn to figure out who I am outside of what the world made me. To breathe for a moment. To think clearly. And then you go and send that? You really are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.

But since I’m concerned that my lack of a direct response to your… debauchery might result in further punishment for Dandelion, then yes. I think about that night more often than I’d like to admit. However, unlike you, I don’t write important correspondences while under the influence of Yoona’s evil Oak Walker, so that’s all you’re getting out of me. 

Sincerely, Dandelion’s only friend

P.S. Your staff thinks you’re possessed because you are. I should know. I’ve spent more than enough time in your orbit to recognize the symptoms.

P.P.S. Get some sleep. I mean it.

You folded the letter with great precision, like you were packing away something volatile. Sealed it with the little copper signet Taeyeon had given you, stamped with Aragorn’s flame. Then you turned to Dandelion, who was very visibly preening like he hadn’t just been dragged into a royal sex scandal against his will.

“Here,” you said, handing over the rolled parchment. “Straight to the prince. No stops. No flirting with the bluebirds on the southern cliffs.”

I have done no such thing! 

You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “Just go. And if he tries to read this out loud to anyone, claw his face off.”

Dandelion took off in a sweep of dark wings and indignant muttering, leaving you alone once more in your sun-dappled chambers.

For a moment, you simply stood there, the silence hugging your shoulders. Then you sank into the bed, curling onto your side as your eyes drifted toward Jeonghan’s most recent letter. You’d tossed carelessly on your quilt like it wasn’t responsible for the blush creeping up your neck.

You reached for it. 

(You shouldn’t have. You absolutely shouldn’t have.

But you did.)

Your gaze traced the lines again, the scrawl that grew progressively less elegant the filthier it got. You could almost hear his voice in it—drawling, drunk, and smug. And unfortunately for you, your treacherous memory filled in the rest.

The curve of moonlight over his skin. The way your names had blurred on each other’s tongues. The pressure of his mouth between your thighs, and your fingers tangled in his red hair as you gasped for—

You groaned into a pillow, mortified.

What was wrong with you?

Why did your body remember every second with such vivid, burning clarity? You pressed your legs together and tried not to think about the fact that you were embarrassingly warm all over. You’d literally just met with the remnants of your people this morning, and now you’re fantasizing about an uncouth prince?

He’d ruined you, and he wasn’t even in the damn room.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, as if suffocating yourself could somehow drown out the memory. It didn’t. If anything, the darkness behind your eyelids made it worse. You could still feel Jeonghan bracing himself above you with that maddening smile before stealing the breath from your lungs. You reached blindly for his letter again, the parchment crackling beneath your fingers. Read the lines a third time. Maybe a fourth. Your thighs shifted.

“Stop,” you groaned at yourself.

But the memory was a wildfire now, licking across your skin—his mouth, his hands, the weight of him, the way he'd said your name like it was holy. And gods help you, your hand started moving before you could talk yourself out of it.

You bit your lip as your fingers brushed over the waistband of your trousers, breath catching in your throat. 

But your body didn’t seem to care—because your mind was already there. Back in his arms. Back in that room lit by moonlight and madness, where the air had smelled like sandalwood and wine and something distinctly him. 

Tell me what you want.

You slipped your hand lower, hips shifting as heat pulsed through you.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Your fingers moved slower, firmer, guided by the rhythm of memory. His hands on your thighs. His mouth at your neck. You moaned softly, biting down on the edge of the pillow as your heart  raced. The ache built steadily—hot, urgent, and overwhelming. His name fell from your lips again, this time as a whimper.

That night you hadn’t gone all the way. But what if you did? What if Jeonghan had sunk his cock into your needy heat? You just knew he’d fuck you until you saw stars; knew he’d whisper how good your tight cunt felt around him. And then you’d take everything he gave, let him mark you, make you his—

And when the wave crested, when it shattered through you like a tremor beneath the skin, you clung to the sheets like they were him.

You lay there for a while, panting, flushed, half-glaring at the ceiling.

Jeonghan. That infuriating man. 

Even half a world away, he still had you wrapped around his goddamn finger.

The morning sun hadn’t yet burned off the dew clinging to the leaves when you and Taeyeon stepped through the shimmering veil of her portal, landing on the mossy path outside Hanya’s crooked little house.

You still couldn’t meet Taeyeon’s eyes.

Not after last night.

Every time your thoughts wandered, they wandered—and your cheeks burned hot all over again. If Taeyeon noticed anything strange about your stiff posture or the too-casual way you’d greeted her this morning, she didn’t mention it. She just handed you a piece of toast, opened a portal, and strolled through it like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Which, thankfully, gave you room to pretend nothing was.

The animals were already stirring around Hanya’s porch. You saw the same monkey from last time perched on the railing, along with a sleepy fox curled beside the doorstep. As you approached, the fox cracked open one eye and regarded you lazily.

Most give up after the first rejection, it said.

“I’m not like most,” you murmured back, steeling your resolve as you lifted your hand to knock.

The door creaked open as Hanya filled the doorway like a shadow, her sharp gray eyes already narrowed in irritation. Her lips curled into something resembling a snarl.

“I thought I made myself clear last time,” she said. “I don’t want your cursed magic anywhere near me.”

You met her gaze head-on, spine straight. “But don’t you carry the same cursed magic too?”

There was a pause. Barely half a breath. But you saw it—the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes widened slightly, just for a second. Behind you, Taeyeon gave a quiet, knowing laugh. Hanya’s glare returned full force, but something about it had changed. She muttered something under her breath—probably a curse—and turned with a huff.

Honestly, this was a bit of a surprise. You didn’t think that was all you had to say to change her mind.

“Well,” she grumbled, stomping inside. “Don’t just stand there.”

You exchanged a glance with Taeyeon, your chest still tight with nerves. But you followed, stepping into the home of the one mage who might finally understand what had always made your magic feel wrong.

Hanya stepped back with a grunt and a reluctant flick of her wrist, gesturing for you and Taeyeon inside. “Don’t touch anything,” she muttered. “Especially if it hisses.”

The moment you crossed the threshold, the air changed.

The interior of the house felt less like a home and more like the heart of a living, breathing wildwood. The scent of moss, singed herbs, and fur lingered in the air. Wooden shelves lined the walls, cluttered with bundles of dried grasses, enchanted bones, claws from creatures you couldn’t name, and glowing vials that pulsed with slow, otherworldly light. 

A spiral of thick roots twisted up through the center of the room, acting as a natural column. Hanging from it were dozens of charms: teeth strung on thread, bits of crystal, and bells that rang with no breeze. A fat marmalade-colored cat blinked at you from the top of a high shelf. The fox from outside slinked past your ankles like mist, its nine tails fanned with interest.

Hanya poured steaming water over crushed bark and a cindersong bloom in a chipped stone teapot. The scent was bitter, like burned honey and pine. She set it on the hearth without ceremony, then turned to you.

“If you want me to teach you, girl,” she said, “you need to know where you come from. What you carry.”

Taeyeon gave you an encouraging nod, stepping aside as if to say: this part is yours.

Hanya motioned for you to sit. “There are two kinds of beast mages left in Ancarra—those who speak, and those who become. You think you’re the first kind. But you need to understand both.”

You sat down, back straight, heart pounding.

“In the beginning,” Hanya said, settling across from you, “beasts ruled those lands. Not animals, but spirits. The First Beasts. Embodiments of instinct and truth. They were united by a trifecta: the Owl of Wisdom, the Tiger of Loyalty, and the Serpent of Vengeance. Humans were nothing but prey. Until some brave soul knelt before the trifecta and listened instead of running away from them.”

“A covenant was made between the First Beasts and the Ancarrans of old, and two kinds of magic were born,” she continued, “The Tongue of Beasts—this is yours; the path of the Speakers, of empathy and true listening. The other is the Shape of Beasts, which belongs to Shapeshifters. Borrowed form. Physical memory. The two were meant to exist in balance.”

“But something happened,” you murmured, voice hushed.

Hanya nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “A warlord rose and called himself the Beast King. He thought speaking was weak—why whisper when you can devour? He took the forms of the spirits without their permission, without their wisdom. Killed them. Absorbed them. And in doing so, shattered the pact.”

The fire popped behind her, sending sparks up the hearth. 

You thought about Hanya’s words long and hard. The two kinds of beast magic, the story of the Beast King usurping the First Beasts… Was this what Minghao was planning? The reason why he was bringing those creatures to the capital of Ancarra?

“Your mother was a Speaker, too,” Hanya said. “She may not have worn the title openly, but she carried the gift. So did her mother before her. The Royal Bloodline wasn’t just made to rule humans—it was made to speak to what came before humans. The First Beasts. Your voice can stir them from slumber.”

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. “Why… why didn’t anyone tell me? About the truth behind our magic? All I was told was that Mother could speak to animals, too…”

“Because the world calls it cursed now,” she said, voice cool. “Because after the Shapeshifter betrayal, they lumped all beast magic together as dangerous. Dirty and forbidden. And so the stories died. The line was broken. And you, little Speaker—” her gaze flicked over you with something between scorn and pity—“were left to figure it out alone.”

A kind of aching clarity poured in. You had spent your entire life speaking to animals in whispers, never knowing why the birds sang back, or why Reya’s voice rang louder in your heart than most people’s ever did. You’d been told it was a blessing, then a curse, then something to be hidden. Now, finally, it had a name—a legacy. You weren’t broken. You weren’t a mistake. 

You were part of something ancient.

“I want to learn,” you said, quietly. “I need to.”

Hanya gave a slow, grudging nod, already rising to her feet with a determined look on her face.

“Then let’s see if your blood remembers what the crown forgot.”

The castle halls were quieter than usual when Joshua went looking for his brother. Morning light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows, casting blue and gold patterns on the stone floor. When he asked after Jeonghan, the maids exchanged uneasy glances.

“His Highness left at dawn,” one whispered. “Didn’t say where.”

Joshua sighed. Of course he didn’t. Jeonghan hadn’t been himself since you disappeared. He told everyone you were safe—that you’d gone somewhere to train, and that your letters proved you were alive—but even Joshua could see the cracks beneath that assurance. His brother doubted it. Every second of every day.

So he followed instinct, rather than logic. Out past the castle gates, through the eastern woods that had long since been declared off-limits to servants and guests. There was a place there that no one else knew about; a clearing only he and Jeonghan used to sneak away to when they were younger.

And there, in the center of that clearing, was a black dragon.

It lay curled in a bed of flattened wildgrass, wings folded tight to its back, smoke curling from its nostrils. Massive and ancient, yet somehow familiar in posture. A creature no longer supposed to exist. Joshua froze, breath caught in his throat. Then his boot crunched softly against a patch of dried leaves.

The dragon cracked open one enormous eye, golden and slitted. It narrowed slightly at the sight of him, but did not move. Joshua swallowed and smiled, trying not to be overwhelmed by awe. 

“You know,” he said, voice casual, “you’re a lot more talkative when you’re human.”

A puff of smoke answered him. Clearly irritated.

Joshua tilted his head. “Come on, brother. I know it’s you. Talk to me in a form I can actually understand.”

There was a pause.

Then, with a low rumble that shook the leaves, the dragon began to shift. Bones and scales folded inwards; wings collapsed; the long tail vanished in smoke. What remained, standing amid the dissipating steam, was a man—naked, barefoot, breathing a little too hard. His hair was black again, same as the dragon’s scales.

Joshua stared at him. “Really?”

“You came looking for me. You get what you get.”

The younger prince tossed him his cloak. “I swear to the gods, I’m the only thing standing between you and a dozen traumatized gardeners.”

Jeonghan caught it, but didn’t laugh. He sat down in the grass, folding the cloak loosely around him, gaze lost in the distant treetops.

Joshua sat beside him, knees drawn up. “You didn’t even tell me you could do that. Back then you only transformed into… simpler things. A dog. A squirrel. But a dragon?”

“It’s not exactly something I advertise.”

“No,” Joshua said quietly, “but it’s something you should have told me.”

Jeonghan didn’t answer. The wind stirred the grass. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, curling around them like memory. Joshua leaned closer to feel for his temperature with the back of his hand, the fussy brother that he was.

“You’re burning up from the inside,” he frowned. “That form… You shouldn’t hold it for too long.”

“I know.”

“Then why use it?”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still trembling. “Because when I’m a dragon,” he said, voice soft and raw, “I don’t have to feel how much I miss her.”

Joshua blinked, taken aback. Not by the words themselves, but by how easily they’d fallen from his brother’s mouth. Jeonghan wasn’t one for confession. He wore his emotions like armor: controlled, polished, impossible to pierce. But here, now, stripped of everything—title, pride, even clothes—he looked like a boy again. 

A boy mourning something that hadn’t died, just disappeared. And Joshua, who had always been his quiet shadow, his tether to the world, suddenly felt the full weight of that love. Not just longing, but devotion. The kind Jeonghan had never been able to unlearn, no matter how much time passed or how far you had gone.

Jeonghan let out a shaky breath. “And gods help me, Shua… The longer she’s gone, the harder it is to believe she’s coming back.”

Joshua didn’t answer him.

He had always known his brother loved you. That part had never been a mystery. It was in the way Jeonghan lingered at the edge of your world—never gentle, never far. Even as children, he needled and provoked, the way some boys do when affection is too sharp to name. He kept you close by keeping you off balance. He orbited you like gravity—not because he was soft, but because he didn’t know how to let go.

And he’d known about the shame, too. About the curse.

His shapeshifting magic had always been a secret, one locked behind palace doors, spoken of only in whispers within their family. Their parents never acknowledged it directly, but Joshua had seen the signs. The fear in Jeonghan’s eyes after a transformation gone wrong. The burn marks on his skin that no one ever treated aloud. The way he would disappear for days whenever the magic overwhelmed him. Their mother’s cold silences. Their father’s refusal to meet his gaze.

So no—none of this was new to Joshua.

But what he hadn’t understood, not until now, was how tightly Jeonghan’s self-hatred was knotted around the fact that he loved you.

Being betrothed to the girl he adored should’ve been a blessing. But it became a terror. And so he did what he did best: pushed, provoked, made himself unbearable. He gave you every reason to hate him. Because if you loved a cursed thing, maybe the curse would claim you, too. And Jeonghan—fool that he was—would rather be unloved than be the reason you were ruined.

Joshua reached over, not saying a word, and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. In the quiet, the trees swayed. Somewhere far off, a hawk cried.

And the two princes sat alone in the clearing—one still smoking from old magic, the other quietly holding him together—as the last vestiges of dragonfire cooled to ash.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

⟢ end notes: i'm having SUCHHH a ride writing this, you guys have no idea lmfao!!! and if you noticed, joshua's mc from his fic in the series finally has a name too + chan and hyejin appearance, who else cheered? i was supposed to have this up next week, but today's a holiday for me, so i got around to editing and finally cleaning up this part :3c i really really tried to make two parts work but... :( however, like in my jeongcheol x reader fic, inflection point, all the best things come in threes! that said, thank you oh-so much for the overwhelming reception on the first part T T i was gone for more than a year, so i didn't expect people to like my stuff after all this time UEUEUEUE see you in the finale!!!!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

[cece693]

May I pretty please request Hannigram with an SO that really likes biting things? Like they’ll just nibble on anything available, including themself or Hanni/Will

male reader if possible :)

Bite Me, Darling

pairing: hannibal lecter and will graham x male reader tags: self soothing mechanism, male reader bites things, Alana bashing, jack Crawford bashing, just everyone in general is against this relationship, innocent male reader, hannibal and will want to keep him this way

It was strange, how everything about him was normal on the surface but wildly unique beneath. The way he moved through life, unaware of the way people stared, was something that only a few people truly understood. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, for all their intelligence and their capacity for manipulation, had each found something in him—something pure and raw—that spoke to them in ways they couldn’t articulate.

You were innocent in the most innocent way. You didn’t know how to read people’s intentions, how to navigate the murky waters of deceit and pain that others swam in. You were a creature of quiet habits: chewing on pens, biting the corner of your sleeves, even nibbling your fingers. It wasn’t that you was anxious, but rather that this was your way of processing the world. You didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was with a tenderness that could disarm even the most hardened individuals.

For some, this made you seem almost too innocent for the likes of Will and Hannibal. They were two men who dealt with darkness constantly, who played in shadows. Hannibal, the brilliant psychiatrist with an appetite for blood, had found himself intrigued long before anything happened between them. How did such a pure soul even come to be? How was it that someone as complex as Hannibal could be pulled into a world where biting things wasn’t just a habit—it was part of who you were?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Hannibal was nothing if not a man who craved complexity, and you, with your simple yet peculiar habit of biting, had an allure that he could never fully comprehend. He wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred, when you had shifted from being someone he wanted to understand to someone he wanted to possess.

Will, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. He found your unspoken understanding of him soothing. Will was not a man who found comfort easily. He’d had too many years of running from his own mind, of balancing between the need for human connection and the heavy weight of his empathic gifts. But you were different. You never demanded anything from him. There was no need to over explain; no fear of rejection. You were there, and that was enough.

The three of them had fallen into a relationship that no one, especially not Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, could understand. Jack, upset that you had a greater control over his 'asset' perceived you as a problem that needed to be extinguished immediately. While he couldn't force Will to break up with you, he began to use manipulative language more frequently, hinting that his absence was endangering the lives of people. But after a while, his words began to lose power.

"Will, you can’t just leave because he told you to," Jack would say, his voice thick with frustration. "We need you to solve this case. You're part of this team." But Will, unmoved, always told him he was tired and needed a break—as if killers would respect that and stop murdering until he felt better. Jack would then begin to retort how soft Will was becoming, as if that ever mattered when others perceived him as a madman.

Alana, on the other hand, was driven by something more personal. Jealousy. She had been drawn to both Hannibal and Will. Her feelings for them had never been simple or easy, but she had always harbored a belief that somehow, one day, they would choose her. Instead, they had chosen you. The idea of you, with your gentle biting habit, managing to capture the attention of both men—of all people—was enough to make her skin crawl with resentment. How could someone so abnormal and clearly dealing with childhood trauma have the audacity to step into their world and steal both her love interests?

She couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t deserve them. You weren't like her—you didn’t understand the complexities of their lives nor seemed to be able to handle the hurdles that came with it. And so, she set to work.

It started subtly. A conversation here, a comment there.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re a little strange?” she would ask, voice light, as if it were a passing thought. “I mean, the biting…it's something you can't help, but don't you ever want to stop it? Be seen as normal for once in your life?"

At first, you had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. But over time, the seeds of doubt were planted. You began to wonder. Was your habit of biting things wrong? Your lovers had never raised concerns, but it would be something they'll definitely keep private, perhaps a secret only shared between Hannibal and Will. You never thought that Alana's words were connived to break your relationship apart, your naivety something the woman had taken into account and used to her advantage.

So, you tried to stop.

You started small: you tucked your hands into your sleeves when your instincts told you to gnaw at the fabric, and you opted for straws instead of biting the rim of a glass cup. You made an effort—any effort—to keep your teeth away from Will and Hannibal’s skin, no matter how comforting that gentle pressure felt against them. At first, neither man noticed; after all, it was easy to dismiss as a passing mood or an unremarkable change in routine.

But after a couple of days, small signs alerted both of them to the shift. Will began to see you catch yourself mid-motion, your hand halfway to your mouth before you stopped and pressed it flat against your chest instead. Hannibal noticed the anxious flicker in your eyes whenever you realized you were about to bite down on your sleeve—or worse, on him—and yanked yourself away.

It was Will who first chose to address it. One evening, you were curled up in his living room, dogs scattered around you like living blankets. The space was quiet, the only sound the gentle snoring of a dog and the low hum of the overhead light. You were running your thumb over your bottom lip—an almost-bite—when Will finally spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

He studied you with those empathetic eyes of his. You knew he was reading more into your silence, but Will was nothing if not patient. “You’ve been distant,” he finally ventured, words slow and careful. “I don’t mind if you need space, but if something’s bothering you, I want to help.”

The sincerity in his voice tore at your heart. You wanted to confide in him, to say Alana made me feel wrong, and I don’t want to be wrong for you, but the fear of seeming weak or needy held you back. You simply shook your head and offered a reassuring pat to one of the dogs resting on your lap. “I’m fine,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t push. “Just tired.”

Hannibal discovered your change in behavior under more intimate circumstances. The two of you were alone in his kitchen, the scent of simmering stock filling the air. He had taken your hand to guide you closer to the cutting board, demonstrating a particular technique for slicing vegetables. Normally, a casual closeness like this was an invitation for you to lean in, maybe press your teeth gently against the back of his hand or the curve of his arm—just enough to ground yourself in his presence. This time, you didn't lean in nor brought his hand to your lips.

Hannibal stilled, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise. “Darling,” he asked softly, “what’s wrong?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to hurt you,” you offered lamely, though you both knew you had never caused him pain before. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he released your hand without comment. You wondered if your face betrayed the unease you felt, because Hannibal’s expression shifted into something gentler, concerned. But he chose not to press you then and there. Instead, he simply carried on, instructing you gently with the knife work and occasionally brushing a reassuring hand across your back.

Though both men tried to give you space, their combined worry spilled over as time went on. Neither was used to seeing you so guarded, especially around them. On a chilly afternoon, the three of you gathered in Hannibal’s study—a routine that had become something of a tradition. Will sipped his whiskey quietly while Hannibal and you browsed through his impressive collection of classical music. There was a soothing air of comfort, and for a brief moment, your doubts dimmed.

But of course, it was Will who noticed your jaw moving—saw the slight shift as your teeth worked the soft flesh inside your cheek. He placed his whiskey glass down on the table with a muted clink before pushing himself out of the chair.

“Stop,” he murmured, crossing the room with purpose. His voice was gentle but firm as he stepped close to you. Without hesitating, he brought his hand to your chin, his touch warm yet insistent. “Open your mouth.”

You stiffened, instinctively pulling away. You shook your head, trying to avert your gaze from Will’s intense blue eyes. You didn’t want to show him. You didn’t want him to see the damage you’d done to keep from biting them instead.

But then, Hannibal appeared at Will’s side, his presence commanding. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave you—equal parts concern and disappointment—made your shoulders slump in silent surrender. Unable to deny the weight of their worry, you parted your lips, letting Will tilt your chin just enough so both he and Hannibal could peer inside.

A faint gasp escaped Will as he saw the small puncture in your cheek, the fresh bead of crimson welling against your lower molars. Hannibal’s lips flattened into a thin line, and a flicker of displeasure darkened his gaze. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small wound, but it spoke volumes to them—volumes about how you had been coping alone.

Hannibal’s voice was low, edged with concern. “You’ve been hurting yourself to avoid biting us.” It wasn’t a question; it was a quiet statement of fact.

Will let go of your chin carefully. “Why?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

You swallowed thickly, your hand hovering near your mouth in a subconscious attempt to hide the injury you’d just revealed. “Alana said it’s weird. The biting,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

A stretch of silence followed your confession, Hannibal and Will exchanged a look—a silent conversation filled with understanding and mild anger toward Alana’s interference. Will’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. “We told you before,” he reminded you gently, “you don’t have to hide this from us. You’re not hurting us—”

“—nor inconveniencing us,” Hannibal interrupted, stepping closer again. The resolute calm in his eyes steadied you. “In fact, we’ve grown quite accustomed to it, and dare I say, fond of it. Your habit is part of who you are.”

You glanced down, feeling the sting of tears threatening in your eyes. “I just…I didn’t want you to get sick of me, or to think I was some sort of burden.”

Will’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through with a gentle squeeze. “That’s not possible,” he murmured. “We miss it…miss you being comfortable around us.”

Hannibal placed a hand against your cheek, being mindful of your tender injury. “You never need to hurt yourself on our behalf,” he said, voice quiet but unyielding. “Any pain you feel—physical or otherwise—we’d much rather help you carry it, not watch you bury it inside.”

At those words, a sharp wave of relief pulsed through you, along with an ache of regret for having doubted them. You inhaled shakily, letting yourself lean just a fraction closer to Hannibal’s touch, feeling the stability it offered. Will eased his other hand around your waist, tugging you gently in his direction. Sandwiched between them, you could almost believe nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I…I’ll try not to hide it anymore.”

Will’s lips quirked into a small, comforting smile. “No more chewing on your cheek,” he said, voice warm with affection. “You’ll let us help, right?”

With a hesitant nod, you felt Hannibal’s hand slide from your cheek to the back of your head, urging you closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He cast a glance at Will, who leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Despite the swirl of emotions, you felt a gentle calm in their presence—a sense of being anchored.

[saltyjoy]

Late Night Love

Bob Reynolds x Female Reader

Summary: You never really interacted with Bob before, but then you started "3 AM Baking." Every other night you'd join him during the ungodly hour to meet up and do anything you two wanted, completely undisturbed. Sure, maybe he didn't talk to you outside of that time period, but that was okay. Just as you thought you had cemented your routine together he started acted weird. He'd casually lean on you, hold your hand, and act as if you were dating in front of the team. However that can't be the case. Right?

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings/Tags: Kinda secret dating, Also kinda not, You'll understand once you read it, Reader is in denial, Reader is kinda introverted, Reader likes to bake as a hobby, Reader's backstory is kept vague

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this! I really want to get better at writing Bob's character. Hopefully this is to your guys' liking :D

Masterlist

You weren’t the most social person on the team. That being said, you did try. These past couple of weeks for you have been chaotic, between almost getting incinerated, fighting the Void, and becoming a part of the “New Avengers.”

It was a lot.

You had no previous connections with anybody on the team. Sure, you knew of them, but you didn’t know them. This led to you feeling a sort of disconnect with the team. These people were already used to this world, something you were not. 

You didn’t take a serum, weren’t raised as a child assassin, none of that. You were just a good fighter. One thing the team bonded over was their shared trauma, experiences you'd never be able to truly relate to.

It was lonely, but it wasn’t exactly something you could change (or want to change). As a result of this disconnect, you’d try to avoid the bigger group hangouts. You’d attend them occasionally, of course, but you would limit your time there. 

It was only when Yelena started talking to you that you warmed up to them. She seemed to understand your hesitance to join in and welcomed you with open arms.

Over time, the group slowly warmed up to you, and you all established some sort of connection. Everything was going smoothly. However, that took months to build up to.

Even though you were now comfortable with the Avengers (or Thunderbolts, as Alexei likes to insist on), there were still some things you preferred doing alone, such as baking. This may not be an issue, but there was always somebody out in the common area or kitchen doing something. As a result, you’d be up at ungodly hours, whisking away.

It wasn’t necessarily a routine, you wouldn’t describe it like that. It was more of a regular comfort hobby. You’d spend a couple of nights throughout the week baking in the kitchen, sometimes more. You had quickly learned that having super soldiers on the team meant that they ate everything, so you can imagine your shock at seeing the cake pops you made last night all gone by the next day. You had made a lot.

Truthfully, while you did sometimes want to eat your own sweets, you didn’t mind the team eating them. It made you glad that they enjoyed it, so you continued this routine even months after joining the team. 

Typically, you didn’t have many visitors whenever you baked; most of the team was either in their rooms or asleep. It was rare that you ever ran into somebody when baking at that team. Most of the time, they’d either greet you, still half-asleep, or stay to get the first taste before the treat inevitably disappeared the next day.

Most of the time, it was Yelena, Ava, and sometimes even Bucky (which was surprising at first, but you quickly got used to it). 

However, there was one time it wasn’t.

-

You want cookies. 

You had a craving for cookies throughout the week that just couldn’t be satisfied. This led to you baking at three in the morning. You didn’t want anything too fancy, just a classic chocolate chip cookie. 

You grab the butter and eggs from the fridge before going to grab the dry ingredients. You turned on some soft music, hoping that it was quiet enough that nobody would hear. You figured the rooms were soundproof, but you never found out for sure. 

You whisked the wet ingredients together, humming the song to yourself. You slowly sift in the dry ingredients, only stopping once you hear a door open. Damn, was the music that loud?

You pause the music and your mixing, glancing up to see who has joined you. You see Bob walk out from the hallway. 

You try to mask your surprise, for you hadn’t seen Bob during one of these sessions before. You didn’t know him very well either, but he’s never been mean or rude to you at all. Most of the time, he’s just distantly polite and quiet with you. Since you can be pretty quiet around new people, you didn’t ever really talk to him.

“Oh, hey,” you smile at him, “sorry, did the music disturb you?” You ask, walking to the sink to wash your hands. 

He blinks at you, eyes falling to the mixing bowl you stood by. “No,” he begins, his voice low. “It’s fine.” 

You nod, “Alright, let me know if it’s disturbing you.” You shrug, going back to mixing. He stands there for a bit, almost as if he’s unsure what to do with himself. 

You add the chocolate chips into the dough, folding them into it. You glance over, noticing that Bob is hovering near the exit. Perhaps he can’t sleep?

“Did you want some?” 

He startles, turning towards you, “Sorry, what?”

“Cookies,” you gesture to the cookie dough, “they’re, uh, chocolate chip.” He pauses, looking at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but based on that fact alone, you feel as if he’s going to decline. You don’t mind, you aren’t offended—

“Sure.” He responds, walking over slowly.

Your mouth parts in shock, but you quickly recover. You weren’t sure if he wanted to continue the conversation, but seeing as he was willing to sit with you and eat cookies, you figured he wanted a distraction.

“I had a craving for chocolate chip cookies earlier,” you ramble, “after Alexei finished the brownies from yesterday, I thought I would make some cookies to satisfy that craving.” You roll some of the dough before placing it on the baking tray. 

“They’ll be done in like twelve minutes.” You decide to sit down. 

“Oh,” he nods, looking at the oven, “okay.”

You smile at him, trying to channel every bit of Yelena that you can think of. He likes Yelena. “You like cookies or brownies?” 

He nods, avoiding eye contact, “Yeah.”

You smile, “Me too, maybe I can make you some in the future? Save you some before the stampede of super soldiers raids the kitchen.” 

He cracks a small smile, but it’s short-lived. 

You tap your fingers against the counter, betraying how anxious you feel about the situation. Do you ask if he’s okay? Is that a question you should avoid with him? Should you keep trying to distract him?

“Do they do that often?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Uh,” you snap yourself out of your reverie, “oh yeah, all the time.” You exhale amused. “There was this one time I caught Ava taking a few cupcakes into her room. She said that she wanted to have some before John or Alexei decide to eat all of them. I’ve heard them set alarms so that when I’m done baking, they’ll be notified.” You lean against the counter. “You can imagine my surprise at seeing a mini army of super soldiers lined up in the kitchen at four in the morning.” You smile at him.

You can see his lips turn up in amusement slightly, “I can imagine. Sounds horrifying.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “now picture their reaction when I tell them that Yelena beat them.” He laughs along with you.

Somehow, despite the fact that you were doing this all to try and make him laugh, you didn’t actually think he would. You feel pride in your chest knowing that at least you are a little bit funny. 

Once your cookies are pulled out of the oven, you let them rest for a bit. After a little bit, you grab one, offering it to him. He takes a bite, eyes widening in surprise.

You raise an eyebrow, “Didn’t think they’d be good?”

He immediately looks frantic, “No, I just… I thought that…” You laugh as he desperately attempts to come up with an explanation.

“I’m joking. It’s okay. They’re good?” You ask, smiling.

He slowly returns your smile, “Yeah, they’re good.”

-

That was the first instance where you ran into him in the kitchen. To your surprise, it wasn’t the only time. He came back again, again, and again. 

Each time it happened, he opened up more and more. As a result, you also began opening up more and more. 

You aren’t even sure when you gave it the name “3 AM Baking.” It wasn’t always at three, but the name stuck. By this point, it wasn’t even baking most of the time. Occasionally, you did, but it had become a time where you two could just hang out without being disturbed, something you both appreciated. 

You always liked spending time with him. Additionally, it almost felt thrilling sneaking around knowing there were literal spies on the team. Nobody knew that you two would have your little hangout sessions. You didn’t necessarily care if it was a secret or not. Sure, you enjoyed being able to spend time with only him, but you wouldn’t mind if somebody like Yelena joined in. He never mentioned it outside of the designated period, though, so you kept it between you two.

Occasionally, you’d pass by him just to confirm that you’d hang out that night, but other than that, there was no mention of these rendezvous anywhere else. 

You never thought to question it when you two first started hanging out in your room.

After the first time it happened, he started coming to your room on nights even when you didn’t plan 3 AM Baking. His reasons would vary depending on the day. Some days, he just wanted to not be alone, but other days, he'd have something to tell you. 

The worst days were the ones when he would awake from a nightmare. He’d come in, silent. There used to be a time where him being quiet was normal, but by this point, he’d become comfortable enough with you to engage in conversation. You could always tell when he’d awake from a nightmare. His eyes would never look at you, but through you. You’d invite him to your bed, where he’d sit down. 

You grab his hand, slowly grabbing it as if testing to see if he’s okay with it. He doesn’t remove his hand from your grasp, so you take both of his hands, squeezing gently. “Nightmare?” You ask softly.

He nods slowly, not saying anything.

“Wanna talk about it?” You rub circles over his hands. He shakes his head immediately. “Alright, want me to talk?” You offer.

To your surprise, he shakes his head. Usually, he recovers from nightmares by letting you distract him with your rambling.

“Just wanna be with you.” He says. His words were quiet, but you feel as if they were the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. Your hands pause before you raise them up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. 

You hesitate slightly before raising your other hand, raking your fingers through his hair gently. You hear him exhale slowly, physically leaning onto you. You smile, continuing the motion. The longer you do it, the more comfortable he gets with pushing himself closer to you.

That night, he fell asleep on your lap, looking untroubled by the nightmares that previously haunted him. You continued to rake your hands through his hair for a bit before eventually dozing off. 

Ever since that night, he’d come to your room whenever he was stressed. It became normal for you. Whenever he had a nightmare or had a rough day, he’d walk into your room, knocking softly. You’d smile at him, and he’d immediately lie down, head on your lap, letting you work your magic.

As he grew more comfortable, he’d start initiating physical touch in any scenario. You could be sitting on the couch together, watching a movie during 3 AM Baking, and he’d lean onto you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, laughing.

He looks at you innocently, “Leaning on you?”

You smile at him, one eyebrow raised, “I can see that. Any particular reason?”

His next words make your heart skip a beat, “I don’t want to only associate your touch with pushing away the Void.” He frowns slightly before smiling again. “I want to be able to associate it with your happiness too.” You had been so stunned by such raw words that you couldn’t even form a response. Instead, you moved yourself just a little closer to him that night. 

After all of that, you didn’t even begin to think of how odd the situation may have looked to anybody who wasn’t you two. This was your new normal.

Then you remembered that no, it was not in fact normal to anybody else.

The team had been relaxed on the couch, and they had put a movie on. You walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water when Yelena calls your name. “Do you wanna join us?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet her own. “Oh, sure.” You respond casually. You’d grown comfortable enough to hang out with the team by this point.

You end up taking a seat on the couch where you and Bob usually spend your own secret movie nights, settling into your usual position. You knew that watching movies with the team was always funny. Most of the time, by the end of the movie, nobody is truly watching it anymore. Somebody usually says a comment that gets another person heated, thus causing a debate to last the rest of the night. You had never wanted to get in the middle of it (Yelena could be harsh), but you always found joy listening from the safety of the couch.

About halfway through, Bob happens to walk by. 

“Oh, Bob,” Yelena looks over the couch to him, “do you wanna join us?”

Bob looks hesitant to say yes, but then you make eye contact. You can see his eyebrows raise. “Uh, yeah, okay.” He slowly makes his way over, Yelena moving over to make space for him. 

Then he decides to insert himself right next to you.  

You feel your brain pause for a moment, and you see Yelena’s brain pause too. Bob was similar to you in the way that he’d stay with one person in bigger crowds, trailing behind them. For him, Yelena was that person. The more unfamiliar faces, the closer he’d stick to her. You understood why, after all, she grounded him during the whole Void incident, it makes sense that he finds comfort in his presence.

So you can understand her bewildered countenance. 

You turn around to face him, trying desperately to mask any astonishment on your face. He looks to you, matching your confusion, but not for the same reason.

“What?” He whispers to you.

Still facing him, you quickly glance to the side, trying to reference Yelena without explicitly saying her name. 

He follows, glancing toward Yelena, who is looking at him as if she is trying to figure out a puzzle. He looks back at you, “She seems fine to me?” He whispers, his tone bleeding of genuine concern for her.

You glance toward Yelena, finding her already looking at you. “No, she's fine, but like,” you look back at Bob, “what about seating?” You whisper at him, matching his concerned tone.

He looks slightly hurt, “You don’t want me to sit next to you?”

You feel your jaw drop, appalled, “What?! Of course I want you to, but don’t you usually sit next to Yelena?” You whisper yell. 

He shrugs as if this is normal, “Well,” he starts off softly, “I wanted to be next to you this time.”

You close your mouth, realizing that Yelena is definitely gauging both of your reactions. “Oh, oh, okay…” You say dumbly. 

Truthfully, you’re surprised nobody else on the team questioned it. It makes sense that Yelena would immediately notice the new behavior. However, the rest of the team was so absorbed in conversation that they probably wouldn’t notice a fire in the kitchen. 

The rest of the movie progressed smoothly, if you ignore Yelena’s piercing gaze. You wondered if she was going to address it in front of anybody, but no, she just watched. You felt like you two were being watched by her more than she was watching the movie. 

Once the movie ended, you decided that you’re going to pretend you don’t notice her. However, your plan immediately fails when she decides to join you two on the couch. “Since when did you two get so close?” She crosses her legs.

“I, uh,” You look over toward Bob for any sort of help. He returns your look, shaking his head, mouthing the words “I don’t know.”

“We hang out every now and then…” You eventually settle on.

“Really? I haven’t seen it.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Eh, I doubt you would.” You try to keep your tone neutral.

“Right,” she looks at Bob one last time, giving him an indecipherable look before grasping both of your shoulders. “Well, I’m going to head out. I hope you two enjoy,” she pauses, looking at you, “this…”

You watch as she walks away to the kitchen, ignoring the loud discussion occurring between John and Ava. 

You turn to look at Bob, feeling exhausted despite it not even being that late.

“We still on for 3 AM Baking?” He asks, oblivious.

“Yeah,” you smile, undeterred, “always.”

-

The whole incident caused you to question your late-night escapades. You thought you knew exactly where you two stood. You would meet at night, you'd enjoy your time together, and then you would pretend as if nothing had happened the night before. You wanted to respect whatever this was, and if he felt most comfortable pretending it didn’t happen, then you would do the same.

Were you lying when you said you didn’t care?

Okay... maybe it hurt a little bit at first, but you got over it. After a few meetups, you had approached him in the middle of the day to greet him, but he acted like you two had never spoken before. Luckily, nobody was there to witness it, but that made you feel worse. He would still rather pretend that you didn’t know him, even if nobody was present.

The point is you got over it. You moved on because you understood that Bob had his reasons for it, and he was already struggling when you all moved in together. You didn’t want to make things any more difficult for him.

Now it’s different. It’s been over half a year since you all moved in, and now he suddenly wants to throw your whole routine aside as if you didn’t make it just for him. It’s no wonder Yelena said something. It didn’t fit what you guys had established.

That night, when he came into your room like normal (what even is normal?), you wanted to ask him questions. You had half a dozen on your mind you wanted to ask, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask one the moment he dropped onto your bed. He seemed happy, and above all, you treasured his happiness, so you couldn’t bring yourself to ask the questions you had.

When you woke up the next day, he was still asleep. You look at him, his face relaxed and free from any tension. You nearly reach out and move a strand of hair out of his face, but you stop yourself. Shaking your head, you decide to get up, starting your morning routine. Just as you are about to walk out of your room, somebody knocks on the door. You turn to see Bob still blissfully unaware of the disturbance.

You slowly move to the door, opening it and covering Bob. You don’t dare to imagine the teasing you two will be subjected to if somebody sees Bob on your bed.

“Uh, hi?” You greet Yelena at the door.

“Hi,” she singsongs, “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Bob. He wasn’t in his room when I went to check in on him. You know where he is?” She subtly tries to look inside your room, but you angle yourself so she can’t.

“Uhh,” you hesitate in giving an answer. If you tell her where he is, she will definitely think something is going on between you two (which is not true). On the other hand, if you don’t tell her, you’re going to have to sneak Bob out of your room without her noticing.

“I don’t know,” you scratch your head, “I will help you look for him though. Give me like five minutes.” You smile before closing the door on her.

Immediately, you head over to your bed, shaking Bob awake. “What… What are you doing?” He asks groggily. You immediately put your hands up in a shushing motion. 

You lean onto your bed next to him, “Yelena is at the door asking where you are.” You look behind you to make sure she hasn’t opened the door.

His mouth parts open, “Oh…”

You snap your attention back to him, “‘Oh?’” You repeat incredulously. “We’re never gonna live this down if she catches us!”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong, though.” He furrows his eyebrows.

You scoff, “Yeah, you wanna be the one to tell her that?”

Now awake, he sits up, “Well, what do you want me to do? Sneak out of your room?” He huffs.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh,” his smile falls, the joking tone leaving his voice, “you aren’t joking… are you?” 

“Okay, here’s the plan.” You would have found his blank stare funny if you weren’t so worried. “I told Yelena that I will help her find you. You,” you start, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of bed. He stumbles for a moment and you wince, giving a small apology, “will go to the balcony.”

“Okay,” he nods slowly, “why the balcony?”

“I doubt Yelena has checked there yet. I don’t know, just bring a book and read something out there. I will keep her distracted for a little bit before I suggest it.” You start to walk to the door.

“Give me like a minute to lead her away from the room before you come out, make sure you look around before exiting.” You grab his phone, handing it to him.  

“Uh, okay…” he trails off hesitantly.

You walk over to the door to open it, making sure Yelena won’t be able to see Bob. “Sorry about that, thought my phone was in my pocket, had to search for it.” You hold up your phone to show her.

“Alright,” she accepts your answer as you close the door behind you, “did he say anything to you last night after I left? If he’s planning on going anywhere?” She glances at you out of the corner of her eye. You walk over to the common area with her at your side. 

“Not that I know of.” You glance around the room to see if anybody is in here. “Maybe he left to go on a walk or something?”

Yelena shakes her head, her eyes still on you, “No, usually he texts somebody first. I was hoping he’d tell you if he left.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Nope, not a word. Maybe we can check the lobby? Ask around to see if anybody saw him leave?” You suggest, hoping she takes the bait.

Thankfully, Yelena nods, and you walk over to the elevator heading down. 

“Are you sure he didn’t say a word to you?” She asks again, a light smile on her face.

You blink, not expecting her to circle back to that topic, “I think I’d know if he did.” You respond, matching her smile.

“Oh, of course, of course.” She nods vehemently.

The elevator door opens, and you follow her over to the receptionist.

“Hello,” Yelena smiles pleasantly, “did you happen to see Bob leave today?” She asks, leaning against the counter.

The receptionist seems a little surprised to see you two here, “Sorry,” she frowns, “I have not.” 

“Damn,” you remark, “have you tried texting him?” You ask Yelena, walking back over to the elevator.

“He hasn’t responded.” She walks into the elevator, with you following closely behind. 

You hum, pretending to think, “Maybe the balcony? Sometimes I spot him reading over there.” 

She gives you a vaguely amused look. “Alright, sure. Let’s go check it out.” 

The ride up the elevator is silent, too silent. Every move you make feels too loud. When the door opens, you lead the way to the balcony. Yelena follows behind you, not saying much. 

You keep your sigh of relief to yourself when you see Bob relaxing with a book outside. “Ah, there he is.” You turn to Yelena, smiling.

She smiles with you, “Mhm, it’s oddly convenient.” 

You freeze for a moment, but shake your head in faux smugness. “I’m just that good at finding other people, I guess.”

“Right, so he just happens to be conveniently located here after your suggestion?” She asks, walking over to Bob.

“Yes?” You respond dubiously.

“Hey Bob,” she decides to take the chair next to him, “you missed my texts.”

“I did? Oh, sorry, I was reading.” He fidgets with the corner of the page he’s on.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Yelena waves him off. “How long have you been out here anyway?” She asks.

You see Bob’s eyes flicker towards you, and you shake your head inconspicuously.

“Oh, you know,” he pauses, “not that long. I wasn’t really keeping track of time.” He chuckles, looking back down at his book.

It’s quiet for a moment before Yelena bursts out laughing. “You two,” she cackles, “you two are…” she gestures between the two of you, still laughing.

You look at Bob, sharing the same expression of bemusement.  

“Oh, so funny,” she beams, “you two are hilarious.” She pats her hand on Bob’s shoulder.

“Whose plan was this? Was this your plan?” She stands up, walking back over to you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You reply unconvincingly.

Abruptly, she pauses, frowning, looking at you, “Oh.” She looks at him, “Oh.” She gestures for you to sit down, and you do so reluctantly. “I see. Look, I will keep this little thing between us,” she gestures between you three, “but I just wanted to let you know that I get it. Don’t feel embarrassed.” She pats your knee.

“I… uh—” you stutter, confused, “I think you have something mixed up.” You look at Bob, who has his book open, but is definitely not reading.

Yelena nods, her eyes looking at you in sympathy, “It’s okay, I get it. No need to hide from—”

“Thanks, Yelena.” Bob interrupts, startling you both, “We got the message.” He smiles at her reassuringly. He looks at you with that same smile, before glancing at Yelena and back at you.

You sigh, “Yeah, message received.”

Yelena smiles before walking away, “I was never here.” You both watch her walk away.

You turn your head towards Bob, only to find him still reading the book. “Uh, hello?”

He glances up, raising an eyebrow, “Hi?”

“What was that?” You ask, gesturing to where Yelena was.

“I don’t know, a conversation?” He mumbles.

You look at him, not able to tell if he’s playing you. “We’re just gonna accept whatever she thinks?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, looking back down at the book before closing it. 

You stand up pacing, “She’s gonna get the wrong idea, I mean, what ‘message’ was she even sending?” 

“You know,” he whispers secretively. He tilts his head side to side, avoiding eye contact.

You shake your head, confusion written all over your face, “No?”

You both freeze when you hear somebody call your name out. “I forgot to ask you. I was wondering where you put the sugar.” Yelena walks back out. 

You look over to Bob, who is already staring at you, before you turn away from him to Yelena. You walk over to her, deciding to follow her to the kitchen.

“You two good?” She asks, turning around to look at Bob.

“Hm? Oh yeah, we’re fine.” You shrug, walking into the kitchen, and pulling out the sugar from the cabinet. “Here.” You give it to her. 

“Alright,” she pauses as if she’s going to continue, ”thanks.” 

You give her a weird look, “Yeah, no problem.”

Just as you are about to walk away, she stops you, “I’m not,” she hesitates, “great at giving advice, but I’m here for you both. If there are any arguments or whatever.”

You stare at her, “Of course, thanks. I’m gonna…” you gesture vaguely to your room’s door.

Yelena smiles knowingly (what exactly is it she knows?), “Anytime.”

-

While you weren't exactly sure what Yelena had come to the conclusion of, you had ideas. However, you refused to entertain them. Bob didn’t exactly help your guys' case. Every time you brought it up, he’d just respond casually as if it didn’t bother him. This, in turn, made you feel like you were going crazy. 

The team was having a mission debrief. Even though only half the team went, the whole team was there for the debrief. You had, without thinking, sat next to Bob.

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that he was the target?” John rolls his eyes. 

“I don't know? Maybe you read his profile? You know? The one Valentina sent us days before we flew out.” Bucky responds irritatedly. 

“Okay, my bad. Even then, you all missed him, too.” John points at Bucky and Ava. 

“He bumped into you. He literally walked into you, and you let him go.” Ava adds on. “By the time he bumped into you, he walked away knowing who we were and that we were there for him.” She scoffs.

While Ava, John, and Bucky argue, Bob decides to move closer to you, setting his hand on your own casually. 

“Okay, sorry? I’m sorry.” He holds his hands out as if trying to calm down a wild animal, but this only seems to enrage Ava further.

“We could’ve been done on day one. Instead, we spent five days there searching for this guy.” Ava points at him.

“I’m aware, I also spent those five days with you. Look, I’m sorry. Can we just move on?” John looks around, looking for any distraction. “Like what are they doing?” He points to you and Bob on the couch. “Holding hands?”

With the attention moved away from John and onto you and Bob, you freeze. “What?”

“Since when do you two do that?” Ava asks, ire gone from her voice.

“Sit on the couch?” You try.

She rolls her eyes, “The hand holding.”

You look towards Bob, who looks surprisingly unbothered, “Uhh, nothing new. Friends hold each other's hands all the time.” You shrug.

Ava raises an eyebrow, looking around the room, “I would not hold John's hand cause we’re friends.”

“He barely counts.” You shake your head. 

“Hey!” John yells out.

“Oh, would you even want me to hold your hand?” Ava asks, rolling her eyes.

“God no!” He responds in horror.

“Then why do you care?” She narrows her eyes, shaking her head.

“It’s the principle of the matter!” He puts his shield down on the couch, standing up.

Attention successfully diverted from you two, you look towards Bob, who smiles softly at you. “They aren’t gonna stop anytime soon.”

“Eh, nothing new there.” You shrug, chuckling softly.

The rest of the day continues as normal. Just as Bob predicted, they did not stop fighting for at least half an hour. Eventually, everybody decided to go to bed, that is, except for you, Bob, and Yelena. 

“Alright, you two, I’m gonna go to sleep. Goodnight.” Yelena waves at you two before heading into her room, giving you that same knowing look.

You both return her farewell, not moving from your spot. With everybody gone, it was quiet. After having the constant chatter of the team in the background, it felt empty without them.

“Wanna bake something?” He asks suddenly.

You blink in surprise, “Uh, sure, anything in mind?”

“Cookies? For old times' sake?” He asks.

You smile, getting up and sticking your hands out for him to pull himself up. He takes your hand, not letting go even after you pull him up. 

“Alright, can you go grab the sugar, brown sugar, vanilla...” You list the remaining ingredients to him as you go and grab the eggs, butter, and flour.

“If you had to say what your favorite thing I’ve baked was, what would it be?” You ask, whisking the wet ingredients together. 

“My favorite?” He asks tenderly. “The chocolate chip cookies.”

You blink in surprise, “Really? Out of everything I’ve made? Oh," you hold your hand out, “could you pass me the sifter?”

“Yeah, it was what you gave me the first time I truly got to know you.” He looks at you.

You feel your heart melt. You hide your smile, “Aw, I guess it’s my favorite too then.” You turn to face him, his face slightly reddened. 

Working with him made the process quick, and before you knew it, the cookies were in and out of the oven. You put a few on a plate before joining Bob at the table. 

“What time is it anyway?” You ask, sitting down.

“Almost two?” Bob estimates, grabbing a cookie the moment you sit down. 

“Already? Geez, was the debrief really that long?” You grab a cookie.

“A few hours? I think it was longer cause of John, Ava, and Bucky arguing.” Bob takes a bite of his cookie.

You hum, “Did you see John's face when I turned the conversation back to him?” You giggle. Bob shakes his head, smiling. “He actually thought that turning the attention onto us would get him out of the spotlight.” You shake your head, still laughing.

“What are you two doing?” You and Bob both freeze, turning to see Bucky standing at the doorway. 

“Uh, eating..?” Bob responds in a low tone.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, looking between you and Bob. “‘Eating?’” He walks over to the microwave. “It’s two in the morning, and you two are just… ‘eating?’”

You look towards the cookie in your hand, “Uh, yeah?" You respond. “It’s not that hard to believe.” You mumble.

“Why are we yelling at two in the morning?” John walks out of his room. 

“They’re ‘eating.’” Bucky turns towards John, who looks increasingly more dismayed.

“We do this all the time.” You wave your hands, trying to reassure them of any horrific conclusions they may have come to.

“It’s our 3 AM Baking time,” Bob adds on, as if that will perfectly explain everything.

John looks puzzled, “It’s two?” He says, looking at the clock on the microwave.

“No… No,” Bob shakes his head. “We call it 3 AM Baking even if it’s not that time, and even if we’re not baking.”

Both Bucky and John give you two the same bewildered expression. 

“Is that code for something?” John asks, walking over. “Can I have one?” He asks, looking at the cookies. You gesture for him to take one.

Bucky shakes his head, rubbing his temples, “I’m going back to bed.” 

“Goodnight?” You tell him, watching as he returns to his room.

“Damn, this is good. Is this why I haven't been catching you while you're baking? I’ve been trying to get something fresh.” John looks from the cookie toward you.

“Yeah, for the most part.” You shrug.

“Huh, damn,” he huffs, “well, don’t enjoy the cookies too much.” He gives you both a pointed look. You hear Bob stifle his laughter, but you give him a look and he stops, muttering a small “Yeah, sure.”

After finishing the cookies and washing the dishes, you both decide to go to your room. You enter your room, sighing in relief before falling on your bed. Bob follows behind you, copying your action. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird that everybody thinks we’re dating?” You ask the dreaded question, staring at the ceiling. 

You feel him turn towards you, “Huh?”

“I said—”

“No, I… I heard you. What do you mean?” He asks, his suddenly solemn tone catching your attention.

“‘What do I mean?’” You repeat, frowning. “Like... The people on the team who have seen us hang out seem to think we’re dating. Yelena seemed so sure of it.” You look over to him, staring dead into his eyes.

The grave look he gives you has you immediately sitting up. “Bob, what do you mean?”

He looks to the side, avoiding eye contact, “I just,” he fidgets, “I thought that, you know, we…” He glances up at you, motioning between you and him.

“You,” you begin incredulously before getting softer, “you thought we were dating?”

He shakes his head, “It’s stupid, never mind. It was just a thought. I didn’t actually think that—” He sits up.

“Bob,” you grab his hand gently, causing him to pause. You try to get him to look at you.

“Really.” He removes his hand from yours. “I get it. It’s a lot. I understand completely, you don’t have to try to make me feel better. I get it. I’m sorry, that was my fault. I don’t know why I thought that…” He still attempts to avoid eye contact. “You don’t have to feel bad for me. I just thought that we had spent so much time together that maybe we were… dating? I don’t know. I really shouldn’t have said anything. We can just pretend that didn’t happen…”

You can’t bring yourself to watch as he closes off, so you immediately grab his hand back. “Bob,” you begin, your voice gentle, “you never asked.” 

He chuckles, but there’s no humor. “Like I said, it was stupid.”

You flinch slightly, “You think dating me would be stupid..?” 

He immediately looks at you, “What?! No, no, no, no, never. It’s just a stupid thought that you’d ever want to date me.” You feel him slipping away, so you squeeze his hand. 

“That’s not stupid.” You look at him, moving one hand to caress his hair. “Why would that be stupid? If anything, I’m stupid.” You chuckle, shaking your head. He immediately opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him. “This whole time, I’ve been questioning everything. I thought that you didn’t want people under the impression we were dating.”

He frowns, looking at you, “When did I say that?”

You shake your head, “You didn’t, but I remember you avoiding me during some of the earlier days of us talking. I thought that maybe you wanted to pretend I didn’t exist outside of… this.” You gesture to your room with your free hand. 

He gapes at you, “I… never meant it like that. I was just scared you’d leave me back then.” He looks down.

“I see that now. I’m sorry. I got panicked when the team started to pick up on it, thinking that maybe you’d be upset with me about it.” He grabs your other hand, squeezing it gently.

“I would never be upset about that.” He says firmly.

You look into his eyes, distraught, “So why would I ever be upset about dating you?”

He shakes his head, “Why wouldn’t you? What about the Void? I can’t imagine why you’d want me when it’s always there.”

You shake your head, “Bob,” you reach up to cradle his chin, “you said that you have good days and bad days, right? That the Void comes out during those bad days? I’m here for you. If you have a good day, I’m right by your side. If you have a bad day, I’ll still be right by your side. I will always be by your side,” you suck in breath, “and I am so sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

You look at him, trying desperately to get him to understand how you feel. “I love you for you, and if you come with the Void, then we will figure it out together. I won’t ever abandon you just because you are having a ‘bad day.’ ”

He looks down, avoiding your eyes, and you see him trembling. You pull him close, hugging him. “I’m here.” You tell him, trying to get your breathing under control.

Minutes go by, and you don’t move. You stay next to him with your arms wrapped around him. His breathing has slowed, and you can feel him relax. “I’m sorry…”

You shake your head, pulling back to meet his eyes, “Do not apologize.”

He looks down before meeting your eyes again. “Thank you.” He says softly, lying down on your bed. You place yourself next to him, lying down with him.

“Always.”

-

You wake up the next day, not surprised to find him hugging you in his sleep. You smile softly. He did not have a nightmare. You try to maneuver your way out of his grasp, but then he instantly pulls your back. Now you can’t escape.

“Bobbbbb,” you draw out his name, and in response, he pulls you closer. “We have to get up.” 

“You feel cool.” He mutters, his voice rough with sleepiness. You offhandedly remember he runs hot. You put your cold hand up to his neck, and he leans into it.

You roll your eyes fondly, “Come on, the team is gonna get suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Of us dating, especially after being caught together at two in the morning last night.”

He immediately pauses, “Us dating?”

You freeze for a moment, stiffening in his grip and turning towards him, “I mean… if you want.” For some reason, you figured he would say yes after he confessed that he thought you two had been dating. You didn’t consider that he wouldn’t want to become official.

His jaw drops slightly before he pulls you closer, “Yes. Please.” His response is muffled by the pillows covering his face. He loosens his hold on you, turning around from the pillow to face you, and he has a smile plastered on his face. 

“Do you even want to tell the team?” You ask, rolling over to face the ceiling. 

He pulls you closer again, and you yelp in surprise. “Eventually. I mean, do we really have to? Yelena already figured it out. John and Bucky probably have too.” He whispers to you.

You laugh, “Okay, so then what do you want to do?” You turn to face him.

He meets your eyes, “I want to spend my time with you.”

Hope that was good! Thanks for making it to the end. I am quickly realizing that I tend to write a lot of words, sorry? :)

[livingdxadwriter]

You’ve got my body, flesh and bone

Obsessed!Rafe x nerdy!girl!reader

Summary: something was different about you, and rafe can’t stop thinking about you ever since you came home from college. He knows you want him, too, even if you don’t show it

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, penetrative sex, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), fingering, obsessed behaviors, pervy behaviors (I think?), Rafe is down bad, reader is secretly naughty, dom!rafe, spitting, choking, bit of degradation, Rafe is rough and she likes it.

Wrote this with s2 Rafe in mind but he’s not as psychotic🥰 reader also wears glasses, hope you like being blind

WC: 5.5k I’m so sorry

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE. Anyway I couldn’t help myself. Rafe and Drew are in my mind all day and I need them so bad so I wrote it! I dedicate this to the reason of my insanity @bloodibambiidoll love you doll for feeding me into crash out Rafe😩. This was heavily inspired by her own Rafe fics so def check her out!

Also tagging my other rafe baby @babygorewhore🩷

There weren't a lot of things in this world that Rafe didn’t have. His whole life, anything he wanted, he had, at the palm of his hand. Whatever he wanted, he could do. And he fucking loved it. He didn’t know what it was like to crave something to the point of madness. Until you came around. 

He didn’t know what it was, that feeling deep inside his gut. He didn’t know if it was lust, or desire, or if he truly felt something for you. Perhaps he felt all three. But one thing he knew for certain. If he didn’t have you soon, he was going to cave someone’s face in. It didn’t help that you shot him down every time. The more you ignored him, the more he craved you. Albeit he knew he had a chance in high school and he didn’t take it then. But even he knew he was a prick then. More than he was now, anyway. Deep down he couldn’t blame you for not giving him a chance now, he didn’t want you when you were all quiet and had those ugly glasses, so why should he get you now that you were more confident and stopped giving a fuck what people thought about you? He had to admit, college made you hot as fuck. 

Rafe didn’t know it at first, but the first time he saw you at a party, your hair all pretty, your laugh so contagious he heard it across the room, your clothes hugging every curve of your body perfectly. His jaw fucking dropped. He almost didn’t believe it was you at first. Until he heard whispers about just how fucking hot you had gotten after college. He didn’t know it then, but his sanity was going to go downhill from there. 

That was a month ago, and he still couldn’t get you to give him the light of day. It was almost like you were running away from him, every time. And it pissed him off, really, it did. He craved your attention like he never before. Maybe he was getting soft. Or he was going insane. Either one.

The worst part? 

You were doing it on purpose. 

You caught on pretty quickly. After the first couple of times of catching Rafe blatantly staring at you whenever he saw you, you were curious. It wasn’t entirely outlandish, you were like an exotic animal, having come back to the island after graduating early from university. You didn’t change much, you just learned to manage your social anxiety and started putting more effort into your appearance. You didn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal out of you. But you ignored it for the most part. 

But you couldn’t ignore Rafe. His presence was intoxicating. Even if he didn’t approach you directly. You knew he was there. But you never made an effort to talk to him. You only ever talked to Sarah when you saw her. She was the one that pointed out Rafe in a corner, Topper talking his ear off but Rafe wasn’t paying listening to a word being said, he was looking at you. You, of course, brushed her off with the excuse you gave everyone. 

“He'll get over it, just give it a week.”

He did not, in fact, get over it. 

He thought you didn’t notice, but he followed you on instagram. Of course you noticed. How could you not? Your account was public, but you occasionally looked at who followed you. And the second you saw Rafe fucking Cameron followed you, you almost fainted. Suddenly, the stupid crush you had on Rafe at sixteen came flooding right back. You refused to get your hopes up, but the thought of Rafe quietly stalking your social media never left your mind.

You had no proof, but over the course of a month, you posted on your stories way more than you ever did in college, because you knew Rafe would see them. If you went to a party on Figure 8? Insta story. If you went to the beach? Swimsuit selfies. Felt pretty and did your makeup? Insta story. And what did you notice? Rafe always coincidentally seemed to end up at the exact place you were at. He never came alone, obviously. But he always hung out nearby, always within your line of sight. 

You were driving him mad, certainly. There's no way it was legal for you to wear a swimsuit like that. It actually made his blood boil knowing there were other guys blatantly eye fucking you. Only he should be allowed to do that. He angrily sipped into his cup, silently fuming as he had to stand and simply watch you laugh and run around with your friends, walking past him every time you got drinks for the bar. 

He swore he saw you grin at him one time, a devious and flirty look in your eyes when you made eye contact with him. And he was ready to grab you by the arm and drag you to his car and fuck you right then and there. But he decided against it. Somehow he had enough self control. But it was wearing thin the longer his torture dragged on. 

“Girl, what did you do to Rafe?” Your high school best friend asked you when you came back with your drinks. You frowned, tilting your head innocently. 

“To Rafe? Nothing. I haven’t even talked to him since I came back.” You answered with the truth. Though you purposely ignored what she probably meant. 

“He’s been like glaring at you the whole night. He hasn’t moved from there all night and he’s just looking at you.” She pointed out, more quietly now. And you couldn’t help but subtly shift your eyes in his direction. And indeed, your eyes met with his piercing blue ones. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t race the slightest bit when you caught him looking at you like that. He was looking at you exactly how you desperately wanted him to look at you in high school. 

“No idea what you mean. He’s probably just annoyed I’m hanging out with Sarah and her boyfriend. He probably thinks I’m encouraging her hanging out with the pogues.” You mumbled into your cup, shrugging as you quickly averted your gaze from Rafe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to convince her, or yourself.

“You’re better than me, because if Rafe Cameron looked at me like that I’d be dragging him to my car so fast.” She snorted and you almost choked on your drink. “I think you’re the only girl on this island he hasn’t fucked.” 

“Thank God for that.” You responded a bit too quickly, hoping to hide the slight bit of hurt her words brought to you. You always knew you weren’t good enough for Rafe. You always pretended not to care, but you’d be lying.

You left alone that night. And Rafe couldn’t hold back the urge to follow close behind you. He didn’t know when he got in his car after you. Or when he started driving to your house. Or when he got out of his car. He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he was going to knock on your door. Or maybe he would. He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he swept his hair away from his face, exasperated. The very small, but still present, rational side of his mind told him to get the fuck out. And he was going to, until he saw you emerge from your room on the second floor, and you stood right in front of the large window cell. He panicked, running to hide from sight, behind a large tree, but he didn’t leave, he didn’t want to. 

His jaw dropped, his eyes blowing wide open at the sight of you, untying your bikini top and just letting it fall, right then and there. The sight shot straight to his cock. What the fuck were you thinking? What if someone saw you? The thought of you exposing yourself like that made his jaw lock, but his now hard cock in his shorts was much more evident. He couldn’t look away. He was pissed he couldn’t see below your stomach, especially when he saw you crouch as you presumably took off your bottoms, too. 

Rafe almost moaned at the thought. 

And just like that you were gone. And you didn’t come back to the window. It almost felt like the universe was playing a cruel fucking prank on him. Now he had to drive home with an uncomfortable hard on in his shorts. That pissed him off even more.

~~~~~~

This became a habit for Rafe. He would aggressively scroll through your instagram page multiple times a day, hoping that he’d find out where you were for the night. But not in a weird way. He just wanted to see you. But he still hadn’t found the way to get you to talk to him first. He was starting to see the flaw in that plan. But alas, he couldn’t talk to you himself if he didn’t know where to find you. And sometimes, he’d find himself just standing outside your window, hiding behind that same tree. Sometimes you’d sit by the window cell, play around with your hair, sometimes you would read. And sometimes, you’d walk around completely naked, in full view of Rafe. How many times he all but sped home to rub one out was actually embarrassing. 

Rafe was tired of this little game. Though he didn’t quite realize it was a game at all. You had no proof, but you knew. That one time you caught him nearly running back to his car was proof enough for you. So you kept going, until he snapped. You didn’t anticipate just how fast he would break. 

“Guess who showed up.” Your friend whispered in your ear. You casually glanced over your shoulder to find none other than Rafe, with Topper and Kelce right behind him like lost puppies. It had to be criminal how hot this man looked. The polo shirt he wore was hanging on by a thread under his biceps and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away. 

“Yeah, so? He shows up to every party.” You shrugged, pretending not to catch on to the blatant connection. She rolled her eyes at you. 

“Oh, so he casually shows up to the one party you’ve come to all week? Don’t you think it’s a little odd?”

You shrugged again. You were sure it was a coincidence. Sure it wasn’t because you posted a selfie of your pretty makeup and your pretty dress with the location of the party you got invited to. And surely the way Rafe was staring at you right now had nothing to do with the way your dress accentuated your chest perfectly, showing enough but still leaving some to the imagination. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. 

“Nope. Anyway, want a drink?” You smiled at her innocently, completely ignoring her Rafe interrogation. She shot you a pointed look, surely she would grill you about it later, but she relented nonetheless. 

With a smile you skipped over to the bar, your dress riding up ever so slightly as you leaned over the wooden bar to speak over the loud music. Rafe nearly dropped his beer, his eyes going from your hair down to your ass. He couldn’t take this anymore. 

“Yeah, whatever bro. I’ll be right back.” He cut off Topper as he went on about one thing or another, he didn’t wait for a response and he approached you in long strides. He sniffed softly, running a hand through his hair before opening his mouth. 

You heard your name spoken in a deep voice, with a drink in each hand, you whipped around, not expecting to run straight into a solid, muscled chest. 

“Hey—oh fuck,” Rafe cursed when the drinks you were holding spilled all over his shirt, and over the front of your dress. You gasped loudly, nearly squealing when the ice cubes slipped down your chest. 

“Rafe! What the actual fuck.” You almost screamed at him, desperately attempting to wipe off the alcohol soaking your dress, the front now sticking to your tits. Rafe wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but he was mouth agape at the sight of your soaked chest, it took him a minute to process. 

“Shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to,” he swallowed, his own shirt starting to stick to his chest. Which didn’t slip past  you, even in your anger. But you couldn’t think about that right now. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m sure you totally didn’t want to embarrass me by spilling drinks all over me. Grow the fuck up, Rafe.” You huffed, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You could feel your face fluster with embarrassment and you had to force yourself not to cry. You had tried so hard to remove yourself from the old you, the one everyone made fun of, the one that got asked out to prom as a prank, the one everyone stared at in disgust. And you felt like that girl all over again. 

Rafe didn’t even have time to argue, you were running off before he could get a word in. He groaned, discomfort settling in from his shirt sticking to his skin. 

“Way to go bro. You didn’t have to embarrass the freakshow like that though.” Rafe sneered in disgust at your high school nickname and he rolled his eyes, shrugging off the casual hand on his shoulder. 

“Shut the fuck up before I shove broken glass down your throat.” 

If there was something in this world that Rafe could never have, it would be patience. And this little game had his sanity wearing very thin. 

He didn’t know exactly when he ended up at your front door, fist pounding loudly as he called your name. His bike was somewhere on the lawn, he didn’t bother to hide it this time. He swore if you didn’t open this door right now he would kick it open. He stepped back, his jaw tight as he waited a few seconds before doing something more drastic. Then, the door swung open. And there you were. 

“I swear to God Rafe.” You sighed loudly, crossing your arms over your now slightly damp chest, having somewhat dried off the front of your dress. Rafe was taken aback by the appearance of your glasses, however. He hadn’t seen you wear them since you came back. Were you always this cute in them? 

No, focus. 

“You didn’t even let me talk back there! I didn’t mean to run into you like that, I swear.” He took a step closer, slightly leaning down to talk close to your face. You couldn’t help but stare at him, eyebrows furrowed with mistrust. 

“Oh right, so was it just a coincidence that you were standing right behind me like a wall?” You shot back, shooting him a suspicious look. He rolled his eyes at you, sighing heavily. “If you wanted to look at them better you could’ve just asked! You didn’t have to knock drinks all over my dress.” 

The words left your mouth in a haze. Fast and angrily as you motioned your hands around. You didn’t realize what you said until the look in Rafe’s eyes shifted. Going from confused to downright sinful. He tilted his head at you, crowding your personal space with his big fucking body. You realized then that you really fucked up. 

“What’d you say?” He asked, his voice low as he made you step back into your house. He followed you, his face close to yours and you swallowed. 

“Huh?” Play dumb, sure. 

“Uh-uh, don’t try to be all innocent now. What the fuck did you say?” He repeated, one of his large hands coming up to grip your jaw. You swallowed, your lips pulled into a pout. 

“You really weren’t that sneaky.” You finally admitted, throwing all logic out of the window knowing you both got caught red-handed by the other. Though Rafe didn’t look embarrassed or even remorseful, if anything he looked pleasantly amused. Impressed even. 

“Well, shit.” A grin pulled at his lips as he laughed, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his already amped up body. “You little whore. You were striping in front of your fuckin’ window on purpose, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t know for sure but, I heard your bike a couple of times.” You shrugged, trying to hide the devious smile on your lips. Rafe scoffed humorously, in utter disbelief. “You following me on insta was kind of a given, too.” 

“You are..” He leaned down, his soft lips mere inches away from yours as he blew out a chuckle, “A dirty little slut. You have any fuckin’ idea what you’ve been doin’ to me? Hm?” He squeezed your jaw between his fingers, forcing your head back to make sure your eyes were on him. 

The words that left his mouth made you rub your thighs together, heat forming between them at the thought of being this close to Rafe, knowing he was on the brink of madness, all because of you. You could see it in his eyes, that utter need to fuck you, take you over and over, or else he would go insane. 

“Thought I wasn’t your type.” You shot back, pettiness lacing your tongue. A groan of annoyance rumbled in his chest. 

“I didn’t know I was your type.” 

“You’re everyone’s type, since when are you humble?” You mocked him with a small laugh, but it quickly died in your chest when his fingers fell to your throat, and he dug his fingers with the faintest pressure. You nearly moaned. 

“Well you’re my type right now. Your tits sure fuckin’ are.” He bit his lip softly, making sure his eyes were on yours when he spoke again, “bet your pussy is my type too. Lemme find out, hm?” 

If you weren’t wet before, you sure were now. You nearly moaned out loud, his words alone bending you to his will. Not that it would take much work. 

Rafe didn’t get to say another word, you were pulling him down by the back of his neck and you kissed him, and you kissed him really fucking hard. He liked your intensity. He craved to find out just what else you were hiding behind your innocent and sweet girl facade. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, his fingers lacing into your hair to force your head back for him. And you happily let him. His other hand shamelessly grabbed at your ass, squeezing it as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

“My bedroom is—“ you were breathless as you muttered against his lips. Rafe chuckled, cutting you off as he effortlessly hoisted you around his waist. 

“I know where your fuckin’ room is.” Of course he did. 

You giggled as Rafe tossed you on your bed, biting your bottom lip as you watched him pull his polo over his head and your jaw fell wide open at the sight. 

“Dude why are you like, so hot? Fuck.” Your eyes were big as you nearly drooled at the sight of his muscled torso. He was so ripped it was unbelievable. Rafe smirked at you, happy to hear that you were stroking his ego. He quickly joined you in your bed, straddling you as he hovered over you. 

“Yeah?” He leaned down, lips curved up into a grin as he pressed an open mouth kiss to your lips. You nodded as his tongue laced with yours, a string of spit connecting your lips when he pulled back. “You should've just talked to me then. Could’ve had me much sooner. You got any fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you stupid?” 

“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t want me before. I didn’t know.” You pouted, a bit of hurt laced in your voice. He rolled his eyes at you, long fingers coming to squeeze your face. You held your breath as his blue eyes pinned you.

“No, you just wanted to punish me. You wanted to parade yourself around Figure 8 with your pretty little dresses and your innocent little smile. But then at night you’d strip yourself naked in front of your window.” He huffed out the words, frustration coating his tongue. You shrugged. “You wanted to act like a slut, so I’ll fuck you like one. But first, I wanna taste your pussy.” 

The way your body shuddered when Rafe moved down the bed to settle between your legs was embarrassing. You were already shaking and he hadn’t even touched you. You held your breath in anticipation as he reached underneath your dress, tugging your panties down your legs. Rafe grinned at the blue lacy panties that matched your white and navy blue flowy dress. You pretended not to notice him casually shove the lace into his back pocket. 

“Take off your dress. I wanna look at your tits.”  You totally would punch any other man for speaking to you like this, but Rafe? He could speak to you in any way he wanted, especially when he was in between your legs, nearly drooling at the sight of your already soaked cunt. 

You complied, unzipping the side of your dress before pulling it over your head, to reveal that you were indeed not wearing a bra today. Rafe nearly groaned at the sight. 

“Fuck baby. You’re such a slut, did you plan this?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were replaced by a gasp when he dipped his head and licked a stripe between your folds without a single warning. 

It was actually embarrassing how quickly you were falling apart. You were a sobbing shaking mess as soon as he started to circle his tongue around your clit, sloppy sounds leaving his mouth as he moved his head up and down. Rafe was enjoying this as much as you were, how many times he fantasized about shoving his tongue into your cunt, what you would taste like, how you would sound like for him. It was driving him insane. He was groaning and moaning as he lapped at your soaking cunt. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good baby. You got any idea how many times I went home to rub one out thinkin’ about your pussy?” He groaned, spitting on your clit as he looked up at you, catching the way your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled back into your head. “Should’ve just taken you. You would’ve let me, right doll? If I slipped in through your window and fucked this sweet little pussy in the middle of the night, wouldn’t even care as long as you got some dick, right?” 

His words slipped past you, only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit. You couldn’t think straight, your pussy was pulsing, it just felt so good, you didn’t remember the last time a man ate you like this, with such intensity and fervor. Rafe looked up at you again, amused by the way you squirmed and writhed on the bed. With a grin, he wrapped both arms under your knees and folded them damn near against your chest, spreading you open for him. And you couldn’t run away either. 

“I asked you a question.” He spat into your clit again, this time watching as the string of saliva ran down your clit before licking it. 

“Ah! Rafe! Fuck—y-yes! You can do whatever you want to me!” You sputtered, your voice breaking into a cry when he slipped his tongue into your hole. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and you were nearly digging your nails into his scalp as you clutched his hair. You wanted to come so bad. “Please Rafe. I’m gonna come.” 

Rafe groaned into your pussy at your words. His tongue was replaced by two thick fingers and he curled them perfectly, enough to have you thanking the Gods for having your own house separate from your parents' main house. 

“Oh, fuck yeah. You look so pretty begging me to let you come. Say it again, say it again just like that f’me.” His eyes never left you as his tongue was back on your clit, his fingers slipping and curling inside your throbbing cunt in the most delicious way possible. You couldn’t even form a thought, let alone a sentence. You sobbed, your pussy pulsing around his thick fingers. 

“Please Rafe! Wanna come!” You didn’t have to say it twice, the second Rafe hummed at you, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit as his fingers fucked you raw, you were over. You were a shaking mess as you came, all you could do was gasp and cry as his fingers fucked you through your orgasm, and he happily continued to basically make out with your cunt.

“That was so fuckin’ good baby. You were so good f’me.” He grunted into your thigh as he lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Your eyes were screwed shut, heaving as you were still jolting from the aftershock. When you opened your eyes again you found Rafe already hovering above you, his blue eyes staring down at you with devious intentions. 

“You totally look so fuckin’ hot with those glasses. You should like suck my dick with them on.” You blinked at him, mouth slightly open which made him grin at you. “Not right now, I wanna be inside you now.” 

Rafe didn’t waste any fucking time in pressing your knees to your chest, your glistening pussy on full display and ready for his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck this pussy like I fuckin’ own it.” He spat, his jaw slightly falling open as he slipped into you. Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, the feeling of his cock stretching you was better than you could have ever imagined. He was so fucking big, too. “All these fuckin’ assholes lookin’ at you and I’m the only one that gets to fill this pussy, you got that?” 

You nodded harshly as he bottomed out, and without a warning he pulled out only to slam back into you, his cock damn near splitting you open. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers lacing around his hair as he slammed into you, filling you deeper than anyone ever has before. 

“Just you Rafe! It’s always been you!” You grabbed his face, pulling him into a messy kiss. Your words made his cock twitch and all he wanted right then and there was to keep you here, beneath him, stuffed with his cock and never let you leave. 

“Why didn’t you come back sooner, huh? This pussy is so perfect, so tight. Just f’me. Want you all the fuckin’ time baby.” He grunted into your mouth, both arms caging you in as he drilled into you, his cock so deep you could almost feel him in your fucking guts. 

A string of pathetic sounds, a string of uh-uh-uh’s left your lips as he damn near folded you in half, your cute nails dragging down his back, surely to leave red angry marks. Rafe grunted in delight, his large hand coming to grab your throat. He definitely didn’t miss the way you pussy clenched around him then. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot, yknow that? Such a pretty little slut f’me. You’re gonna let me use you, hm? Do whatever I want with you?” He squeezed your throat, forcing your head up and down in a ‘yes’ gesture and you moaned, eyes screwed shut. “Mhmm, exactly. Open your fuckin’ mouth.” 

The sound that left your throat was so pathetic Rafe laughed. You did as you were told, opening your eyes as you opened your mouth, you watched him with glazed eyes as he leaned down and spat straight into your mouth. He watched you jaw slacked as you happily swallowed, feeling the bump under his fingers. 

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, I love it.” He leaned down again, his fingers tightening around your throat as he spat into your mouth again, but this time he kissed you, it was so messy and sloppy and you fucking loved it. “Act like a slut, I’ll treat you like a slut.” 

“Mhmm yes! I’m such a slut, just for you.” You choked out, your throat raw and sore from the grip he had on it. He shuddered at your words, his cock twitching as he dropped his free hand to rub harsh circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled so far back you actually looked like you were spasming. “O-oh god. I’m gonna come—! Please Rafe—!” 

“Ohh, feels so good, doesn’t it baby? You wanna gush all over my dick huh?” He spoke right into your cheek, his sweaty cheek pressed right against yours as he held you by your throat, your glasses getting squished by him and you were praying to the Gods that he didn’t end up breaking them. 

“Please, please, please Rafe!” You sobbed, your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock, your thighs sore and shaking as you hanged on by a thread, so close to reaching your limit. 

“That’s it doll, squeeze the fuck out of me, come all over my cock, just like that.” He rubbed your clit and drilled into your already abused hole until you were gushing, you whole body shaking as you fell into a fit of sobs. Rafe wasn’t one to come just like that, but the sight of you so utterly fucked out and sobbing almost made him spill right then and there. 

“Ah! Rafe!” You whined as he kept fucking you, his rough hips and harsh pace not once slowing down, driving you to the point of overstimulation. You squirmed, almost as if you wanted to run away from him. He tisked at you, releasing your throat to grab your arm, holding you down as he gripped the headboard with the other, damn near crushing you with his big fucking body. 

“Oh, where the fuck are you going, huh? Who said you could run away? Nah, you wanted it, so now you take it like a good girl.” He reveled in the way you took his cock, jaw agape, eyes screwed shut and forehead screwed into a frown of pleasure. 

You were practically done for when he carelessly shoved your face to the side, damn near knocking your glasses off your face. His lips sucked marks on your neck as your pussy convulsed around his cock for the second time. Your head was spinning so hard and your vision was so blurry, you didn’t even know what planet you were on.

“Hmph! Rafe!” You yelped but he cut you off, a particularly sharp thrust making you slide up the mattress. 

“Shut up. I’m gonna fill you. Gonna ruin every other man for you.” He spat, his voice raspy and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he chased his high. 

“Please Rafe, give it to me. Want it so bad!” Well that fucking did it. A moan rumbled in Rafe’s throat as he spilled himself inside you. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung wide open. He snapped his hips, one, two more times before he sat still with a long breath. 

You laid speechless, blinking softly as you tried to slow your racing heart, and process that this actually happened. Sixteen year-old you would totally freak out. Rafe Cameron just fucked the life out of you. Rafe was looking down at you with a pussy-drunk look, his eyes slightly closed and his lips were parted. Not that you could see him that well. Your glasses were so smudged and foggy all you could see was blurry shapes. 

“I just fucked you dumb and you’re making that face?” Rafe narrowed his eyes at you as leaned on his forearms, holding up his weight as your legs fell to either side of him. You frowned at him, confused. 

“What face?”

“You’re pouting and shit.” He smirked, squeezing your face between his fingers and you shot him a pointed look, groaning. 

“I forgot to take off my glasses. They’re all dirty now. Can’t see shit.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your face away from his grip as you took your glasses off and tossed them on your nightstand. 

“Well you looked cute and shit so. You’re fine.” He pressed a kiss to your pouty lips before laying down beside you, the feeling of your mixed release making you hiss softly. 

Rafe lied with an arm behind his head and he couldn’t help but grin when he caught you looking at him with your lip pulled between your teeth. He nudged you over with his head and you happily settled underneath his arm with your head resting on his chest. You didn’t take him for a cuddling type but you’d happily take this.

You sighed heavily, just wanting to rest your sore muscles for a bit when you heard him speak again. 

“So are you gonna follow me back on insta now or what?” 

[bullet-prooflove]

Snapband: Jack Abbott x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gabsgabsvaz @yousigned-upforthis @flyinglama @cosmic-psychickitty

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Masochist - You and Jack have an indepth understanding of one another.

Seven Shades of Fucked Up (NSFW) - You know exactly how to get Jack off.

Part of the Job - Violence has always been part of the job, but this time it hits a little too close to home for Jack.

Pittfest - Jack's day turns into a nightmare when he recieves a notification from the hospital regarding a mass casuality event.

In the five minutes before the initial wave Jack calls you seventeen times. He leaves two messages.

“I’m at the hospital. Please call me back.” and “I love you.”

Then he gets to work.

Compartmentalisation, it’s always been his thing but that doesn’t stop him seeking you out every time he steps into The Pitt after clearing a patient for the surgery or the morgue.

“What was she wearing?” Dana asks him as she handles the tablet for the patient BOLO. He can see your work photo has already been uploaded but the rest, it’s blank.  

“I don’t know.” He says running his fingers through those unruly curls as he tries to think back to earlier this afternoon. He’d fallen back asleep after you’d headed into the bathroom, didn’t see you get dressed. “I just don’t…”

That’s when the body rolls past, blood soaking through the white sheet that covers it, your hair tumbling out from underneath it. Right height, right build and a black and white snap band looped around the wrist. He pulls back the sheet to look at the face and finds himself staring into the exit wound of a high calibre weapon. There’s nothing left, not even the scar underneath your hairline from where you cracked your head climbing a tree as a kid. You’ve been completely obliterated.

His world condenses after that. Every single emotion he has shuts down because his heart, it’s been annihilated, there’s not a single shred of him left. His training takes over as he steps away, back into the room where four other people’s lives depend on him.

The clock resets and he’s back in the fray.

Drill, line, rinse, repeat.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

The moment he stops he’s going to find himself back on that roof and this time he has no reason not to jump.

It’s hour three that his concentration broken by the sound of your voice. It’s fatigue, he thinks, his mind playing tricks on him but there you are being rolled in on a gurney, your thighs straddling another man’s hips, your hand plunged deep into his chest.

“It’s not what it looks like.” You tell him, your gaze meeting his and suddenly it feels like he can breathe again.

“It looks like you’re pinching an artery so this guy doesn’t bleed to death.” He tells you, snapping back into action. He flashes the penlight from his right pocket into the depths of the wound.

“OK, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” You say as he prods at the flesh surrounding your wrist, gauging the space he has to work with.  

“Alright honey.” He murmurs as he picks up a clamp from the metal tray beside him. “Stay still and we’ll have you hands free in a minute.”

He leans in close, his grizzled cheek brushing against yours as you both stare down into the chest cavity. The scent of daffodils floods his senses, mixed with the acrid taint of cordite. You’d been close when that gun was fired, real fucking close.

“You hurt?” He murmurs as he guides the clamp into the hollow of your palm, using the curvature of your fingers as a road map to the exact placement of the perforation.

“No.” You say your breath ghosting in his ear. “No injuries, just a lot of fucked up shit I’m gonna be seeing every time I close my eyes.”

The clamp bites down on the artery, stemming the flow and Jack’s palm comes to rest on your wrist as the clamp protrudes from the open wound. “I’m going to pull your hand out alright? Slow, so we don’t dislodge the clamp.”

“Yes.” You murmur and the two of you work together to remove your hand from the patient’s chest.  

You flex your fingers when they’re free and they shine with viscera under the fluorescent lights as you rotate your wrist. Jesse, the trauma nurse hands you an antiseptic wipe to clean them before Jack’s hands come to rest on your arms, helping you down off the gurney and into his proximity.

“You’re ok.” He whispers, squeezing your shoulders lightly to reassure himself you’re really there.

“Yea, I am.” You tell him as his forehead comes to rest upon on yours. “Now do me a favour and put me to work.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[zkg2318]

Blood on Fire ~ pt. 1 | LHS

A/N: this is part 1 of the BOF series! I have decided to divide this story up by who's sex scene is in it, but in order to fully understand the story, you must start with part 1 and finish (if you want). they are plot driven, and context will not make sense if you start with part 2, etc...

genre/tags ✶ MDNI reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, (sirens, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, phoenixes, frost elves, dragons, witches, and more…), underground betting, alcohol use, blood, verbal and physical violence, murder, manipulation, death (no major characters, lol kinda), government themes (not political), fight club au, ot7

synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you

WC ✶ 16.9k

Part 2

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), blood play/kink, love bites, spanking, dubcon, bondage, unprotected sex, aphrodisiac usage (kinda), degradation, pet names, oral fem!receiving, vaginal fingering

Luxta was different from other cities; it was neither big nor small- large enough that not everyone knew each other by name, but small enough that you didn’t need to make it a day trip to get to the grocery store. What set apart Luxta from other cities was the thriving population of supernatural beings living in the shadows, though their existence was only known by the government and select humans. The rest of the world, including the unsuspecting citizens of Luxta, had no idea that they walked on the same streets as did you so-called ‘monsters’, the ones that should have only ever existed in stories.

Being supernatural was illegal in Luxta and if you were to be caught by those hand-held scanners the government officials in the enforcement division wore around their belt, you’d be arrested on site. They weren’t as far-reaching or accurate as the large, reinforced scanners that were mounted in the back of their trucks or brought to building inspections, but they were enough to ruin your life. So, like everyone else who had the misfortune of being ‘different’, you stayed hidden.

There was one solution to these scanners: suppressants. A sort of perfume that you could use to spray on yourself that would make you undetectable to their scanners. But they were difficult to come by, the production being regulated by one man and their distribution being restricted to underground networks that sold them at sky-high prices. And they were experimental at best, coming with an abundance of long-lasting side effects and malfunctions that didn’t guarantee 100% effectiveness. For the few people that could afford one, they were used as an emergency fall-back.

And for the majority few that didn’t have that luxury, they stayed in The Veil, the black market’s so-called ‘base’ for the supernatural. For you personally, you lived there until you turned three, when a blue-collar couple took you in a few days after your birthday. “Adopted” wouldn’t be the right word- “purchased” would fit the situation better. Given only a handful of humans knew about the supernatural, these types of ‘transactions’ came with a strict clause that if broken, were punishable by death. Even so, 90% of supernatural children grew up as orphans, relying on The Veil for support.

Being adopted in the supernatural community was supposed to be some sort of grand escape from poverty, and in a way, it was. But since meeting your parents, you never stepped foot outside of your home. From the moment you met your parents, you never left your parents’ 800 square foot apartment and its measly excuse for a patio that overlooked the area where people took out their trash.

You existed only to service your human parents- like some sort of bloody commodity. At first, you didn’t know any better. A few healing touches here, a bit of supernatural magic there- it was harmless. But as you grew older, smarter, it didn’t take a genius to know why you were really there. You were just a piece of capital to them, a tool to be used.

As a phoenix, you were an expensively rare commodity. Your regenerative and healing abilities made you invaluable, and many people sought after those traits- but few possessed those characteristics. Your parents, both construction workers, were no stranger to danger in the field. Injuries were a part of their daily lives, and having you around to heal their wounds was an advantage they never hesitated to use.

It was routine- your mother’s strained back from lifting heavy materials and your father’s broken bones from working with heavy machinery. It was the perfect system, your healing touches allowing them to return to their jobs faster than most could manage, like a money making pig. But their injuries were extensive, more than just a mere cut or bruise. Every wound you healed required a certain amount of energy, the more severe wounds drained you of energy for days. As time went on, you felt your body getting weaker and weaker until eventually, you just couldn’t do it anymore.

Whether it was because your body was drained of its own powers or you just couldn’t find it in you to help them anymore, you stopped healing them. So at 14 years old, they kicked you out of their home when they realized they couldn’t extort you of your powers anymore. The realization that you parents had only used you for your abilities hits you hard now, but at the time, it was like a huge burden had been lifted off of your shoulders. And now, for the last six years you’ve been living alone in a poorly lit apartment that’s been funded by The Veil; two years out of highschool and working part time jobs at home all while remaining disconnected from the world outside. Since being kicked out, you hadn’t physically interacted with anyone aside from the person that delivers your groceries to your door. At this point, you’re starting to think you have a deeper connection with your delivery driver than anyone else in your life.

But now, even that little security was slipping away from you. The Veil was making room for the next generation of supernatural kids, which meant only one thing- you were getting kicked out. You still had a few more months to get your shit together, find a new place and make sure you had a stable enough job to maintain yourself in this economy. Your side hustles weren’t going to be enough to cover a first and last month's rent deposit anywhere. So that’s how you ended up here, pulling on some workout gear for some gym training job you found on the dark web for a place called “Dusk and Dawn,” a supernaturally owned gym that operated within the shadows of the black market. The wage was kind, almost too kind and it had you second-guessing the legitimacy of the job- but you were in no position to play it safe right now.

There wasn’t much of an interview process, just some email telling you that your first day would involve being shadowed by a staff member to see how well you interact with their clients. It sounded doable, despite your half empty resume and lack of any formal qualifications. But surely, your years of self-defense training during your free time through a computer screen counted for something, right?

When night finally settles over the city, you leave your cramped studio apartment, watching garbage sweep across the broken cracks in the sidewalk as you hastily make your way down the alleyways. It always took a bit longer to get to where you wanted when you took the back alleys over the main roads, but it was a safety net you had no choice but to rely on whenever you went out. The shadows of the alleys felt safer anyways, more familiar to you than the brightly lit streets that crawled with government officials late at night.

Luxta was always scarce at night, save for the few men in blue that scoured the streets looking for the supernatural under the guise that they were just keeping watch over the neighborhood. When the supernatural had first invaded the city, it was more of a slow encroachment than a sudden flood. It started with a few whispers at first, shadows passing by in the night. Then rumors began to stretch across the city as sightings of these fleeting figures moving faster than the human eye could imagine became more and more frequent. It was never officially confirmed what they were, but the government responded swiftly and labelled the mysterious occurrences as nothing more than a mere increase in criminal activity.

The men in blue- members of the government’s enforcement division- were sent out in droves after that, scouring the streets while armed with silver scanners clipped to their belts. Their devices would emit a piercing alarm at around 90 decibels whenever it detected a supernatural presence, irritatingly announcing their capture to anyone nearby. It’s game over once you hear that alarm, immediate handcuffs specifically designed to detain the supernatural. What happened after was anyone’s guess.

There’s speculation in the supernatural community about what they do with you after you’re arrested: years of brutal testing, harsh interrogations, maybe even torture only to conclude it with a senseless execution. But no one outside of that division knew what happened beyond the arrests made in public. And no one knew why they were even populating Luxta in the first place. The only thing you did know was that your only ally was The Veil.

Arriving in front of a dimly lit building that is squished between a post office and a laundromat, you’re pulled from your thoughts when you see a flickering “Dusk and Dawn” sign hanging above the entrance. You look at the windows, but you can’t see past the dirt and scratches that decorate the glass, obscuring any view of inside. With a nervous breath, you push open the door to the entrance, its rusty bell ringing above you as you enter.

Your eyes fall on the counter before you, its fading white paint peeling at the sides from years of wear and tear. Behind the counter sits a woman with sleek black hair and rectangular framed glasses that accentuate her sharp jawline, “Hello?” you call, glancing around the small waiting room.

The woman glances up, her brown eyes zeroing in on you as you step closer, “And you are?” she asks with disinterest in her tone.

“I’m Y/n, I’m here for orientation as the new gym trainer?” you respond. Up close, you can see that she’s around your age, maybe a few years older with smooth skin and dark eyes that shine at you despite the deadbeat tone she uses to address you with.

She gives you a curt nod, her expression slightly brightening, “My name is Yuqi, I’m the manager here,” she slides off of her stool, the old wood creaking beneath her. “Were you able to see well in the dark, I know the hours of your orientation seem a bit odd, but we’re a 24/7 gym.”

Your mind hesitates as you recall the unspoken question to recognizing a fellow supernatural: asking about the darkness of the sky, “It was glimmering enough for me to see clearly, thanks.”

Yuqi narrows her eyes before offering you a smile, flicking her tongue at you. You watch as her eyes transition from a dark brown to a piercing yellow, her pupils narrowing into a slit. A subtle hiss comes from her as the forked tip darts out at you in a dangerous frenzy. You freeze, mesmerized by the way her thin tongue moves in an unsettling precision, like she’s trying to reel you in, “I’m a serpent, but if you really wanted to get technical, I’m a basilisk,” she explains, observing your wide eyes, “You don’t seem to know many supernatural, do you?”

You blink at her, shoulders slumping as you shake your head.

“Well, if orientation goes ok, you’ll be meeting a lot more supernatural people here. Things can get… intense,” she says, her eyes glinting with pride. “Come,” she gestures for you to follow her, guiding you through a large room filled with old gym equipment that look like they’re about ready to break. You don’t stop there though as she continues to lead you into a dim hallway where a heavy iron door clad with locks and chains at the end of the hall is. You hear a thrum of things clanging on the ground and low murmurs behind the door, and an uneasy tension begins to coil in your chest.

“So, how much do you know about our gym?”

“The ad only told me I’d be helping people work out, nothing more.”

Yuqi raises her eyebrow as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a silver key. When she begins to unlock the chains, she turns to you, “Don’t be alarmed, things are just different here,” she says calmly, undoing the last lock.

With a rough push of her shoulder, the door opens with a heavy click, unveiling a space that feels worlds apart from the one you just saw minutes ago. The polished bamboo floors shine under the cool lighting of the gym, the industrial light fixtures hanging 6 feet in the air. Each area of the gym is meticulously organized, groups of machines clustered by function on top of black rubber gym tiles. There’s even motivational black and white posters hanging on the walls, accompanied by black plates that adorn the walls near the benches and squat racks. It all feels so overwhelming, the sheer volume of equipment just waiting to be used.

But the most striking feature of the auditorium had to be the imposing boxing ring that sat to the left of everything, its rubber barriers worn and fraying in a way that commanded authority. Encircling three out of four sides of the ring was a bunch of bleachers that looked as though they had been spray-painted black to match the aesthetic of the black and white theme the rest of the gym was following, giving it a high-end yet gritty finish.

“Welcome to the Dusk Gym,” Yuqi says with pride laced in her voice, her gaze sweeping over the space in front of you, “What you saw outside was our Dawn Gym. I know the ad said you’d be helping people work out,” she continues by gesturing at a few of the members working out on some of the equipment, “but that’s only a fraction of what you’ll be doing.”

You turn to her, confusion evident in the way you tilt your head and furrow your brows, “What do you mean?” your voice carries a mixture of wariness and intrigue as Yuqi’s thin lips curve upwards into a smirk.

“Nestled within Dusk Gym is the Enha Arena,” she reveals, her voice dropping a few decibels as she points to the boxing ring, “This is where supernatural beings come to fight one another, to test their limits and use their powers without worrying about the legal repercussions,” She matches your gaze with her own and presses her lips together, “We are technically an underground fight club, Dawn Gym is just a front. There’s an official match with spectators once a month. And yes, this is extremely illegal.”

Listening to her words, you swallow a string of saliva building up in your throat. As she continues, an uneasy wave washes over you and a coil begins to tighten in your stomach.

“Your job isn’t just to guide them through their workouts, but to prepare them to fight one another, to teach them how to harness their abilities and control them. One mistake in public, and they jeopardize not only themselves, but the entire underground community.”

Her words hang in the air like an impending storm, the heavy weight of them waiting to strike. A nauseating tension settles in your stomach as you begin to question your capabilities for the job, your confidence waning by the minute. Uncertainty swirls through your mind, your lacking qualifications pressing against your forehead like a swollen thought. “You’ll be given a journal that was started by our old trainer- it’s got notes on every member in the gym, so don’t feel like you’re going into this blindly.”

You press your lips together, “Ok, anything else?”

“You’ll also need to make sure they’re pushing themselves to be their best without losing control. It’s on you to make sure they’re ready to fight, mentally and physically. At the end of the day, we’re a fight club and that’s how we make most of our money.”

You hold her gaze, finally feeling her words settle like lead. “Ok, but why a fight club? Why all the violence?” You feel your words catch in your throat as you ask, feeling as though this may be too much to take on. But you couldn’t turn it down, the pay was good and there weren’t many other supernatural jobs that were hiring.

Yuqi looks around the gym, nodding towards a few of the patrons that were already working up a sweat before answering your question, “I’m sure you’re well aware of this already, but the majority of us have spent our lives isolated from the real world. A lot of us don’t know how to regulate ourselves. Not being brought up properly didn’t give us the chance to learn how to cope with big emotions. The Veil helped create this place for us, a space for the supernatural to confront their inner demons and let their anger out in a safe environment” her voice softens for a moment, the slit of her pupils expanding briefly, “In a place like this, they don’t have to hide.”

Her words hit harder than you expect, cutting through a part of your heart that still aches for your past. Despite leaving the community, you had still hidden yourself. Even after being taken in and offered what you were forced to call a home, it felt more like a prison than living without a roof over your head. Forced to hide away what was an extension of yourself and acknowledged only when it benefited the two people who were supposed to love and cherish you, you never thought you’d see the day where you could embrace your entire being. Yet here you are, standing in a place where you weren’t a secret anymore but rather a strength. It’s foreign, and if it weren’t for Yuqi’s words holding up a mirror to your own past, you never would’ve questioned what life was like where you weren’t discriminated against for being different. You would be an idiot to not take this job up now.

“Now, be a good girl and introduce yourself to one of our patrons. I’ll be right behind you.” She shoves you along a bit, following after you with a soft laugh. “You’ll be working with Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. They’re four of our seven regulars here.”

You bite your lip out of nervousness and find the nearest patron, only getting a view of his back as you watch him push through a set of squats. You can see his muscles strain beneath the weight, each striae bulging beneath the tight compression of his black long-sleeve. His focus is nearly palpable as he executes each movement with a haunting precision and you almost hesitate to introduce yourself, but Yuqi pushes you forward again and into his peripheral vision. When you stumble in front of him, you see that his skin is a striking porcelain white and you feel a sub zero chill run through your spine as you step into his presence. Noticing your feet awkwardly shuffling from one weight to the other, he pulls his earbuds out and gives you a strikingly cold stare.

“Hi, I’m Y/n,” your voice trembles a bit, your confidence wavering as an icy chill travels through your veins. Your next words catch in your throat as you begin to find it harder to focus, the temperature of your body becoming colder by the second. “I’m a new trainer here… at Dusk and Dawn. I’m just getting to know everyone.” You kick yourself internally for fucking up your intro, but your mind falters when your muscles begin to stiffen, the coldness gripping you like an iron vice.

Frozen in place, you opt to stare into Sunghoon’s eyes, a storm of frost and grief storming behind them. There’s a mysterious depth to them that draws you in despite the arctic freeze that’s creeping through your body, an irrational pull to figure him out.

When Yuqi notices your frozen state, she moves to deliver a sharp smack to the back of Sunghoon’s head, “Knock it off, Sunghoon,” She scolds, throwing him a venomous glare. “You’re not a walking AC unit,”

The boy has an air of arrogance to him that floats around him like a cloud, thundering when she gets too close. Rolling his eyes, his lips curve into a mocking smirk before he slides his earbuds back in as if dismissing you. You’re about to scoff when Yuqi slips her arm through yours, pulling you away before he can catch a glance at your flushed out cheeks. “Please excuse him. He’s a frost elf, so don’t expect much empathy from him.”

“Is that why I nearly died of hypothermia all of a sudden?” you ask, rubbing your arms despite your core temperature returning back to normal almost immediately.

She sighs, shaking her head as she drags you over to the next patron. “Probably, it’s a defense mechanism of his. When he feels negative emotions like annoyance or just wants to push someone away, his body temperature significantly drops, as well as whoever else he wants to affect.”

“So he did it on purpose?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers, tapping her foot on the floor, “It’s integrated into his sympathetic nervous system, so it normally activates when his fight or flight gets triggered. But if he really wanted to, he could control it. But I’ve noticed he just lets it happen whenever, like it’s his way of telling people you’re pissing him off.”

You give her a simple nod, filing the information away in the back of your brain to jot down for later. When you gather yourself, your gaze falls onto the next patron- a tall, lean guy who was too busy re-racking his weights on the bench press to notice your presence. His taut muscles flex under his white compression shirt as he handles the bar, each side stacked with more weight than you could imagine. “Fresh blood?” he asks without even sparing you a glance.

Before you can respond, Yuqi leans over, “He’s a vampire. He can smell your blood from miles away. Just don’t stare into Heeseung’s eyes for too long.”

You give the woman a nod of confirmation, playing it off as if meeting a vampire was just a regular occurrence. Turning to the vampire, you offer him a short but polite greeting, looking anywhere except his crimson gaze. Just like with Sunghoon, you find an invisible tug pulling you towards him that has you craving more, an unknown urge in your belly asking you to uncover whatever it was this person was hiding from you.

He shoots you a knowing smile, his pearly white fangs peeking out while he narrows his red eyes on you, as if testing your resolve. His stare pierces through you, slickening your core with a striking heat that has you instinctively pressing your thighs against each other. You feel a warmth begin to pool in your stomach as your composure starts to crumble, his gaze melting you like frost in the morning sun, “Yeah, that’s enough of that,” Yuqi says, pulling you away from his heat induced fixation.

Her grip on you is uncomfortably tight as she pulls you over to a corner where another person is working hard at a punching bag, each one of his strikes sending a powerful ripple through the tough canvas. The rhythm is hypnotic as he paces around the bag, his muscles surging with every hit. You stay back and watch for a moment, flinching as he assaults the bag with an unspoken aggression, years of pent up anger charged with each punch. Without even turning to address you, he snarls in an aggravated tone with his lips curled up, “Don’t bother, I already heard all the introductions.”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to Yuqi, finding yourself increasingly annoyed at the little respect you’ve been offered from the boys. “That’s Jake, another one of your trainees. Don’t mind him either… he’s a werewolf, so his hearing is enhanced, as well as all his other senses.” Yuqi looks around momentarily before connecting her hands together, turning to give you a small smile.

“Alright, I think you can find the last member assigned to you by yourself, but there is one more thing I’d like to show you,” she places a hand on your shoulder and guides you back over to the entrance. Gesturing upwards with her hand, she points to a glass booth that was suspended above the gym floor, facing the Enha Arena on the other side of the gym. “That’s our staff room. We have access to it 24/7, letting us control who enters and exits the Dusk Gym. Patrons will use the same entrance we came through with a staff to unlock the chains and everything, and we all leave through this one-way exit,” she points to a smaller door a few feet away from the entrance.

Looking over to where she points, you feel a sense of finality wash over you. The gym was starting to feel more and more like a fortress by the second, all the security features overwhelming your mind. “This isn’t just a gym, Y/n,” she says as if reading your mind, “It’s a sanctuary, and we take security here very seriously. Come find me in a few hours once you’re done, ok? I’ll be in the booth.”

With a final wave, Yuqi disappears up a staircase, leaving you by yourself with the few patrons that were still training. There were only four men in the gym, which meant the last one had to be Jay. Looking around, you spot him at the pull up bars, a grunt escaping him with each rep.

Sweat slickens your hands, and before moving, you hastily rub your hands up and down your leggings. “Hey,” you say, waving your hand. The boy hops off the pull up bar and looks at you expectantly with an eyebrow raised exceptionally high, “My name’s Y/n, I’m just introduced myself as the new gym trainer here.”

“The name is Jay, though I don’t think I’ll need much help…” he looks you up and down, his gaze terribly imposing as he takes you in, “... from you.”

You scoff at that, swallow the urge to get to know him better like a bitter pill. Like a switch, you narrow your golden eyes at the boy, refusing to let him brush you off like that, “If you want to fix that poor pull up form, you’ll want it,” your voice is rich with annoyance as you feel a deep sense of aggravation draw from within you.

He lets out an airy laugh, a breath of fire escaping his mouth as he does, “I don’t take advice from people who think ‘chin ups’ count as a real up.”

“Keep saying that when your protein shakes start tasting like the salt from your tears,” you shoot back, forcibly shoving him to the side, “And I don’t do chin ups,” Jay stumbles into the bar as his eyes begin to glow with an orange hue, an amused annoyance radiating off his warm body while a smirk creeps onto his face.

You jump onto the bar with ease, gripping the iron structure firmly before pulling yourself up in one fluid motion. With an almost annoying ease, you begin to pump out as many reps as possible, each one silently taunting him. Eventually, you drop back down to the floor once you find yourself losing count, letting your chest rise and fall with a feigned exertion.

“That’s cute, but half reps don’t count,” he declares, straightening his posture as the smirk on his face dies out like an old flame, “Now move, I’ll give you something to fucking count.”

You roll your eyes as you step back, letting him line up below the bar, “Did you need a spot, or can you get up there by yourself?” you tease, but he shuts you up with an angry grunt.

As he powers through each movement, every motion as fluid as your own, you catch a glimpse of red as his tank top moves with the speed of his reps. Red scales decorate a part of his lats and shoulders, shimmering like molten embers embedded in his skin, catching underneath the glint of the harsh lights hanging from the gym ceiling.

“Good job, Jay. Maybe you’ll graduate to a real pull up,” you say, a smirk playing its way onto your lips as you turn around. Without waiting for his response, you make your way towards the sound of metal banging on metal.

In another area of the gym is Heeseung, sitting at one of the high-end rowing machines, working up a sweat as his muscles flex under the synthetic material of his shirt. When you fall into his line of vision, he drops the grip to the row, “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice dripping with an allure as he eyes you up and down.

“I noticed your right shoulder was sagging, did you recently strain your rotator cuff?” you say, pointing at his shoulder.

He rubs the shoulder in question, feeling for the pain and nods his head, “Some bitch twisted me into the ring ropes of the arena, fucked up my shoulder and everything,” he grunts, moving it around as if to show he was still in pain, “I was just going to let it heal itself.” He moves to pick the grip back up, wincing as he pulls backwards on the heavy weight attached to it.

Without thinking, you reach out to him and place your hand over his, pulling back when he flinches away from your touch. “Sorry, but you’re just going to make it worse if you keep going,” you tell him, “Can I touch your shoulder?”

He drops the grip again, letting it hit the metal bar in the middle of the machine with a loud clang before looking at you with a coy smile, “Be my guest.”

You ignore the obvious tease in his voice and step closer to him, reaching your palm out to cover the curve of his shoulder. A quiet hush falls between the two of you as warmth diffuses from your hand while a soft orange glow emanates from your palm. The warmth intensifies as it spreads over his shoulders like liquid fire, seeping into his muscle until you feel the tautness melt away.

Heeseung’s red eyes widen slightly as he pulls away from your touch, rolling his shoulders back, “What the hell was that?”

“I’m a phoenix,” you say simply, amusement flickering across your face as you watch astonishment cross his features, his stoic mask dropping for a brief moment.

“Shit, didn’t think I’d ever meet one,” he mutters under his breath, quickly resuming his workout to test out his newfound repairment.

A twinge of sadness tugs on your heart as his words settle over you like a heavy weight pressing you to acknowledge the sad truth of the fact. You force a smile, despite his focus being elsewhere, “Yeah, we’re quite rare now,” you say more to yourself than him, an affirmation of the loneliness written into the stars. Your thoughts are burdened by the inescapable truth: you’ll never encounter another phoenix as there can only ever be one solitary ember burning in this world, destined to rise and fall until their purpose is fulfilled. At least that’s what Google says.

Heeseung finishes his set as you stand back awkwardly, unsure of what to do, “You should spend some time with Niki, he tends to hurt himself a lot during training. Usually Minnie helps, but she can only do so much with a sports medicine degree.”

“Who is Minnie?”

Heeseung stands up from the machine, seemingly done with rowing, “She’s just another trainer here. She works with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” He explains, using a towel to clean the seat on the row machine, “There are some other trainers, like Yuqi, who work with the casuals, but the seven of us are Dusk and Dawn regulars. We kind of hold the fort down here.”

“Good to know, thanks,” you say with a quick nod. When he starts to move to another machine, you don’t follow him and instead offer him a quick wave goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Heeseung.” When he nods you off, you leave the gym, ascending the same staircase Yuqi had used earlier to head up to the office. Reaching the top, you’re met with a short hallway. At the end, a single door on the left catches your eye- the staff room. With a quick knock, you enter the room to find Yuqi sitting at a large desk with several monitors in front of her, security camera footage running across each screen.

Hearing you enter, she swivels her chair around, a large smile on her face as her snake eyes long and you, “Just the person I wanted to see!” she exclaims, waving her hand for you to come over, “Looks like you’re getting along quite well with the boys, so I’ll go ahead and email you the schedule for their training sessions and the journal I was telling you about earlier. Their next match is in two weeks, so you’ll be preparing for that.” She turns to grab something from her desk, reading for a worn out leather journal, “You did more than enough today, so study this journal and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, placing the item in your arms with a satisfied nod. You take the tattered journal from her, the weight of its content acting as a tangible reminder of the crazy few hours you just had.

When you exit the building, the early morning air hits you like a slap, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The streets were devoid of any governmental presence now, too much of a commitment for them to maintain any vigilance past 3 a.m. You knew they’d be back on the streets around 12 p.m., and that the neighborhood would soon be populated with moms and their strollers and people walking to work by 7 a.m. the earliest. So this four hour period in which the streets were abandoned was something the supernatural community knew well, a time slot in which the supernatural could leave their homes and stretch their legs without having to worry so much about being caught.

As you walk home, you see figures blur by you at an unnatural speed while others propel themselves dozens of feet into the air, skipping across roofs. It was a testament to what the human eye could only deem as a fantasy, but to you, it was an unspoken reality that only thrived in the quietness of the early morning. Even during this time, though, there were still limits. Elemental abilities were still kept at bay- no one dared to bend water or fire in public so openly, no matter the hour of the day. Those who did wield such powers stuck to minute things like changing the temperature of their body or whispering the flicker of heat into an angry flame.

And you knew there was still a whole other realm of abilities you weren’t aware of, tucked away beyond layers of secrecy the supernatural world was too scared to show. There was only so much research you could scour online before it became repetitive and almost theorized by rumors. The shame of living in a universe where it was illegal to exist gnawed at you everyday, and you were becoming desperate for life beyond scratching the surface of freedom. Each moment spent outside of your home left you with an aching curiosity, questions unanswered indefinitely.

But with the journal Yuqi gave you, clutched tightly in your grasp, you had a sliver of hope. Maybe it wouldn't grant you the freedom you’ve wanted for the supernatural all these years, but you hoped it could answer some of the questions that have been burning at the back of your head since your parents kicked you out.

When you arrive at the steps of your rundown apartment complex, you slowly make your way up the creaky stairs until you slip inside the dimly lit studio. Flicking the light switch on, you watch as a single bulb pathetically sputters to life, casting a faint glow across the room. There’s a lack of light in the hours where the sun doesn’t shine through your one window that acts as a source of constant frustration for you, making it nearly impossible for you to see without the flashlight from your phone or the fire from your fingers. But with your new job and new paychecks, you’re starting to hope you’ll be able to find a place that has bulbs stronger than a meager 40 watts.

With an exasperated sigh, you throw your belongings onto your patchwork couch and change into an old shirt and panties. As much as you wanted to dive into the journal that Yuqi had so generously given you, the dim lighting of your apartment made it almost impossible to read. You could’ve used the flashlight on your phone, but the lack of a working outlet left you unable to charge it if it died. And as much as you would’ve liked to cast a pretty flame from your fingertips, they were far too much of a fire hazard inside the old wooden walls of your studio apartment. Instead, you decide it’d be best to just wait until the early afternoon when the sunlight enters your window naturally.

When the sun rays do filter through your window, you spring upwards in bed, your body restless despite the pitiful amount of hours you managed to snag. For the first time in years, your night wasn’t consumed with a monotonous amount of homework or the glow of online workout videos in a lonely room. Instead- no matter how chaotic- you had a new purpose. You were exhilarated to keep going, fuelled by only a few hours of sleep yet ready to take on the next few days coursing with energy- a trait Phoenixes prided themselves upon: resilience.

With a precise stretch, you reach over to your desk and grab the journal you set aside from earlier. Nestling back into bed, you open the first page to reveal a comprehensive list of all the supernatural beings that had ever attended Dusk and Dawn over the years. Your eyes scan through the list of names, a mess of words that bleed onto the next page. Some are expected, familiar even- werewolves, vampires, dragons, griffins- but there are some that catch you off guard: valkyries, kitsunes, fairies, centaurs, and many more. Yet, you notice that not a single phoenix appears on the list, and it leaves an invisible weight sitting on your shoulders.

Moving through the next few pages, the entries become more and more detailed as they start to divulge into each patron, starting with Heeseung. His name is scrawled out on the top of the page in fancy letters, and underneath it readers ‘Vampire.’ A barely legible sketch of his face is drawn next to his name and you let out a soft laugh as you trace your finger over the old led before drawing your eyes down to Heeseung’s written description.

Heeseung came to Dusk and Dawn seven years ago, seeking for a way to cope with the anger of his parents abandoning him at the age of 16. He has been a general joy to have, often participating diligently in activities and putting his best foot forward in matches. Throughout his years at Dusk and Dawn, staff has observed that when pushed too far, Heeseung enters a state known as vampiric rage. Symptoms include: severe blood lust, glowing red eyes, feeding compulsion, disturbed/over enhanced senses, uncontrollable aggression, and predatory behavior. It is recommended he be taken into isolation when this occurs until he calms down

Power descriptions: hypnotic gaze, enhanced senses (strength, smell, sight, hearing), night vision, super speed. Please revise if necessary

You swallow the lump in your throat when you finish reading his entry, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you turn to the next page. Jongseong is the next name you see, and in parentheses the name Jay is written next to it with a large ‘Dragon’ scrawled underneath it. There’s another half-hearted sketch drawn next to it, and you notice the birth mark added to his neck, a darker patch on the left side of his neck.

Jay first came to Dusk and Dawn a few months after Heeseung, bringing a similar energy as the latter. Shaped by the self-resilient upbringing he developed under The Veil’s guidance, he has showcased a few profound characteristics that stand out during training. His past cultivates a very competitive spirit that is landmarked by a web of complex trust issues, resulting in a volatile temperature which resembles that of a pressure cooker.

Power descriptions: scale armor, pyrokinesis, enhanced strength. Please revise if necessary

On the next two pages are profiles for Jake and Sunghoon, the last two members Yuqi said you would be training. Beneath Sunghoon’s name are the words ‘Frost Elf’, and ‘Werewolf’ beneath Jakes.

Jake joined Dusk and Dawn shortly after Jay and Heeseung with a unique backstory, coming from a lineage of other werewolves, he sought out this place after losing his family during an attack. His personality fluctuates heavily between being quite friendly and open to acting quite aggressive and aloof. During full moons and times of overstimulation, he struggles with the primal side of his werewolf blood coming into full effect: excessive aggression, overprotection of his packmates, animalistic instincts, and loss of rationality. Jake should be carefully monitored for any signs of depression d/t history of family loss

Power descriptions: enhanced senses (smell, hearing, speed, strength), healing saliva (minor wounds), scent tracker, lethal bites and scratches. Please revise if necessary

Below Jake’s profile is Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon joined a day after Jake with the primary goal of fighting people. Like Jay, he has navigated the challenges of all life stages by himself and upon joining Dusk and Dawn, he openly admitted to struggling with recognizing emotional cues and controlling his powers. It has become evident over the years that Sunghoon has made significant progress in developing his abilities, yet he often chooses to not exercise control unless absolutely necessary. Rather, he tends to resort to violence when provoked, that he just “doesn’t care” as stated by Sunghoon himself.

Power descriptions: cryokinesis, frost armor, temperature manipulation/aura. Please revise if necessary

Upon finishing Sunghoon’s entry, an overwhelming sense of responsibility descends over your shoulders, prompting you to close the book and reflect. The solemn history of these four members has you reconsidering your qualifications, debating whether you’re just in over your head and blinded by the hourly wage of your new job. Did you have the societal experience to connect with them and guide them in the way that Yuqi was expecting you to? Really, they too grew up alone or abandoned at some point in their life, isolated from the real world- but they had more time to learn about the real world through Dusk and Dawn than you did. What right did you have to go ordering them around and telling them what to do?

Heeseung had previously mentioned that there were three other regulars that attended the gym, but because they weren’t training with you, you decided it’d be best to wait until you met them before reading their entries. Right now, your immediate focus was on sharpening your own skills.

So with your renewed determination, you divulge into a whirlwind of rigorous training. The next few hours leading up to your second training shift is filled with a relentless cycle of speed drills and high-intensity circuits designed to test your endurance. Your goal wasn’t to just be stronger- you already had that. Instead, you aimed to outlast the boys. Stamina would be your greatest asset working at Dusk and Dawn.

After who knows how many hours, your phone alarm goes off indicating you had one hour left before your next shift started. You take that time to shower and clean up, taking an especially hot shower. Clad in a new pair of leggings and tank top, you walk back to the gym, retracing the same alleyways and backroads as you did the night before.

“Hi, Yuqi.” you say, greeting the serpent hybrid supernatural sitting behind the front desk. She's got her head tilted down with some magazine in her hands, her black framed glasses perched low on her nose as she reads.

She acknowledges you with a low hiss, her forked tongue flicking up and down in the air. “Here are some keys,” she says, tossing a set of keys at you to which you catch mid-air. “Take the boys into the elemental training room when they get here, you’ll learn about their abilities there. It’s just Niki in there right now”

With the keys in one hand and your backpack strap tucked in the other, you make your way down the familiarly dim hallway where that same iron door stands at the end, wrapped in a chain of metal. Laying against the rusting door were at least three padlocks, and after a minute of figuring out which key goes where, you push open the door to reveal the glory of the Dusk gym once again.

The familiar clang of weights hitting against one another fills the air, echoing through the large auditorium as you walk in. Setting your bag down against a long black bench beside one of the cement pillars, your eyes draw in on a tall, unfamiliar boy whom you presume to be Niki, working out in front of the numerous mirrors lining the gym. As you approach him, you can’t help but let your focus fall on the way the vein in his bicep bulges with every rep, straining when the dumbbells press against his chest. You lean against a machine nearby, momentarily forgetting your intent to introduce yourself to him. “Looking for something?” he says, glancing at you through the mirror. Your attention snaps back up to respond, but he’s not there.

“I’m right here, sweetie.” the voice continues to tease, this time coming from behind. You spin around, your gaze travelling the area as you look for the source but to no avail.

A dark laugh that seems to only fill your thoughts starts overwhelming you, the absurdness of the voices in your head making you spin. Shutting your eyes, you will the laughter to go away. Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder jolts you out of your thoughts and the laughter comes to a stop. Opening your eyes, your gaze finally lands on the boy you saw in the mirror, his sharp eyes glaring down on you with a mischievous glint, “So you’re the infamous trainer I’ve heard so much about.” He says, leaning down to match your height.

You clear your throat, “That’s correct. And I’m assuming you’re Niki?” Stepping back, you attempt to create some distance from the relatively tall boy standing before you.

He nods his head, letting the fringe of his black hair fall into his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, stepping into your space despite your previous attempt to distance yourself. He bites his lip as his mouth curves into a devious smile, eyes darkening. Reaching for your hand, he interlocks his fingers in yours, “So you’re a phoenix…”

He brings your hands up to your vision so that the both of you can see, his large hand almost devouring yours completely, “I can play with fire too.” He says, squeezing your hand harshly. Suddenly, a glow of embers envelopes your hands completely, a scalding heat spreading between you both as his powers force yours out as well.

But as quickly as the fire emits, it extinguishes, a flash of blue striking the flame and leaving only a cloud of smoke in its wake. “Cut it out, Niki,” a voice calls from a distance. Turning to the sound, you see a boy with ashy brown hair approaching you with graceful strides, “We’re not supposed to use our elements in the gym, there’s a specific place for that.”

“Alright, Katara.”

“It’s Sunoo, not Katara.” The boy corrects, bowing to you.

“Could’ve fooled me with that water bending of yours,” Niki pesters, squeezing Sunoo’s ears after letting go of your hand.

Sunoo gives Niki a face as he swats the taller boy’s hand away from him, shooting him a darkened glare that leaves Niki in a slight daze. “Are you guys ever gonna act like your age, or are we stuck with the mental capacity of a 10 year old?” a voice calls from behind. Sunghoon’s chilling voice pierces through the air as he comes into view, casually dressed in a pair of gray sweats and white tank, a disturbing contrast to his arrogance. He shoves his hands into his pockets before adding, “You guys are fucking children.”

An arctic freeze radiates off of his otherwise relaxed body and Niki begins to tremble, angrily flicking his arm to emit a glow of fire that crawls up his arm and down his torso. “Stop using your temperature manipulation on us, Yuqi said you’re supposed to control that shit,” Sunoo scolds, moving closer to Niki to feel his fire.

You roll your eyes, feeling bored of their tense exchange. “Enough, just get into the training room before you rip each other’s heads off.” you demand, your voice laced with annoyance. The boys grumble in response, muttering things that you don’t bother to decipher as they walk into a dark room tucked away in the back of the auditorium. When you enter, you flick the light on to reveal a large gray room, both its floor and walls adorned with the same glossy stone material- though they’re marked up by what you assume is years of burn marks and blunt force. The room is a quarter the size of the gym, holding an abundance of training dummies and bullseyes; amongst other things.

“Line up here,” you say, pointing to the back of the room. They kick their shoes off before stepping onto the black gym mats, moving in silence. “I’ll have you guys each target train on a dummy so I can get a gauge of your guys’ skills. If you don’t have an ability that requires target training, just don’t line up.” You say as you kick your own shoes off.

Before you can continue, an out of breath voice interrupts you, “Am I late?”

You turn around to see the silhouette of a boy who seems to have run all the way here. Rather than answering, you nod your head to the mat in annoyance, “Who are you?”

“Jungwon,” he offers, presenting you with a smile to which the pits of his dimples show. For a second, your shield of authority falters for a brief second when your eyes pass over his grin, but you’re quick to pick it back up as you address Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon, can you tell me what each of these boys are?” He opens his mouth to complain, but you catch on to the change in his demeanor rather quickly, “Without complaining.”

He bites his lip, grumbling something under his breath before proceeding. “Niki is a kitsune- a childish one at that. Sunoo is a siren, and Jungwon is a shapeshifter. And I’m a frost elf, but I’m hoping you already knew that.”

Looking down at your watch, you frown when you realize that more than half of your own group is missing and you were supposed to start ten minutes ago. “Ok, let’s start,” you annoy, stepping off to the side.

“Shouldn’t we spar? We already know how to target train,” Sunghoon tests, cinching his eyebrows together in annoyance.

“Did I ask?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Sunoo, go first.”

Sunoo grins, dramatically flicking away a strand of hair from his face before stepping forward. He steadies himself, planting his feet firmly on the floor before narrowing his fox-like eyes at the dummy across the room. In one graceful motion, a stream of water burst from his hands, gradually growing in volume before he thrusts his hands forward, sending a jet of water towards the target. The liquid splits down the middle as it moves through the air, weaving around itself before slamming into the target.

When it hits, Sunoo begins to sing- his voice a piercing yet soothing high that seems to resonate with the movement of the water. The liquid responds, wrapping around the target like a mermaid’s tail, constricting the target more and more with every second. When Sunoo’s voice fades, the water falls, limp of any life it once had.

“Well done,” you say, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, “But I’m worried about your singing. You become quite vulnerable when you sing, though your water becomes very powerful when you do, so come up with a way to make yourself safe before performing something like that.”

Sunoo smiles at you as he accepts your critiques, stepping aside. He brushes past Sunghoon with a smirk you don’t quite catch and the responding boy pushes him into the wall. You nod to Sunghoon next, who steps forward to take his spot, his confidence radiating in a piercing chill around him. He doesn’t wait for further instruction before he’s raising his hand to eye level, creating a razor-sharp shard of ice that cuts through the air and tears straight into the dummy’s chest with cunning precision. Upon impact, the ice splinters, shattering the dummy beyond repair.

Before you can offer your commentary, Sunghoon’s launching himself into a side-flip, a long blade of ice forming in his hands mid-air. When he lands, the floor beneath him transforms into a sheet of ice. With amazing ease, he glides towards the other dummies and wields the blade of ice into each target with a lethalness that has you flinching.

His chest heaves up and down as the ice underneath him dissipates, returning the floor back to its original material. He carries himself with a cold arrogance, his head thrown back as he walks back to the line. “What the hell…” you whisper, not catching the way your eyes ravage his body, his veins bulging out of his arms. Sweat glistens down his porcelain skin and you subconsciously rub your thighs together to quell the unnatural feeling in your core.

“He’s hot, right?” a voice from behind you whispers, loud enough for only you to hear. You turn around only to see Jake standing beside you, just inches away from.

“When the hell did you get here?”

“When Sunoo finished, but you were too busy ogling at Sunghoon to notice.”

“I was not ogling, I was evaluating,” you correct, taking a step away. Jake is quick to compensate for the pathetic distance you try to put between you and him, bringing his body even closer than it was before until you can feel the heat of his body radiate off onto yours. He’s taller than you, not as much as the others, but enough to make you want to crawl inside of yourself and disappear as he breathes in your exhales.

“I may just be a werewolf, a mutt as some of the boys like to call me, but I’m just as strong as Sunghoon,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Maybe even stronger.”

His voice sends a rush of heat down to your core, only adding on to the slick that’s coated the seat of your panties. Fueled by a mix of arousal and anger, you force yourself to choose the latter to control your next decisions. Stomping on his foot, hard, you give Jake a throaty snarl, “Get in the damn line.”

Jake smirks, ignoring the pain that shoots up his foot, “I just know you’re gonna be begging for me soon,” he whispers once more before sauntering off to stand next to Jungwon.

“Well?” Sunghoon’s voice pulls you out of your own mental storm and you look up at him, “Any comments, Ms. Y/n?”

“Dial it back a bit,” is all you say, nodding at Niki next. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, biting back a smirk as he plays oblivious to the fact that he didn’t just catch the way you watched his every move as he walked back into the line, staring at him like a bitch in heat. Just like all the others, he thinks to himself as he watches Niki step up to the spot he was in originally.

Niki is your focus of attention now, steadying himself into a ready position before allowing his body to engulf in a rage of flames. He strides towards the group of targets, flaming embers dripping off of him like a molten sweat as he approaches. As he moves closer, a swirl of fire surrounds the targets and fills the air with an eerie, high-pitched laughter that echoes off the walls. The swarm of fire morphs into a crowd of sinister faces that leer at the targets, hauntingly paralyzing if you were to look them in the eye. It’s disorienting, even to watch as a spectator on the sidelines as the faces transform into flaming spears that shoot into the dummies- a copycat of Sunghoon’s ice shards.

The room immediately fills with smoke as the targets burst into flames, smoke stinging your eyes. Sunoo jumps into action then, dousing the fiery targets with a storm of water, clearing out the smoke. The room is silent except for the soft sizzling of the dummies rematerializing in front of you as brand new, like some sort of magic. “Alright, Jake is useless with elements and Jungwon would rather spar than copy our powers, so can we finally start hitting each other?” Sunghoon asks, breaking the tension in the room.

Jake lets out a growl, slamming his fist into Sunghoon’s unsuspecting body, “Suck my cock.”

In a matter of seconds, Sunghoon’s dark brown eyes transition into a furiously bright blue, his hand materializing a razor-sharp ice blade. He lunges towards Jake, raising his arm up at the boy to attack but you step in immediately, a burst of flames surrounding you as you teleport to Sunghoon’s side. “Enough!” you yell out, Sunghoon’s arm held tightly in your hand. “No more of these stupid fights unless it’s during an official match or sparring. And Sunghoon,” you twist his shoulder until he’s wincing, “I will not have you slicing Jake open with your blades of ice.”

You bring your hand down to grip the girth of his ice-blade before looking at the others, “Go to the damn ring and put your wraps on. Now.”

As the group begins to exit, you catch Sunghoon’s arm with a sharp glare. “Not so fast.,” you mutter. A surge of heat pulses through your palm and immediately melts his blade, the crystalline weapon quickly losing its shape and dripping onto the padded floor. With a final shove, you send him stumbling to the ground.

“What the fuck, Y/n?” He hisses, shooting you a blue-eyed glare.

“Out.” You hiss with finality, watching with your eyes as he stomps out of the room. The door slams behind him, echoing with the anger he harbors towards your actions. You could care less- finally alone for a brief moment. You draw in a deep breath, an attempt at steadying your racing pulse. The air is thick with apprehension and you feel a knot developing in your shoulders, one that likely wouldn’t have developed if it weren’t for the boys’ constant bickering. There’s a frustration that bubbles beneath your authoritative facade, one that’s bordering the lines of blowing up.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a brief moment, taking that second to let the darkness consume you. In that moment of peaceful blindness, you seek solace in the unknown- almost yearning for your life in isolation to come back. “It’s nice to see someone keep the boys in line,” the voice has you opening your eyes, focusing in on a girl that steps out from the shadows of the training room. Her pink eyes sparkle with warmth as she approaches you, a broad smile painting her face.

“Are you Minnie?”

“What gave it away?” she giggles, “Sorry, something came up yesterday during your orientation so I couldn’t meet with you, but I’ll be able to spend some time with you today.” She takes a hold of your hand, humming softly as a warm glow radiates between the connections.

Her gesture sends a wave of relaxation through your tense body, easing the knot in your shoulders as the light travels through your veins. “I’m a light fairy,” she explains, “one of my powers is to calm people down through touch.”

You smile into her touch, placing your free hand atop your connected ones, “I may need you around me indefinitely,” you prod at the tense air gently, though deep down you both know it’s not entirely a joke. The weight of everything despite it only being your second day was already feeling like too much. Her warmth was like a much needed respite.

Minnie laughs again, infecting you with a joy you didn’t think was possible. When the light between your hands fades, she pulls you out of the room. “Boys!” she exclaims as she approaches the ring, waving at the group of boys who have started warming up. You notice Jay and Heeseung are already there.

Sunoo and Jungwon are the only ones that bother to look up, waving back excitedly before rushing to the edge of the arena, leaning on the rope rings to peer down at the two of you. “Hi noona!” Jungwon says, reaching his hand out toward Minnie.

Minnie connects her hand with his and closes her eyes, a ball of light transferring between their intertwined fingers, “Are you gonna calm them down?” she whispers, a soft melody that could make you fall asleep. Jungwon nods, letting the light dance along his skin before it dissolves when he disconnects their hands and bounds back to the boys to tussle around with them. With his back turned, Minnie looks at you with a melancholic gaze, one that doesn’t really match her vibrant energy from earlier, “The older boys don’t let me touch them, they’re a bit closed off like that, but I get it,” her voice drops off as her gaze drifts back to the older members, a longing sadness in her eyes. Though it doesn’t last long before she turns back to face you, “When they get riled up, Jungwon copies my powers temporarily and does the same thing I did with you. They seem to trust him the most.”

You turn to watch Jungwon, his hands subtly climbing the backs of the older boys as a soft luminescent glow of light identical to Minnie’s pulses from his fingertips and transcends through their bodies. He continues to mess around with them, shadow boxing with the elders as each one of them slowly let their defenses fall.

“My boys don’t get as angry as yours,” Minnie continues, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I think that’s why Yuqi paired me with them. She knows I can only handle so much negativity as a fairy.” She pauses to glance over at the boys once more, smiling when she sees Jungwon’s head stuck in between Sunghoon’s arms- a sisterly affection radiating off of her body. “I think their outbursts are what made the old gym trainer quit. If I’m being honest, they’re quite dangerous when their emotions get the best of them. They’re rough around the edges, but they’re good people on the inside.”

Her words spark a curiosity deep inside of you, and you press on for more info as you continue to watch them from outside of the arena. “Have they known each other for a long time?” You ask, noticing their sibling like energy, despite the tension from earlier.

“I think some of the boys have known each other since they were in the community, and others have just met a year ago when they joined the gym. But they all get along differently, some are really close while others aren’t.” She gives you a grim smile, “I think Sunghoon’s got the most complicated relationships out of all of them. Frost elves aren’t exactly known to be friendly, but he’s different with these boys. I dont think he’d ever really hurt them- at least not seriously. He really cares for them, he just lets his emotions get the best of him.”

Her candid assessment of Sunghoon roots you to the spot, prompting you to process her words right then. You had noticed something too- he was especially closed off when you first met him. There was a storm in his eyes when his gaze landed on yours, one that seemed to cloud his judgement. It was raw and unfiltered, hiding what you felt was a war of control in the back of his mind behind a fog of indifference.

Shaking your head, you give Minnie a grateful nod and gesture to the ring, “Should we get started?” Her face lights up and she slips into the arena, lifting the ropes up for you as you follow after her. You bounce against the padded cushion of the ring, adjusting to the flooring before addressing the group of boys before you. “Let’s start off with Jake and Jay, no powers. Just pure strength and skill.”

Jake and Jay separate from their impromptu shadow boxing match, leaving the other boys to move off to the side, leaning against the ropes like its routine; varying levels of interest on their faces. Sunghoon’s got his arms crossed with a bored expression across his face, like he could be doing anything else than watch other people fight. Next to him, Niki looks intrigued, his head slightly tilted like a little puppy as he awaits the match. The rest of the boys seem indifferent, neither bored nor interested as if they’ve seen this a million times.

In the center of the ring now is Jay and Jake, facing each other as they steady themselves in their own personal ready positions. Jake has his right foot forward, his hands up to his face in a rather tense position as he narrows his eyes at Jay. The latter is more calm, his posture relaxed while his hands are held loosely at his face. “Go.”

Jake is the first to move, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he sizes up Jay, initiating an unspoken agreement to move counter-clockwise in the arena. The two boys circle around one another for a few seconds, each step heavy with tension as their gazes become predatory. Jay throws the first punch, lunging forward with a fast left jab, but Jake anticipates his movement and strides to the side, allowing Jay to graze his ear. Jay overcompensates and passes Jake, barely stumbling forward while Jake’s lip curls into a grin, laughter erupting from his belly.

Rolling his eyes, Jay kicks his foot back, connecting with the back of Jake’s knee. In an instant, Jake is on the ground, dead-legged by his opponent. “Dumbass,” Jay mutters, smirking to himself when he turns around. He steps back, allowing Jake to get back up.

Jake regains his composure quickly, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck. Jay moves in one more time- using his right arm this time as he aims for Jake’s jaw, but he ducks out of the way again, throwing a left hook into Jay’s side. The force of his punch has Jay gasping for air, hunching over from the velocity as he staggers back to catch his breath. It doesn’t hurt, but rather knocks the wind out of him. There’s a brief silence as Jay quickly catches his breath, steadying himself as he gives Jake the chance to go on the offense this time.

Sweat is beading on both of their foreheads now as the tension in the air thickens. You watch as Jake begins to circle around Jay again like a predator stalking his prey, locking eyes on him once more. With lightning speed, Jake flies forward to uppercut Jay’s jaw, blood flying in the air as Jay bites down on his tongue- hard. Jay doesn’t falter though, immediately responding with a jab and two crosses to Jake’s face. They stumble away from each other for a brief second before going at it again, throwing a mess of punches and kicks at each other until they can barely hold themselves up.

You get a good look at their faces once they separate- a thick stream of blood spills from Jay’s chin, the familiar taste of metallic filling his mouth. He smiles, teeth bloodied as he’s reminded of the adrenaline from fighting- a chemical surge of power. He brings a wrist to his lip, pulling back to see bright red staining his skin. When he looks at Jake, he observes his best friend in a similar state, a jagged cut across his eyebrow and blood gushing from his left nostril. You don’t even want to imagine the bruises developing beneath their clothes where they clutch at themselves like a kicked puppy.

You step forward, wincing at the blood staining their faces. “Alright, that’s enough,” you say, looking over at their hunched over figures. Jake and Jay, flushed out and breathing heavily begin to unwrap their boxing wraps. Limping to the middle of the ring, they exchange a quick handshake and slap on the back before slipping out of the ring to clean themselves up at the benches. The pungent mixture of sweat and iron has you cringing when it slams into your senses, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust. “We’ll take a quick break and then I’ll have Sunghoon and Heeseung spar next.”

Before you can turn away, a voice- unfamiliar and brooding- slices through the murmur of conversation amongst the group. “Mind if I hop in?” You whirl around to the source of the voice, your gaze landing on a figure taller than everyone in the room standing just a few feet away from the arena. He’s clad in a black zip up jacket and white sweats that hang loosely around his lean, athletic build, “My name’s K. Just signed up at the front desk.”

You tilt your head to the side as you take in his presence. There’s something unsettling about him. The air around him seems dark, hanging off of his frame like a suicide gone wrong. There’s a ringing in your ears as you debate whether or not to let him spar, and without realizing it, Jake steps in front of you. Glancing over at Heeseung, he nods, a look of challenge lighting up in his eyes. “Alright, you can go up against Heeseung. Just give them a few minutes.”

Ten minutes go by quickly and Heeseung is back in the ring along with the others. He’s quick to get into position, hands raised to the front of his face as he plants his feet firmly into the mat of the ring. K lines himself up across from Heeseung in a similar position, ready to start but you hold your hand out. “K, I want to know who you are before starting.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he keeps his eyes locked on Heeseung, “You’ll figure it out soon enough, sweetheart.” He taunts, and before you can press further, he lunges.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, sidestepping out of K’s trajectory at an almost inhumane speed. As K’s fist whistles past Heeseung’s face, he counters the attack with a right hook aimed towards K’s gut. It doesn’t work as K snaps his body around to catch Heeseung’s punch with an iron-like grip. Heeseung’s eyes widen momentarily but he recovers quickly as he twists his arm out, driving a knee into the taller boy’s stomach.

Again, K blocks the attack and with a violent twist, throws Heeseung to the edge of the ring that you’re standing at. You along with Jungwon, Niki, and Jake quickly separate to make room for Heeseung’s body before he slams against the rubber ropes, landing on the ground with a loud thud. He’s quick to recover, his vampiric speed allowing him to regain his composure within milliseconds. With a new anger raging through him, Heeseung bares his fangs at K as sweat drips down his temple.

K’s smirk never fades as he runs at Heeseung, his fist flying through the air as he closes in on him, but Heeseung dodges. A mirage of relentless punches and kicks are thrown at Heeseung, but he dodges each one by a hair. Quickly fatigued by the sporadic movement, K’s motions become slower and in a moment of weakness, Heeseung delivers a swift uppercut to K’s jaw followed by a sequence of jabs that are delivered with a savage intensity that only a vampire at full strength could display. The force of his blows sends blood gushing from K’s face, his features splitting open in an unattractive display.

K staggers back, suddenly caught off guard by the sheer force of Heeseung’s assault. In a heartbeat, the air shifts and K’s demeanor changes from that of a playfully oppressive gaze to one of a lethal intent. When Heeseung throws one more punch, K catches his fist in his palm mid-air and uses his momentum to slam him into the ground with a bone-cracking force, the impact knocking all of the wind out of Heeseung.

A guttural sound rips from Heeseung’s mouth when his back hits the pad, the impact leaving him clawing for air as you take a step forward out of instinct. Niki’s hand grips your shoulder and he pulls you back, holding you there firmly as he drops his hand down to your forearm. “You worthless vampire,” K whispers, a black tendril stretching out from K’s hand. When you see the shadows unfurl from K’s palm, your breath catches and you move to intervene right as Heeseung’s own red tendrils flare to life, his red eyes glowing with rage. He kicks under K’s hold, their shadows a mess of anger as they collide against each other.

“Enough!” you shout, cutting through the brutal stalemate they seem to be locked into.

K releases Heeseung from his hold, his sinister shadows immediately flowing back into his slender hands while Heeseung rolls away from under him, his chest heaving up and down. “What the hell was that?” you shout, fury boiling under the surface as you clench your fists.

K leans down to match your height, his gaze locking on yours as his eyes cloud over with a black haze, “I’m a necromancer.” He says, his voice dripping with challenge.

A snarl erupts from your throat, barely restrained by the thread of resolve you hold for yourself as you throw a deadly glare at K, “That doesn’t give you the fucking right to try and kill him during practice!” You accuse, the heaviness in your voice punctuated by the chilling tension in the air. You let out a long, shaky sight and rush over to reach for Heeseung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” You murmur, trying to gauge his emotions.

He flinches under your touch, roughly pulling away from you before giving you a barely noticeable nod, lips held in a tight line as he refuses to meet your concerned gaze. You tongue your cheek with worry as you watch him slip out of the ring and head into the changing rooms, leaving you standing there in the middle of the ring while the rest of the boys pretend to not have watched the whole exchange. A complicated knot of guilt settles in your stomach as you think about what to do, torn between following after him and just staying put.

You’ve only known the boy for a day- barely enough time for you to feel entitled to his trust or to chase after him. In fact, you’ve only known the gym for a day- but there was something sharp that twisted inside of you after seeing him like that.

With a shaky sigh, you turn around but you’re caught off guard when you see Sunoo’s eyes wash over you, but his eyes are vacant, as if he’s looking right through you. His expression is dulled by a glassy sheen, holding a deeper understanding that you can’t quite grasp and it makes the knife in your stomach twist just that much more.

“I think we’re done for today,” You look back at K before slipping out of the ring, ““K, I don’t want to ever see you pulling that shit again.” The atmosphere is thick with hostility as you start to clean up, thick enough you could choke on it. Throwing a bloodied rag into a nearby laundry bin, you spot Yuqi entering the gym, her snake eyes narrowed on K.

You watch as she zips towards him in quick, determined strides. Within seconds, she’s face to face with K, thrusting her hand at his neck. She grabs onto his long neck with a vice-like grip, strangling him. With her serpent-like strength, she slams him into a nearby pillar, the impact echoing through the gym loud enough to have the boys flicking their heads up. K’s eyes widen in shock as he claws at her arm, his arrogant facade breaking as his back slides against the concrete pillar.

“If you ever hurt one of my patrons like that again, I will have you blacklisted from Dusk and Dawn in an instant,” she hisses, her forked tongue flicking out to spray a mist of black venom on his face. The effect is instant, liquid smoke curling up from his skin as the venom sizzles into his flesh, leaving red blisters on his face. She tightens her fingers around his throat for just a second before letting go, letting her threat hang in the air like old laundry.

When she leaves, your mouth hangs open in shock, “You’re catching flies.” Sunghoon says, nudging your chin closed.

You purse your lips, ignoring him as you clasp your hands in an attempt to regain some composure. “Alright…” you trail off, still reeling from the confrontation between Yuqi and K. “Before you guys leave, I’d like to have a one-on-one conversation with each of you. I’ll be over by the benches when you’re ready.”

Despite being able to feel the pounding of your own heartbeat in your damn throat, you stride over to where the benches are, forcing your steps to remain steady and confident. You refuse to show the boys any hints of fear or inferiority, not like the first day.

As you sit down on the benches, you notice Jake is the first one to approach, his presence commanding as ever when he enters your space. “Jake,” you say, patting the spot beside you.

He doesn’t move, rather adjusts the strap on his gym bag that’s slung over his shoulder as he continues to stand in front of you.

“You really should sit. This isn’t supposed to be a quick chat.” You respond, noticing his restraint. “I’m not asking.”

Sighing, he drops onto the bench, letting his bag fall to the floor with a loud thud. “Alright, what’d you need?”

Cutting straight to the point, you ask your first question, “Are you friends with all the boys?”

Jake lets out a deep laugh, his canines flashing at you when he does. “Really? That’s what you want to know?” You roll your eyes, smacking him. “Ok, well I guess you could say we’re all pretty tight. But Sunghoon, he’s a dick through and through, but I know him well enough. I’ve been at this gym for six years now?”

You’re not surprised to hear about his comments towards Sunghoon, his earlier bickering with him being evidence enough that they often butted heads. But your mind thinks back to the journal entry you read about Jake’s past, about his family being torn apart prior to coming here. You shift in your spot, choosing your words with careful precision. “I came across something while I was reading the old trainer’s journal. It said you had supernatural parents. That’s quite rare in Luxta, most of us are found and taken in by The Veil.”

Your question hangs in the air with unspoken emotion as Jake’s entire body tenses at the mention of his late parents, his laughter dying in his throat as he thinks of a response. “Well yeah, I’m a werewolf. We live in packs, but that’s all gone now.” His jaw clenches as the browns of his eyes darken into something deeper. At his sides, his fists repeatedly clench and unclench, his knuckles blanching with each movement. “It’s none of your damn business anyways. Are we done here?”

His voice drips with anger as he stands up, snatching his gym bag in one quick motion. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead curling his lips at you, a silent warning for you to stop talking. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/n. You don’t know anything.” He says before walking off, shoulders tense and you swear you can almost smell the angry pheromones lingering in his absence.

“Don’t mind him, he tends to have extreme mood swings.” Jay says from behind. You turn around to face him, unintentionally letting him catch a glimpse of your sad eyes, mourning the ghost of his presence. His own gaze softens in response when he sees your reaction, and he finds himself fighting this flicker of empathy clawing its way up his throat. “You said you wanted to talk to us?” He says instead, sitting at a comfortable distance from you.

“Right, I just wanted to see how you guys get along, that sort of thing.” You clarify, pausing in order to let him fill in the gaps.

“Ah, I guess you could say I’m pretty close with everyone. Jungwon and I go way back though, I guess I took him under my wing in the community since neither of us were adopted.” He offers you a half-smile as he speaks, but you notice the way he rushes through the word ‘adopted’, as if it’ll hurt him if he lingers on the word too long.

“What was it like growing up in The Veil?”

“It sucked, but I’m not sure the alternative was any better,” he steals a glance at you to which you look down at the floor in a hurry, guilt eating away at you for being one of the few children that were ‘adopted.’ “We were in and out of shelters until we were 16, then Jungwon and I got housed together and then eventually, we were forced to find our own place once we turned 20.”

“And what about Sunghoon?”

“What about me?” That familiar wave of coldness shocks your nervous system and you freeze, feeling it work its way up your veins. Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the chilling temperature, and you steal a glance at the boy standing behind you, his eyes sending daggers into your back. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

Jay only laughs, finding the situation amusing. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He stands up quickly, throwing Sunghoon a hesitant glance before parting.

You meet Sunghoon’s glare, a touch of guilt coursing through you as your core temperature continues to drop. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” You say, your voice evident with a mix of frustration and defeat. “Please, can you stop trying to give me hypothermia?”

Your pathetic apology seems to strike a chord in Sunghoon, and for a moment, his usually hard expression falls. Though as quickly as it falls, it tenses right back up as your body bounces back to its original temperature. “I didn’t mean to talk about you behind your back, I just want to know how I can support you.”

Sunghoon crosses his arms, offering you an unamused smile. “I don’t know why you’re so desperate to support me. You’re just a gym trainer.”

His words are like a slap to your face, and you flinch, feeling its harsh sting. He’s right- you’re just a trainer, hired to make sure they don’t kill each other and out themselves to the real world. You know you should keep your distance, but you can’t. That pull you felt yesterday when you met them all, it’s only grown stronger. You weren’t going to let Sunghoon’s attitude freeze you out, not if you could help it.

“Well unfortunately, that’s not up to you.” You counter. “So, can you explain to me why you feel the need to use your temperature manipulation so casually? Why do you choose not to control it around your friends?”

Sunghoon remains indifferent to your question, but you think a small part of him reacts to you saying the word ‘friend.’ “Cuts down on the amount of talking I need to do. Gets the message across that they’re pissing me off when I freeze them, and when they back off, I dial it back.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “And they’re not my friends.”

“Ok, except it doesn’t.” You challenge him, “This isn’t just some simple power where you can use negative reinforcement to condition other people’s behaviors. You can’t punish people into compliance, it’s not ethical.” You hang your head, trying to think of a way to speak to him like you aren’t talking down on him. “I would really appreciate it if you’d put in more effort on keeping it in check. I get it- in a world like this, we can’t trust anyone. But these boys care about you, so it’d be nice for you to reciprocate it.”

When you raise your head, you hold his gaze with your own and notice that the storm in his eyes has cleared. It reappears as quickly as it left, but you saw; his vulnerability melting away that frost and it makes you wonder if there were more layers underneath his cold indifference. It’s clear that this is about as much as Sunghoon is going to give you before he starts to snap at you, so you decide to hold back on prodding any further.

“Anyways, can you tell me if Heeseung is still around?”

“Heeseung should be out of the changing rooms by now,” Sunghoon says, standing up.

“Thanks,” you mutter, following his lead. When he disappears from your vision, you make your way over to the changing rooms, a tired drag in your step. “Heeseung?” You say into the tiled hallway, your voice bouncing off the walls- but no response. You wonder if he had already left, but you don’t recall ever seeing him leave, so you decide to wait a little longer, the quietness of the gym almost suffocating as time drags on.

As you lean against the concrete, you watch as the younger boys wave bye to you, smiling joyfully as they head out. The minutes pass by slowly and you’re almost worried that Heeseung slipped out without you noticing, you were really hoping to talk to him before the end of your shift. The weight of your concern had only grown heavier in his absence. When you’re about to push off the wall and leave, Heeseung emerges.

You almost forget the list of things you want to address with Heeseung by the time he comes out, but it slips your mind anyways when you see his eyes glowing an unnatural red. “Heeseung?”

“Move.” He snarls, baring his fangs at you. You notice his skin has turned into a pale white, drained of its energy as he pushes past you with an abrupt shove, practically forcing you into the wall but you catch yourself, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t talk to me that way.” You snap, shoving him back.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Y/n. I said, move.” His voice carries the weight of a thousand suns as he stares hard into your eyes- and for a moment, you almost waiver, feeling a hypnotic force to obey his order. It’s strong, and it almost pains you to reject this invisible beckoning, but you have to. Despite his intense stare, you grit your teeth and clench your fists, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your core.

Your eyes lock onto his, acutely aware of the bright orange hue that has now plagued your irises as you struggle to maintain control. “Heeseung…” You gasp just before he crashes his mouth against yours.

With his lips on yours, the grip on your throat falters and he moves his hands to clutch at the sides of your face while shoving his knee between your legs. His fangs plunge into your bottom lip, puncturing the soft tissue until a stream of blood flows down your chin. You groan into his mouth as he begins to suck on your lip, tasting the warmth of your blood with a savage intensity. His tongue draws up and down your chin, soaking up each drop of blood that pulses out of your lip all while grinding his knee into your core, picking up on the scent of your essence leaking out of your cunt. His tongue plunges into your mouth and you taste the iron of your own blood on your tongue. It’s disgusting really, but the desperation of his kisses has you weak and reeling for more. You can’t help but get off on the taste of your own blood seeping through his tongue.

Shock and arousal have you drunk on Heeseung, but you summon every once of strength in you to shove him off of you with the strength of a phoenix. He stumbles backwards, flying into the edge of one of the sinks. “What the fuck!” he shouts, his voice dripping with fury and hunger. Heeseung clutches at his side, the impact likely adding on to the bruises from earlier.

“What the hell, Heeseung!” You shout, panting as you reach your hand to your lips, a drop of blood staining the microscopic divots of your fingers.

“I told you to fucking move!” He shouts back, massaging his side.

Your mind races as you think back to his journal entry. Glowing red eyes, disturbed senses, compulsive what? You wrack your brain for the rest of his vampiric rage symptoms, but the adrenaline of it all has your mind scrambled of any rationality. What was it that you had to do when he became like this? You’re so busy caught up in your own mind that you don’t notice Heeseung approaching you again, each of his steps dripping with savage lust.

He reaches out a hand, grabbing your arm and with unnatural speed and force, he pulls you into him. Your body abruptly presses against his, and the unmistakable feeling of his cock presses against your hip. “Focus on me,” he growls, forcing your eyes on him, “Only me.” The glowing intensity of his eyes ensnares your mind like a trap, leaving you gasping for air. A surge of slick gushes out of your cunt, pooling at the seat of your panties and leaving you with a desperate ache in your core. There’s a striking need to keep your eyes locked on his, a primal urge to surrender yourself to him entirely as his glowing red eyes pierce the amber haze of your own- igniting a part of your heart that you didn’t realize was dormant.

In one swift motion, Heeseung rips apart your top and latches his mouth onto your nipple while his hands massage your ass, pulling you plush against him. “Damnit, Y/n,” he moans, his fangs digging into the flesh of your breasts. “Couldn’t fucking listen… Just had to get in my fucking way.” He pulls you in by the ass, grinding his cock against you as he sucks on your nipple, his fangs nipping at the delicate flesh. His hand slaps your ass harshly, the sound of his palm landing against your cheek echoing in the chambers of the locker room. The sting of his hand against your ass only sends another gush of slickness through you, earning a dark chuckle from Heeseung. “I can fucking smell how turned on you are. You like it when I slap you?”

Blinded by an overwhelming wave of lust, you throw your head back and comb your fingers through his hair, relishing in the way his tongue flicks over your bud. “Hee, m-more.” You beg, feeling the trickle of something wet fall from where he’s sucking.

You look down only to see a shiny line of red trailing down your bare stomach, staining your leggings next. Heeseung licks a stripe up your stomach, catching the flow of red onto his tongue, groaning in delight as the taste of your blood soaks into his taste buds. In one sudden movement, Heeseung hoists you up and moves you to the counter, ripping your leggings off along with your panties. You lay bare before him now, back pressed on the counter, but you don’t even care. Your body is on fire, every nerve of yours flaring like a wildfire. You feel so overwhelmed with the desire to fill your pussy with something, anything- that you’re clawing at the air. “Please- I need you.”

“Use that fucking mouth of yours, baby. What do you need?” You mewl out a response as Heeseung dives headfirst into your cunt, pressing a rough kiss on your heat. The warmth of his tongue against her bundle of nerves leaves you shaking, moans erupting from your throat. He practically growls as he slides his tongue between your folds, getting a taste of your sopping pussy. “So fucking wet, you like disobeying me?”

You don’t say anything, instead opting to cry out and moan as he continues his assault on your cunt. “I asked you a fucking question,” he demands, slapping a hand down on your pussy.

The slap sends shockwaves through your body, the sting of his hand only offering you brief stimulation. “N-no, Heeseung! I’ll be good!” You shout, dragging your hands through his hair to pull him towards you while you buck your hips up. He brings his face down to kiss at your pussy again, rocking up and down so his nose rubs against your clit while he eats away at your core. You let your eyes wander down to his face, catching the sultry stare he gives you as he flicks his tongue in and out of your entrance.

Eventually, Heeseung slides three fingers in at once, not bothering to prep you as he deems the amount of slick pooling on the counter enough. “Fuck!” You scream, feeling the stretch of your walls adjust to the girth of his fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a savage pace, ghosting his lips over your thighs as he does.

“Keep screaming, baby. Let me hear you.” He moans, biting down on your thigh suddenly. You scream out, a mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through you when you feel his fangs piercing your skin once again. The sound of his lips sucking around the wound sends another gush of arousal out of your cunt and you can feel a warmth building up in your lower abdomen. He sucks vigorously on the wound, wrapping his arm around your other thigh and massaging it generously.

“H-Heeseung-” You whine, squirming in his hold. “I-I’m close!”

“Cum on my mouth, let me taste you,” he encourages, moving around your thighs to press more bites into. A particular spot, closer to your pelvis, is bitten and that’s all you need to let go, the coil releasing as your pussy begins to clench around Heeseung’s fingers indefinitely. “Fuck, good girl, Y/n.” He says, moving his mouth back to your pussy, lapping at your folds. He sucks on your bud, drinking up your arousal as pleasure washes through your body like a tsunami. “So sweet,”

You shudder under his touch as his tongue stays extra diligent in swirling around your clit while he finishes you off. “Turn around,” he demands, helping you slide off the counter.

You struggle to stand up, entirely relying on Heeseung as he presses you against the counter, your breasts rubbing against the coldness of the counter. Behind you, Heeseung shoves his jeans and briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free, the tip an angry red from his neglect. “Give me your hands,” he says, catching them in the air as you throw your arms back. “Good girl,” he coos.

With his one free hand, he flicks it forward and a red tendril forms, ghosting from his palm like liquid smoke. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?” he asks, smirking as the red wisps move to coil around your wrists like a makeshift handcuff.

You nod anxiously, tears pricking your eyes as the strain of your hands behind your back begins to pull on your muscles. “My good fucking girl.” He says before plunging his cock into your soaking pussy, immediately followed by the snap of his hips. You scream as his cock fills you up, the girth stretching you out all at once. With the coil of his tendrils holding your arms captive behind your back, he lets his hands wander to your hips until they’re bruising you, using them as leverage to piston his cock in and out of you.

You have no idea for how long he continues, but you know he goes long enough to fuck you through two more orgasms before he begins to slow down. When he does, he reaches forward to grab you by your throat, pulling you to his chest. His lips ghosts over your pulse point as he continues to snap his cock into your pussy, the drag of his cock having you reel with pleasure. “I can taste your fucking pulse,” he whispers, licking your neck. You shiver under his touch, the warmth of his breath causing you to unintentionally clench around his member. “Don’t fucking squeeze like that,”

“Heeseung, I- I’m gonna cum again,” you cry, biting your lip as you close your eyes, too tired to keep them open.

He stays silent as he drags his mouth further down your neck, puncturing a few more spots as he soaks up the red liquid quickly. “So sweet, you taste so good.” He snaps his hips into you even deeper than before, the tip of his cock brushing against your G-spot now.

“Hee,” you beg, focusing on the stretch of his cock. You open your eyes just in time to see a collection of red tendrils surrounding you, some crawling up your body and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ghostly feeling of them roaming your bruising skin. They tickle the fine hairs of your body, leaving you a shaking mess before Heeseung as he continues to ravage your pussy.

The added stimulation sends you over the edge and you’re coming for the fourth time, crying out as you wrap your walls around Heeseung’s member tightly. “Fuck, I’m coming Y/n!” Heeseung shouts, shoving his cock up to the hilt of your pelvis.

With a few more thrusts, he stills, allowing his cum to bury itself deep within your womb. Spurts of cum shoot into you at such a force you feel each rope hit your walls, clenching around him as his dick pulses inside of you. Heeseung lets go of you once he starts to soften, his rosy mist disappearing into thin air as you collapse onto the cold surface of the counter. Without warning, he slides out of you and you wince, listening to him zip himself back into his jeans.

Your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your release when you hear Heeseung’s footsteps echo out of the changing room. When it fades, you’re left alone and bare, laying against the cool surface of the counter. In the absence of his presence, a wave of clarity rushes through you, replacing any lingering heat you once had. You can’t help but let out a string or curse words as you fumble around to put your clothes back on, each movement a cold reminder of your impulsive endeavors, your muscles already feeling the dull ache.

As you pull your leggings on, you feel the unwelcome sensation of his cum slowly leaking down, slick and cold now. At this point, you’re too focused on getting home to care- letting it trickle down your thigh as you head back home into the rising daylight. When you finally reach the temporary sanctuary of your studio apartment, you reach for your journal first. Shadow manipulation, you write that besides the writer’s notes on Heeseung’s page before collapsing face-first onto your bed, letting sleep consume you immediately.

read part 2 here

Taglist: @heesimp, @kyunlov, @quill-ink, @lunaritex, @jiryunn, @jakeswifez, @fancypeacepersona, @nshmrarki, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @wilonevys, @strxwbloody, @capri-cuntz, @riribelle, @machambrx, @vousty, @rebeccakan

Permanent taglist: @kittys00, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @17ericas

[bunni-v1]

Heyyaaa

May I request dorm leaders finding out you’re a girl please? If it’s too much u can make a part 2

Dorm Leaders Find Out You're a Girl?!?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Mentions of transphobia (nothing awful, just literally dropping the word lol); Idia is creepy

Info: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus x Reader (Platonic or Romantic); Fluff, Comedy(?)

🍓This one is gonna be long, like 5.3k words long. I love writing the dorm leaders so damn much <3 Besides, there’s been a long wait for this one, so I hope I make it worth it! You might see some favoritism shine through, but I did my best to keep it even. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @kierancaz @danchann33 @arashrita @the-ace-reader @akiyamasmizuki @kitsun369 @bloomstruck (I think I got all of you)

First Years

Ortho Sebek

Second Years

Third Years

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part. 

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

Riddle

-Riddle is the last student in Heartslabyul to find out.

-It’s not like he did anything to you for you to hold off on telling him (you know, other than the whole almost killing you that one time thing), it’s just that you don’t feel inclined to tell him. 

-Simple as that.

-He also really has no reason to question your gender. 

-Riddle didn’t have must interaction with people his own age until he came to night raven college, he doesn’t have the same social ideologies as other people do.

-Nightraven college is really his first touch with society outside of his mothers very watchful, conservative eye.

-So, excuse him for not picking up on stupid little gendered norms that the other students do.

-In his eyes, you dress like a man, you act (sort of) like the other male students, and you prefer he/him pronouns. 

-There’s nothing more to it then, right? If you identify as a man, he has no reason not to treat you as such - nor should he suspect you would hide your gender like that.

-Besides, this is an all boys school! Crowley wouldn’t allow you to attend here unless you were also a boy… right?

-He is aware there are exceptions — and you are already QUITE the exception, but surely Crowley wouldn’t be so cruel as to force a young woman to attend an all boys academy.

-Ah, sweet Riddle, ever in denial.

-He isn’t STUPID though. He notices how brotherly Trey is to you. He knows (and has heard) your many “secret sleepovers” with Cater.

-He ignores these things and doesn’t comment on them simply because, well, he likes you!

-He helps to tutor you sometimes, and he’s gotten to know you through that, and he really does come around on enjoying your presence.

-So, he ignores Trey and Cater’s odd behaviors for your sake.

-You keep him and his dorm members in high spirits, why would he want to shoo something like that away?

-He doesn’t really questionthings until he… overhears a conversation between Deuce and Ace. (A rather loud one, for how supposedly secret this topic was meant to be).

-One of them had gotten in trouble with a professor, and he was going to give them a stern scolding when he overheard what they were talking about.

-“Deuce, dude, you’re gonna want to sit down for this one.”

“What is it, I’m busy trying to finish my potionology homework.”

“Seriously this one is crazy, you’re not ready for for it.”

“Ace, if you’re just messing with me I’m going to leave.”

“Dude, the prefect is a girl.”

“…What?”

-Riddle did not bother the two after that. In fact, he just walked back to his room to sit and think about what he just overheard.

-It DID make sense. You didn’t quite fit in with everyone else for reasons outside of your otherworldly origin.

-You acted differently than the typical guy here at NRC, and you seemed to get along with the peers that were more ‘traditionally feminine’ best.

-It would explain Trey’s coddling and Cater’s secretiveness.

-Still, he didn’t want to assume. This was Ace and Deuce, and Ace could just be messing around with Deuce.

-So, at your next tutoring session, he broaches the subject as politely as possible.

-“So, prefect, I have… overheard something that I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh no, am I in trouble because of Ace and Deuce again.”

“Not… technically… I did, however, overhear them talking about… you being a woman.”

“…I’m gonna kill them.”

“I could collar them for you, if that would help.”

-The confirmation was reassuring for Riddle in multiple ways. 

-1) Ace isn’t as terrible of a person as the thought he was.

-2) He wasn’t crazy in noticing the slight differences in you and your other peers.

-Now, you and Riddle aren’t exactly super close by any means, so your interactions with each other are limited to when you’re either being tutored or with friends in Heartslabyul.

-However, he is notably more nervous than he usually is.

-He doesn’t have some super secret crush on your all of the sudden, he just… never really had a chance to interact with women before.

-His mom kept him very sheltered from the opposite gender, so he has little to no experience with them.

-On top of that, because of his mother, he does have a slight fear of women. He’s afraid he’s going to upset you and you’ll blow a fuse on him or something.

-You have to assure him that you don’t bite and you won’t suddenly start screaming at him for no reason, and then he begins to relax a bit.

-Still, he’s very sweet and gentlemanly to you.

-If you need help with anyone around campus, you should come to him and he will have them dealt with accordingly.

Leona

-Leona “Respects Women” Kingscholar.

-Leona has SLIGHTLY worse smell than Ruggie, but he also knew immediately upon your arrival that you were a girl.

-In fact, he knew you weren’t a trans man, because they smell distinctly different from the typical woman.

-There aren’t many trans people in the Savannah though, so Ruggie not being able to pick up on that doesn’t really shock him.

-Leona, however, has smelled and seen plenty of trans people in his life time — you aren’t one of them.

-He won’t lie, he’s definitely interested in you. Women where he comes from are big and strong and proud, you’re just kind of plain.

-He keeps his ever curious eye on you though, because he’s interested in how you might navigate this whole thing.

-Now don’t get it twisted, he doesn’t care about you, he’s curious about you. 

-If you were to ask him for help on something, he wouldn’t offer it. (Not that you would, you seem particularly averse to him).

-However, if he were to see some creep trying to… well… creep on you, he’d chase them away without ever having you know he did.

-He was your secret bodyguard who wouldn’t admit it even if you held a knife to his throat.

-Still, he stayed out of your way and you stayed out of his. 

-A symbiotic relationship that you weren’t even aware existed… until you got in his way.

-Like Ruggie, when you start getting a little too involved in his ahem business, he gets pretty damn annoyed.

-You’re not exactly a threat to start, but you are a little trouble maker. If you find out what he’s up to, you’ll ruin his plans completely, and he can’t have that.

-However, he’s not exactly comfortable “taking care of you” like he is his male peers.

-He respects women, okay, you can’t blame him for not wanting to purposefully hurt you. (If his mom and brother found out, he’d never hear the damn end of it)

-He sends out Ruggie to scare you off, explicitly telling him he can’t hurt you on purpose.

-He knows Ruggie already has an idea of what’s going on, so he doesn’t have any qualms with telling him to be careful with you.

-Still, despite all this, he doesn’t really broach the topic until he’s forced to.

-He’s made it known to you, at this point, that he knows your secret. 

-He hasn’t caused you any extra trouble since his overblot, and he keeps his dorm members off your back, so you have no reason to interact with him… until, again, you get yourself into trouble.

-This time it’s YOU dragging him into your mess, despite him wanting nothing to do with it.

-You are convincing, though, so he gives and allows you to stay in his dorm room — rent free! Isn’t he so nice.

-Jack offers himself for protection if you need it, but you can see that Ruggie is quite bemused with the whole situation, so you decide to turn him down.

-Leona hasn’t tried anything yet, and he really could if he wanted to.

-You decide you can trust him. (You have to trust him).

-Then presents the issue of sharing a bed.

-Leona isn’t a weird pervert, okay. He isn’t absolutely leaping at the idea to be in bed with you — he’s so sorry.

-Honestly, it makes him a bit… uncomfortable.

-Sharing a bed is something you do with family or someone you’re involved with, not the weird magic-less kid who’s at least three years too young for you.

-So, Leona, ever the women’s rights activist, approaches you with a proposition.

-“Listen, I know you’re a woman and I know you know that. We’re not sharing a bed, there ain’t no way that’s happening.”

“Oh, so would you like the poor helpless homeless woman to sleep on the floor? How cruel can you be Leona.”

“Shut up, I’m not gonna do that to you. Listen, you can have the bed all to yourself and I’ll sleep on the couch, so long as you promise not to tell a single soul about this.”

“I promise.”

-You immediately tell Ruggie the next morning, and he is sure to make sure Leona never forgets it.

-Living with Leona for the short period of time that you do is very insightful!

-He’s actually pretty funny, much smarter than he lets on, and almost brotherly to you. Which does not fit the M.O. you built of him in your head.

-He’s gruff and pushy, but he does it out of genuineness.

-You end up getting really close to him because of it. 

-His quiet and laid-back demeanor are a break from the chaos of everyone else on campus, and he doesn’t make a big deal out of anything so you can just complain and he nods along unbothered.

-Only thing you notice that upsets him is when you bring up guys who bother you.

-Those guys tend to stop bothering you shortly after. How strange…

Azul

-Azul is hands down the last person on campus you want knowing about this.

-Riddle, Ruggie, Trey, Cater and pretty much everyone with half a brain tell you to stay as far away from him as possible.

-You see him in the halls sometimes, and he doesn’t look to bad. Unapproachable, sure, but he’s a rather pretty guy. Well put together and seemingly very smart from what you’ve been told.

-He helped to subdue Grim in the opening ceremony, so you know he’s magically capable. He’s also a house warden, so that goes unspoken, I suppose.

-He seems interested in you, from what you can tell. He always waves at you when he does see you in a sort of fake friendly kind of way. 

-You’ve seen him and his little (large, very large) goonies admiring ramshackle before.

-You’ve also politely asked them to not do that when you moved in, because it freaks you out a lot. To which they all gave you very eerie smiles and walked away.

-They remind you of a very small mafia, and you decided to heed your friends warnings because of that.

-You do so successfully for a long time too. Other than the few previously stated interactions, Azul seems un-inclined to bother you, and you don’t want to catch his leering eyes.

-Little do you know, Azul has a much more watchful eye on you that you initially thought.

-Sure, you don’t have much to offer him magic wise, but you have ramshackle. Oh, how he wants ramshackle.

-You are key to obtaining it, he just… has to find something on you first.

-You’re so painfully average. Perhaps a little more pretty in the face than his other peers, but you sacrifice that with the atrociousness of your uniform. 

-Truly, nothing about you is different.

-He almost gives up until Grim delivers him an opportunity in a pretty little bow.

-You agree to his contract out of the goodness of your heart, just like he knew you would. So sweet and kind are you, to practically hand him the deed to ramshackle on a silver platter.

-He notices, however, that Jade grows a very… sudden fascination with you.

-Sure, he told both Jade and Floyd to keep and eye on you and keep you in like, but for Jade to be so interested… very odd.

-Then, shortly after, Floyd’s own interest is piqued. Alright… less odd than Jade, but to have both of their eyes on you must mean he’s missing something. (I know I previously said that Floyd found out after Azul, but I was stupid and wrong and you should never listen to me when I’m talking about Floyd).

-He tries to get it out of them by any means, Asking, blackmailing, manipulation. He really does try, but their lips are sealed tight.

-It frustrates him to no end that they know something he doesn’t, and that he can’t figure out this very big secret.

-It stumps him for so long, because he’s looking in all the wrong places for the answer.

-Meanwhile, you know that Jade and Floyd know and you are TERRIFIED waiting for Azul to use this against you.

-The suspense starts killing you and making you anxious enough that its affecting sleep, so you decide to bite the bullet and arrange a meeting with him.

-Azul is honestly delighted, because he was just going to outright force the truth from you at this point.

-“I’m glad you set up this meeting, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“I know… I’ve been pretty nervous about it since Jade and Floyd started pestering me.”

“Before I talk about what I want to, I’d like to hear what you have to say. I’m a good listener after all.”

“Too good, if you ask me. Uhm, anyway, so I know that Jade and Floyd to you that I’m a girl already, but I’m really hoping you would just leave me be. You owe me after all.”

“…You’re a girl?”

“Did they not tell you…?”

-what. What? WHAT?!?!?!

-How could he not tell, he feel so incredibly stupid. Its so obvious now that he thinks about it.

-No wonder Jade and Floyd wouldn’t stop teasing him about it.

-He agrees not to let the secret out — he DOES owe you his life, after all. This is a minor trade.

-However, he does not mentally recover from this revelation for a while.

-He doesn’t treat you very different, I suppose. He’s more gentlemanly with you, and is generally more friendly, but those things come from saving a persons life regardless.

-He is, surprisingly, willing to ensure your whole gender thing doesn’t get out so long as you work a few hours at the monster lounge.

-Probably the best at keeping it to himself and making sure it doesn’t get out. You wouldn’t expect any less with Azul, though.

Kalim

-You and Kalim don’t really have much of a chance to interact.

-He seems sweet enough, and you know he’s much kinder than the rest of the dorm leaders, but you don’t really have any reason to interact with him.

-Kalim also doesn’t think too much of you. 

-You caused a ruckus at the entrance ceremony, that’s for sure, but you kinda blend into the background.

-Besides he’s a party animal — constantly hosting these huge parties at his dorm just because he can.

-As someone trying to keep out of trouble and hide such a huge secret… yeah, parties aren’t exactly your forte.

-So, when you get roped in to coming to Scarabia over winter break, Kalim is pleasantly surprised!

-He’s always excited to make a new friend, and you’re pretty infamous around school, so he’s extra excited to get to know you.

-Kalim has no reason to question anything about you, like most other people would.

-However, he isn’t stupid. He has plenty of younger sisters, and he picks up on social queues better than you’d expect.

-He definitely suspects something is off, but he figures you would tell him if something was up. 

-You actually find him quite easy to be around. He’s someone who makes it easy to let your walls down and just relax with.

-Despite his sudden mood shifts, he always makes sure that you’re happy and healthy and doing the best you can be in your position.

-However, you run out of the magical potion that deepens your voice pretty quickly, and you have to go back to dramatically straining your voice.

-You sound sick, honestly, and it makes Kalim worry. 

-He figures that you’re forcing yourself to deepen your voice so you’re still perceived as a man.

-Instead of asking you directly, as Kalim does, he goes to Jamil.

-“Jamil…”

“What do you need, Kalim?”

“Don’t you think somethings… off with the prefect?”

“Off? What are you talking about, nothings off with them.”

“No, I mean… do you think they might be… a girl?”

“…Kalim, that’s very rude to say. You need to be more respectful.”

“…You’re right, I’m sorry. Could we get him something to soothe his voice though, it sounds rough.”

-Kalim is a lot more watchful of you after that. He just… knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t want to be rude.

-It’s actually you who comes to him when no one is around for help.

-“Kalim, uhm, I need your help.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m pretty sure you know, but I’m not a guy… I’m a girl, and I really need help hiding it. The longer I’ve been here, the harder it’s been on me.”

-Sweetheart he is, he promises to both help you and keep your secret to himself — and he does both surprisingly well!

-He offers his private bathroom to you so you can shower in peace. 

-It’s honestly the best bath you’ve ever had with all his sweet smelling oils. Your skin feels so smooth and renewed.

-Still, even with this, you still don’t feel safe with anyone else — plus the fact that Kalim has random and horrifying mood shifts. You have to flee.

-And yet you still get dragged into more trouble with the octatrio. You still get exposed to the whole dorm by a crazed Jamil, and now have to deal with the horror that they’ll tell everyone.

-Kalim feels awful, and thus shows his forgiveness in the best way he can: giving gifts.

-You get tons of apology gifts from him in the coming months. Baskets of the best shower stuff you’ve ever had; a new, better fitted but still innocuous uniform; enough tuna to keep grim satisfied for years (and sweets that you happily keep to yourself).

-It’s so nice, but you start to feel bad. It feels like you’re taking advantage of his guilt, when you’re not really upset at anyone involved anymore.

-You’re welcome at Scarabia any time. None of his dorm members will ever cause you any trouble, and you can dress and act and sound however you want within Scarabia’s walls. 

Vil

-Miss beauty queen himself. We love Vil, we Stan Vil, we adore Vil… 

-Oh my god he’s a pain in the ass though, especially for you.

-He sees through you in an instant.

-Truly, Vil finds you to be more of a little pest than anything.

-You are constantly in trouble, you are magic less, and you decided to needlessly hide your gender.

-The last one is the worst offense in his eyes.

-Vil is someone who does not value gender, but expression. Your gender does not matter as much as your expression, therefore you hiding your expression irks him.

-He’s understanding enough in the fact that he knows you might be doing this to protect yourself, but he finds it stupid and useless, because you’re easy to see through.

-He avoids you, and you avoid him. Simple as that.

-Unfortunately for Vil, you’ve caught Rook’s eye, which means he must sit through many hours of Rook rambling on about his “findings” about you.

-When you tried out for the VDC, he was simply going to turn you and Grim away, but Rook convinced him to give you a chance.

-Rook wanted him to help your reveal your “inner beauty”, though Vil wasn’t sure if you had any of that.

-You wore baggy, horrifically ugly clothing up until winter break. Your hair was constantly a mess. Your skin was poorly taken care of, and the bags under your eyes were as dark as night.

-It almost made him feel bad for you… so despite his better judgement, he decided to invest time in you.

-Vil makes it very clear that he knows what your whole secret is.

-“I am aware of the fact that you are a woman, however, I will continue to use your preferred pronouns since it seems to bring you comfort.”

-He’s very insistent that you allow him to do your skincare AND your makeup whenever you give him the chance.

-Especially when he moves into ramshackle temporarily, he’s very insistent on maintaining your skincare routine.

-He essentially makes your entire nightly routine himself, and is right there over your shoulder making sure you do it right.

-Despite how overbearing it is, you actually make good friends with him through this.

-Being stuck alone in a room with no one but him to talk to forces you two to talk.

-You get to learn why he cares so much about appearances, and he gets to know why you hide to protect yourself.

-“It’s just… easier to pretend, because guys will bother me less that way.”

“I can’t understand why they would bother you. You’ve done nothing to them, so why would they want to do anything to you.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know either. I just know it’s scary, and I don’t want to deal with it.”

-You move him, honestly. You’re strong even though you’re scared, and that’s beautiful. Thats what true beauty is.

-He helps you embrace your inner self and express that, while still helping you to hide your gender in a way that feels safe.

-You are always welcome at Pomefiore, and you can come to either him or Rook if you have any issues at all.

-It’s like having a big sister, almost.

Idia

-Idia has eyes everywhere.

-Every inch of that campus is (illegally) being monitored by his watchful eyes. 

-When he’s bored in class, he flicks through the cameras to amuse himself — maybe he’ll see someone slip and fall on their ass. That would be funny.

-He’s not really interested in you in particular.

-In fact, he’d like to keep a very far distance between the two of you.

-You’re… intimidating. You’ve fought some of the most powerful mages on campus and won.

-Total final boss energy, not something Idia is interested in being around.

-What he IS interested in is that wittle kitty you’ve got following you around.

-When he’s bored in class, he goes searching for Grim, and where Grim is you are sure to be.

-So, despite his aversion to you, he ends up spending a lot of time watching you.

-He starts to notice… things about you.

-He notices that you seem to put on a tough guy persona around… well… other guys in your class.

-When it’s just you and Grim though? You’re the softest softie he’s ever seen.

-It’s top tier cringe watching you try to being all macho, so he much prefers your more quiet and relaxed self you show in private.

-Seriously though, you’re a TOTALLY DIFFERENT PERSON when you’re alone with certain people.

-EVEN YOUR VOICE CHANGES!!!

-It’s so uber creepy, it’s like a jumpscare every time you drop that fake deep voice.

-If he’s being real, you’ve got a pretty voice. Honestly, you’re really pretty period. Too pretty to be a guy honestly.

-…

-….

-…..HOLY SHIT!!!

-He has to check your medical files to be sure — which he obviously has access to, thanks to having access to everything Ortho has access to.

-Blah blah blah allergies, blah blah blah horrific injuries from overblots, blah blah blah- AH HAH!

-Next to gender you are listed as… transgender man.

-He doesn’t wanna be that weird transphobic incel, but from what he’s seen? He highly doubts that.

-From what he’s seen in his (invasive) watching, you’re definitely doing the troupe of hiding your gender to better fit in.

-He feels like he’s in an anime or something.

-He doesn’t really want to bother you about it — but from watching you, you seem like someone he’d really enjoy being around.

-Ortho also insists that he’d get along with you very well!

-…It’s worth a shot right.

-He tries several times to “bump” into you, which always ends in him skittering away in fear.

-He psyches himself out every time. “They wouldn’t even wanna hang out with a loser like me.” “They’re way too cool for someone as lame as me.” 

-It’s not until you invite yourself to one of tabletop club’s meetings that he’s forced to interact with you.

-He’s really banking on the fact that you’ll be too busy talking with Azul to notice him, but then Azul leaves and its just you and him.

-Him and you…

-Both of you… in total and complete silence.

-…yep… 

-“Uhm, Idia…?”

“yES!?”

“I came here cause I wanted to talk to you, sorry for being so underhanded about it, I just couldn’t get you alone without you running off.”

“AH— I mean, ahem, okay. My bad.”

-You totally cornered him like an evil villain.

-All because you wanted to… be his friend?

-Is he dreaming, going insane perhaps, did HE get isekaied into an alternate universe where he was likable???

-Nope, Ortho just talks him up a lot, and you think his hair is cool. Huh. Kinda lame compared to what he was thinking.

-You guys talk a LOT after that. You exchange numbers and you text him about all sorts of stuff — and he’s actually interested in it!

-You learn that he’s been watching you and Grim for a long time, and while you scold him.

-You think it’s pretty funny that he’s embarrassed about his love for cute things.

-“If you’ve been keeping your eye on me for so long, you must’ve figured out that I’m a girl, right?”

“Yeah, you’re not great at hiding it. That macho guy act is suuuuper lame, you look like a noob lol.”

“Hey! I’m just copying what Deuce told me to do!”

-You guys don’t really see each other face to face very often, but like I said you text a lot.

-Sometimes he’ll text you shit like ‘I saw that, saved it for blackmail.’ After you biffed your shit on the pavement or something.

-When Idia gets more comfortable, you two spend hours on call whenever you get the chance.

-He lends you some of his precious manga, and even gives you an older TV he had laying around so you can watch stuff at ramshackle.

-Sometimes he invites you over to play video games with him and Ortho, and he gets all cocky and proud when you gush about how cool all his tech is.

-And, yeah, Idia definitely forms a little crush on you — but he would do that regardless of your gender. 

-He just likes you a lot, and you can feel safe on campus knowing he’s watching over you when you need it. (Mostly watching Grim, tbh.)

Malleus

-We know that Malleus enjoys… creeping outside of Ramshackle.

-He spends quite a lot of time on your front lawn, therefore, he’s usually in proximity of you.

-However, he is very intimidating!

-As a young woman in a magical world that you are not from, a very tall man with horns is the exact opposite of what you want to be around.

-Besides, you’ve heard the rumors about him — how powerful he is, and how scary he is.

-Malleus, on the other hand, is admittedly curious about you.

-He finds humans in their own right incredibly interesting, but you are not just a regular human.

-You are a human who has no magic and is from another world entirely. 

-You are something he has never once seen in his whole life, so excuse his childish curiosity.

-Still, you’re sort of cleverly avoiding him at every chance you get, and he just can’t quite find the time to talk to you.

-Until one night, you come back rather late and you find him in your yard… again.

-You send Grim in by himself and decide to confront him by yourself, because you are tired of being afraid to fall asleep at night.

-“Hey, you, could you maybe not stare at my house in the middle of the night!”

-Oh. You are quite feisty, and very bold to approach Malleus Draconia with such an aggressive tone.

-“I’m unsure what you mean, I’m simply admiring the architecture.”

“I don’t care WHAT you’re doing, you’re freaking me out! I know you’re supposedly some big scary monster guy, but I need you to STOP being weird outside my house.”

“…My apologies…”

-Malleus is pleasantly surprised at your spunk — he’s never been spoken to like that, he’s excited by it.

-After you yell at him, you let him explain himself, and you realize he is just… really, really bad at socializing.

-He wasn’t watching you, he just really enjoys silence and ramshackle is the quietest place on campus — even with you living in it.

-So, you give him the benefit of the doubt, because he really does just seem like he’s lost on everything around him 90% of the time.

-You don’t hang out with him during the day, but if you happen to see him on your lawn (as he usually is), you go out and hang out with him for a while.

-It makes Malleus happy, because you treat him like a friend. You give him cute nicknames, and you invite him inside for snacks, and you go out of your way to say hello to him when you pass him in the halls.

-He also gets to know more about you, and his curiosities about you and your world get quelled.

-He doesn’t really question anything about you, especially not your gender.

-Gender is hardly important for fae, and you seem confident in your expression, so he has no reason to wonder. Besides, there are far more thrilling things about you than your sex.

-So, you and Malleus start to grow close. So close, in fact, that you can confidently say that he’s one of your closest friends.

-At this point, almost everyone who you want to know about your gender knows. Everyone but Malleus.

-Initially you kept it a secret because you didn’t know how good he was at not talking, but now…

-Now, well, you don’t really have a reason.

-People usually question you at this point, or at least seem suspicious, but Malleus?

-Malleus shows not a hint that he thinks something is up. It’s odd to you, isn’t he supposed to be super smart or something. Maybe he’s just too respectful.

-Regardless, you decided to talk to him about it the next time you see him staring at the gargoyles around campus.

-“Hey Tsunotaro, what’re you up to?”

“Just admiring these gargoyles here, aren’t they fascinating? They were the first few installed in the school, if my memory serves me correctly.”

“They are very cool, but could I ask you something not gargoyle related?”

“What is it, child of man?”

“You know that I’m, uhm, a girl right?”

“Oh. I did not know that, how interesting.”

-He doesn’t understand why you would hide that, but it doesn’t really perturb him that much.

-The most you got was an eyebrow raise, and then he was back to his gargoyles.

-You were pretty satisfied with that, so you figured he wouldn’t tell anyone… and then you hear him loudly talking about it with his friends in Diasomania.

-Sigh… he means well, but he just doesn’t get the social stuff.

-You’re not mad, because pretty much everyone knows at this point, but it still sucks that he’s such a loudmouth.

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [3]: FRI(END)S

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 9.3k

ao3 is down so I'll update it first here. Chapter got delayed since this wasn't originally part of the roster. its currently 1am so there will be mistakes I missed but that's for future Winter's problem.

edit 03/05/25: added a couple paragraphs and changed a few dialogues

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For a guy with his heart on his sleeves and his emotions displayed so loudly on his face like neon signs with gigantic arrows, Taehyung is an enigma.

It didn’t help that he had experience in acting, if anything it made it harder to understand him.

One moment he's supportive of your quest for a perfect husband then another, he's raging with a jealousy even the power of the thousand burning suns couldn't replicate. Even when Guwon has long disappeared, Taehyung didn't stop from hanging off of your arm when the three of you had entered your home. 

In the short time they had stayed over, he made sure he was somehow close to you or having you within his sight while Jimin returned to being the sweet boy he had always presented himself as but the glint of something dark in his eyes never disappeared.

But it didn't make any sense. All of their behaviors, even Jimin, is confusing.

Taehyung had introduced a date to the group before, and had hooked up with a few people from the after-parties if the others’ words were anything to go by. Jimin is the same, although he took every chance to flirt with you at any time and everywhere, you always thought it was him being his playful self. But after last night?

You don't know.

And you hate not knowing.

To find out that Jin still liked you was shocking already, then comes this new realization—along with the impacts of Jungkook’s confession—to knock you off of your feet. You thought he had moved on like he had said years before, but last night's conversation had told you otherwise.

“That's the tenth time I've heard you sigh just this hour alone and we're only drinking coffee, what’s wrong?”

Your head shot up to meet the concerned gaze of the oldest make-up artist. Jihae is one of the original staff back from 2013, the woman who had picked you up when you tripped in front of the BigHit building crying with your bag spilled out, having been given a low grade in one of your subjects. 

They were lacking in staff back then, urgently searching for another body to help with the debut look and when she saw your cosmetic bag, she tugged you inside and told you to agree with whatever they were going to ask. 

Stunned, you followed the woman without question.

A month later, you dropped out of the nursing course your mother had insisted you take and pursued cosmetology.

Many times have you looked back at the memory and grimaced. It could've gone wrong, she might've been leading you into a trafficking ring but nonetheless, you're glad you had accepted it.

All because Jihae had seen you with mascara-stained tears and somehow deemed you skilled enough for the job. Up until today, you still wonder what she had seen in an emotional teenager who had comically tripped face-first in the company’s front yard, mascara running down her face and thought: ‘She’d be a good addition’ . 

Whatever it is, you're thankful. 

“Hey, you still with us?”

Snapping out of your trance, you wearily smiled at her. “I am, don’t worry. Just frustrated about something...”

At this, multiple heads turned to you, their stares a varying mix of curiosity and teasing. Suddenly reminded of the group lunch Jihae had proposed that day, a bonding exercise for the entire make-up artists roster, for better teamwork, she had said and internally facepalmed. You had forgotten that it wasn't just your friends sitting on the table with you and you had just aired your problem out in the open for them to hear.

Fuck Kim Taehyung and his confusing attitude. You should beat his ass next time you see him for being the catalyst to the dilemma haunting your mind.

Leaning closer to you, Nabi—another friend of yours—crossed her arms and flashed a shit-eating grin.

“Is it boy problems?”

Instantly, the table explodes into chatters, all of their questions drowning each other.

“Which one of them?”

“Did someone from Bangtan confess to you, unnie?”

“Is it Hoseok? Please say it is! I have a bet with someone from the hair styling department.”

“Was it Taehyung? I always thought he had a crush on you for a whi—”

“It's not any of them, please we're just friends.” You interjected before they dig further and find truth in their questions. “It's a different guy I've had two dates with.”

Never had you sounded more unsure of yourself until now and you had wished nobody had noticed. But one look around the table says differently. Your friends’ eyes glinted, all of them telling you that this discussion was far from over and you find yourself already dreading opening the groupchat once you're home. But unlike them, someone wasn't satisfied with your answer and crossed her arms from the other end of the table.

“Why so dismissive, unnie? We're all friends here, no need to be so defensive.”

Immediately, the ones closest to her snapped their heads at her with a scandalized look. Alexa was a new recruit, A half-Korean and half-Chinese who lived in the States for a better half of her life, had just joined the week before the first leg when one of the crew went into labor and had recommended her cousin as her last minute replacement until she could return.

In the short time she had been in the company, there had been whispers and none of them were positive. Rumors of an unhealthy obsession hidden beneath the skillfully applied make-up that granted her a younger and cuter appearance, hushed stories of their encounters where she'd reveal her soulmate mark—inked initials, and written on her wrist is a K.S.J, something she boasted around with a smug look, as if to imply something you refuse to entertain.

It was absurd. 

Seokjin was untethered, if he got a soulmate mark out in the open, he would've screamed it on top of the world. Delighted and in cloud nine at the thought of having someone destined for him. Not to mention, it meant that he didn't need to go through any of the shit you've gone through, going through dates after dates looking for someone better to settle down with only to be met with constant disappointment at the end of the day.

(You'd also be the first to know. He would've ran to you and asked if you manifested a mark too, but for your sanity, you pushed the thought at the back of your head as soon as it came.)

To say, to imply that Seokjin’s soulmate is the kid on the side of the table, it almost made you grimace.

“Hey Alexa, I know you're just new and a foreigner but that doesn't mean we'd let you disrespect your seniors!” Minhyuk, someone who had quickly wormed into your friend group last year, had jumped to your defense.

Alexa scoffed. “I'm just saying, no need to be so secretive, unnie. Everyone in this table knows how close Bangtan is to you. Everyone is wondering if you've at least dated one of them.”

“Hey Alexa, that's a bit…”

“Why are you guys looking at me like that? I'm just saying what you're all thinking,” She looks back at you. “I've seen how they look at you, surely you've at least had a fling with someone.”

Your brows shot up, incredulous and shocked by her audacity but before you could bite back, Minhyuk stood abruptly, face darkened with pure unadulterated anger.

“Oh this—” Nabi and you were quick to tug him back down to sit. 

At the commotion, everyone in the cafeteria shifted their attention to your table, inquisitive and curious of what might've set off the resident social butterfly, someone who everyone knows the name of and has been at the end of his constant kindness.

Minhyuk is a passionate soul, especially towards his job and friends. Having been kicked out for being himself, he turned to the very skill that had his father screaming expletives at him. Recommended by Jihae, who had been visiting a nearby friend at the time and was passing by his street, had found him crying in the rain, outside the gate of his family house. She had taken him home and the rest was history.

There's never been a time when you've all hung out, five emptied bottles of Sojus later, where he wouldn't be crying, thankful for the chance your eldest had given him before turning to you, sobbing loudly and hugging you and the rest of the group in a tight grip. Heart full of gratefulness for his new found family.

So there was no shock that he had been the first one to jump at the first sign of aggression towards your group.

“Everyone is looking, hyuk. Let's calm down.” Nabi whispered to him, eyes cautious and Minhyuk grunted.

“She's lucky we're in public, I would've torn her down for that comment.”

At the end of the table, Alexa scoffed, incredulous. “Are you seriously mad that I'm saying my opinion? Is it a crime to express their own opinion these days?”

“Not when it's as rude as yours.”

Jihae sighs. “Calm down the both of you. Remember that you're working right now.”

You didn't doubt that everyone in the company has speculated about your relationship with Bangtan. It's hard not to when the maknaes hang onto your words and comfortably play around with you, especially not when you have dinner at their dorm every other week so you didn't blame the newbie for being curious.

That's what you would've felt if she hadn't been going around planting ideas into people's heads that she might be Jin’s soulmate like the delusional slug she is.

You had half a mind to loosen your grip on Minhyuk and let him wipe the floor with her unnecessarily expensive work clothes.

Shrugging both your and Nabi’s arms from his, Minhyuk stands up again only to walk away from the table. Instantly, the rest of your group follows him as he marches through the gathered crowd in the cafeteria and in front of the closed elevator.

You trailed behind him, waiting for his eventual frustrated explosion as he always does after an encounter with Alexa since she was hired. Once you were all far enough, hidden away from the prying eyes of the public, he threw his head back and let out a loud, exasperated groan.

“That girl I fucking swear!” He growled as combed his long hair back. “Why did we even let her continue working after the tour?! We could've just found a better alternative, she's getting into my fucking nerves!”

Nabi sighed. “It's not like we have a final say in this, hyuk. Whether you like it or not, we'll be stuck with her until Hyuna comes back.”

“God,” He groaned. “You should've let me hit her once! I'm so tired of hearing her bullshit! Surely, you've heard the lie she's spreading around right?!”

“Like Nabi has said, we can't do anything unless it starts to hurt the reputation of the idol. She's smart for not saying it outright and somehow containing it within the styling departments.” Jihae responds with a defeated shake of her head.

The answer didn't satisfy Minhyuk, who then turned to you with a pout and wide puppy eyes before promptly stomping over and taking both your hands in his.

“Surely you can pull some strings, noona? Tattle off to Namjoon hyung or Seokjin hyung, surely one of them would do something, right?”

You almost considered his suggestion. Alexa had been grating your gears ever since she arrived to replace Hyuna. You had excused her lack of cooperation with the team for being a newbie and clumsy mistakes of haphazardly leaving her items everywhere for the stress of the new environment she was suddenly put in. But for her to go around implying Seokjin is her soulmate is another can of worms you didn't even want to open.

The mere thought of her existing on the same floor as Seokjin invokes an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

But unfortunately, even if you had tattled to Namjoon about her, nothing would happen since it's not too drastic of an event to fire someone over for. It's also just not a good idea overall. The tour is set next Wednesday and while Alexa doesn't cooperate with most of the team, she unfortunately got the skill to back her up. Her skills nearly compensate for her rude personality.

Almost.

“They won't fire someone over a small argument, Hyuk. Just suck it in until Hyuna returns.”

“Which will be in December after Japan,” He mulls it over before shaking his head. “Yeah no, I don't think I can tolerate her nasty ass that long.”

The elevator opens—Jihae had called it the moment they've arrived, bless her—and everyone piles in. It was a quick ride, the stylists being on the floor below the cafeteria. In a flash the metal doors parts opened and you all walked out. But before you could follow your friends back into your department, your phone vibrated from your pocket.

Slowing down, you pulled the device out and looked at who's texting you.

           [13:02] Hobi: can ask you a favor

           [13:02] Hobi: just an itsy bitsy favor 🤏🤏

           [13:02] Hobi: I promise it's harmless😁

There's also a text from Guwon not too long ago. Something you missed while you were lost in your thoughts earlier.

           [12:30] Guwon: Eat your lunch soon!            [13:03] You: hi sorry late reply, I was having lunch with my co-workers, couldn’t use my phone during.            [13:03] You: I hope your lunch was good😁

You briefly grimaced at how robotic your reply sounded before returning to Hoseok who had sent another text.

           [13:03] Hobi: don't leave me on seen please😢            [13:03] Hobi: noona noona noona noona noona            [13:04] You: hoba hoba hoba hoba hoba            [13:04] Hobi: YAY            [13:04] You: how can I help you?            [13:05] Hobi: can you deliver lunch to hyung?😁            [13:05] Hobi: I would do it myself but I'm currently helping Seokjin hyung and Namjoon with the dance            [13:06] Hobi: and we both know Yoongi hyung wouldn't eat on time if I do it            [13:06] Hobi: can you do it for me?🥺            [13:06] You: sure, you guys still in the dance practice room?            [13:07] Hobi: ur a life saver            [13:07] Hobi: an angel in disguise            [13:07] Hobi: but yes😁            [13:08] Hobi: just knock on the door when you're here😁

“Y/N?” Jihae asks and you look back up to see your group waiting for you.

“Who is it?” Nabi adds.

“Better be news of Alexa getting fired. If not, I don't want to hear it.” Minhyuk says as he crosses his arms. You shook your head and he threw his hands up in frustration.

“Got asked to help with something but I'll be back in a moment.”

With a brief goodbye, you turned back to the elevator and directed yourself to the floor where the dance practice rooms are at. 

The walking distance from the elevator is not too far from the dance room but seeing five familiar teenage boys speaking in hushed whispers and hitting each other's arms in front of the vending machine just a feet away from the door easily distracted you.

If they had been crowding around the machine, you would've thought they were fighting over the last snack but instead they were all facing the same direction as your destination.

Sneaking up to the five giants, you're slowly introduced to the dilemma they were hitting and pushing each other for.

“You're the oldest, you should go and knock!”

“Just because I'm the oldest doesn't mean I should always be the first! Why are you even ordering me around?! Go ask Huening Kai instead!”

“Why me? I can't talk in Korean, I-I’m foreigner .”

“Oh don't you pull that shit on us. How are you only a foreigner when it matters?!”

“What are we talking about?”

Three shrill screams pierced through the air as the five of them jumped back, awkwardly long bodies falling against and clutching onto each other for dear life, all of them huddling onto the next body for protection. But once they recognize you, Yeonjun immediately regains composure and breaks off from the cluster to stomp over to you with his bottom lip jut out as he dramatically latches onto your arm.

“Noonaa, why would you scare us like that?!”

When you first met Yeonjun, he was standing in front of the cafeteria bar in front of the exhausted cashier and the long irritated line of workers, peering up onto the menu before looking down to count his money. He looked like a little kid lost in the sea of busy adults, painfully alone and helpless as the hungry customers behind him began to complain loudly.

He had been holding up the line as he recounted his change once more, hoping he had miscounted and that he could afford what he was eyeing. Seeing his hopeful expression crumble into defeat was enough to make you approach him and buy him lunch. 

Yoongi had teased you when he saw another kid trailing behind you like a baby duckling, saying you were collecting every doe eyed kid in the company and becoming their reliable older sister. The rest laughed when they saw Yeonjun’s soulmates follow suit.

“What were you guys doing? Fighting against who gets the last chip?”

Beomgyu then ran to wrap his arms around yours, the sweetest and most innocent smile plastered on his face as the two boys began to walk you forward, the destination? The dance studio.

“You know that we love you right, noona?”

Why these kids are genuinely intimidated by your sweet Hoba is beyond you. The man screams and flinches at the smallest of bugs daring to exist two feet away from him. Still, you entertained them with a raise of an eyebrow and Yeonjun continued.

“Our favorite make-up noona, the greatest sister figure we have ever had, my savior and my salvation, our dearest credit card—”

“Okay, what do you guys want?”

You all stopped in front of the dance room door. IDOL was blasting on the other side of the wall, the floor vibrating with the beat. Although muffled, you could pick up the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and heavy footsteps accompanying the song.

“Could you pretty please knock on the door?” Beomgyu asks, pleading and also hopeful and the rest of his brothers chimed from behind you with their own versions of the request which ended up sounding like a bunch of warbled words and shooting you puppy eyes.

“Couldn't you have done that yourselves?”

“But they're busy and J-Hope sunbae is scary.” Taehyun quietly adds behind you.

“Hoba? He's the sweetest though?”

“Okay, let's not lie to ourselves now,” Huening Kai shoots back before motioning to the door. “Just… knock and we'll handle it from there. We promise!”

“Cross our hearts.” Taehyun says, drawing a cross over his chest. The other four follow.

Dance teacher Hoseok to you is a hoax. You've never been subjected to his intense scrutiny and harsh perfectionist side, always managing to slip past or only being able to meet him outside of the workplace where he'd be far relaxed and cheerful. 

Sure there's been plenty of photographic and recorded evidence posted in the group chat but you still find it hard to believe he's more frightening than the bugs that scare him off the room.

“He's not that scary, guys.”

Taehyun scoffs. “Easy for you to say.”

“Crush privileges.” Soobin quietly adds.

“What—”

The door swings open before you could ask what he meant and Jungkook steps out of the room. 

In a span of a second, the memories of his drunken confession flashed before your eyes. From the moment he had entered your home with bags of snacks to the way his voice had sounded, hushed and shaky, when he asked you for a kiss.

Seeing him again outside the concert where Namjoon and Yoongi had made sure there were no contacts between the two of you, evoked a weird sense of longing within you. Having absolutely no contact with Jungkook for two days had you missing and recollecting your past memories with him. In the short amount of time you've been away, you wondered about many things.

From something as headache-inducing variations of hows and whys questioning his attraction to you to something more simple and short like ‘how is he feeling right now?’.

It was a dumb question with an obvious answer yet you wanted to know. Curiosity and anxiety clawing at your chest. 

Is your friendship still okay? 

Did rejecting someone this time finally ruin your entire dynamic with the group? 

Should you have chosen someone like your sister had told you to do? 

They have plagued your mind and haunted you in your waking days yet the moment you finally see him, your mouth dries up and your voice dies in your throat.

But before you could even muster the courage to talk to him, he turned his attention to the boys who had retreated behind you the moment the door opened and greeted them with a short bow before walking away, completely ignoring you. Pain blooms in your chest like a thorned vine wrapping and strangling your heart tighter and tighter as you watch his back disappear around the corner.

“Did sunbae just ignore noona?”

“Is that even possible?”

“I didn't hallucinate that, right?”

“Noona, are you okay?” Soobin’s concerned voice, soft and cautious, brings you back to reality and you turn to them, a precariously built smile on your face.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The five stared at you with uncertainty before sharing a look as you stepped into the studio, exposing you to the two figures laid on the floor, heaving and panting. The main character of your thoughts was sitting at the far corner next to the black plastic table while Hoseok stood in the middle of the room, unaffected by whatever had happened and was chugging down the water from the small bottle in his hand.

As if he had grown a sixth sense for you, he suddenly spun around, a wide grin brightening his stern face.

“Noona!”

At this, the two men on the floor perks up. Namjoon merely waves before promptly dropping back down, Jimin and Taehyung only smiled at you, looking spent from whatever routine Hoseok had them do before turning to the two tallest. Seokjin had pushed himself up to stand and approach the black plastic table from the other end of the room where a dozen take outs were.

As Hoseok approached you, his gaze then found the cluster of five heads peeking through the sides of the entrance and laughed.

“You’ve got five ducklings following you. Did they ask you to knock on the door for them or did you buy them ice cream again?” He jokes before turning to the teens and waving them over. The group then spread to occupy the space in the doorway and bowed. “What can I do for you guys?”

They suddenly disappear behind the wall but you hear them hitting each other and their whispered-shouts, it took a long while before Soobin was pushed out of the shadow and forced to talk to their sunbae. The painfully shy teen shuffles over, shoulders folded forward and taking the smallest of steps forward before stuttering a bow.

A wide smile brightens Hoseok's face, endeared by the boy’s actions.

“H-Hi sunbae.”

“Hello, Soobinie.”

“We-we we're just wondering if we-we could watch you guys? Practicing dancing I mean—Not that you sunbaes need it cause you're professionals!—I mean of course you still need to practice to be better at dancing and—wait no—”

“ Yah Soobin, stop embarrassing us like this!” Yeonjun scolds from behind and immediately, the young leader snapped his head at him, almost breaking his neck from how fast he had whipped around.

“Then go do it yourself!”

“We don't mind, as long as you guys stay in a corner like good kids then we'll all be good!” Hoseok cuts in before an argument ensues.

There's a tap on your shoulder and you turn around to see Seokjin standing behind you, a gentle smile playing on his plush lips, both hands hidden behind him.

There's an awkwardness that hung in the air as the conversation from the night before echoed between you both as you gazed into each other's eyes before he cleared his throat and began.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes.” You lie. Jin caught it and he rolled his eyes.

Turning to face him fully, he then takes one of your hands and forces your fingers to hold the neatly folded top of a paper takeout bag.

“I've packed Yoongi’s portion here as well as an extra for you—”

“You didn't need to, Jinnie. I already ate.”

Ignoring your words, he continued. “—I even had them order some soft tofu soup, you were craving it last week, right?”

It was sweet being loved so selflessly by him. It tasted like the sweetest nectar from the garden of Eden with a foul aftertaste once your mind reminded you of your sins against the man and the thorned tendrils of guilt coiled tighter around your chest, its sourness easily overlapping the sweetness of his love.

After Jungkook pretending you didn't exist earlier, having Jin, someone who you didn't even know still admired you all these years while you had messed around with many faces and came to work with some of their marks on your skin, expressing his care had you almost bursting at the seams. 

It enrages you thinking about Alexa going around spreading her bullshit spiel about being Jin’s soulmate. As if she deserved a morsel of his attention.

Nobody deserves Seokjin, not even you.

“Thank you Jinnie, but I’m really fine.” You then remembered your promise to return to your friends soon. “And Jihae is expecting me back immediately.”

“Coffee and toast is not lunch.” He deadpans as he takes your hand and forces it to close around the pack. “Just eat it with Yoongi, he'd be happy to be able to eat with someone and I’ll handle Jihae noona.”

“How the hell did you know what I had for lunch?”

Shock crossed over his face and he brought a hand over his mouth. “I was right? I just had a hunch on what you ate.”

“That’s a bit creepy, old man.”

“Maybe it’s a soulmate mark manifesting.” He shrugs but you doubt he meant it in a joking way.

“You’re way past the age, give it up hyung.” 

You both turned to the door at Jungkook’s voice. Like earlier, he had strode in without acknowledging your presence, something Seokjin had noticed immediately. His eyes slid to the five boys tentatively pushing each other to the empty corner of the studio before looking back at their youngest.

“How could you insult me like this? I fed you with my hands, you should be addressing me formally with a full 90° bow!” 

“I should’ve bitten your fingers at least once back then.” Jungkook jokingly muses.

Before you could witness their banter explode, there’s a tug on your shirt and you spun around to face Hoseok who had nodded his head to the door. Jin had already marched towards the maknae before you could even thank him so you left.

Once you were both outside the studio, Hoseok closed the door behind and hugged you.

“Wh-what is this?”

“A thank you hug for being the sacrifice and feeding the grumpy dragon instead.” He says with a laugh but you knew what he was trying to do.  

Returning the hug, you replied. “I’m fine, Hoba. I didn’t expect us to be buddy buddy again after what happened.”

He sighed.

“He still shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure Seokjin hyung will talk to him about it later.”

Stepping back, you shook your head. “No need, I understand why he’s acting like that.”

His eyes regarded your face for a moment before pulling you back in for a hug and nuzzling his head on top of yours. “You don’t have to defend him noona, he’s acting like a child. It's our duty as his hyungs to fix that up.”

“Please don’t. It feels like you’re taking sides, he might think it's unfair.”

He laughs. “Are you kidding? ‘Cause from what I’m seeing, he’s being a petulant child. He should handle the rejection with more grace when it's his fault he’s in this predicament. You know Seokjin hyung warned him, right?”

“Yeah, he told me when he and Tae took him home.”

“Then you should know better than to defend him.” You opened your mouth to refute but he pressed a finger to your lips. “Don't start. He's not the same sixteen years old we had to raise back then, he needs correcting.”

With two hands on your shoulders, he then spun you around and began to push you towards the elevator, leaving no room for an argument. 

Once he had led you back to the locomotive, he briefly stepped in to push the correct button for the production floor and stepped back and waved as the elevator wall slowly closed to a shut.

“Now go feed hyung and yourself before you go back to work. Thank you again noona and see you later."

“Special delivery for a grumpy hairless cat!”

A beat.

Then came a grumbled: “Come in.”

Punching the proper strings of numbers on the door code, you open the door to the genius lab to find Yoongi sitting in front of his computer, one ear off of his headphones as he goes back to a specific second again and again.

Situating yourself on the couch next to the door, you place the paper bag on the coffee table and slowly unload all its contents, hoping its smell is enough to deter him from his work just for a second.

Taking one of the containers, you open it to see strips of savory beef generously sprinkled on top of rice. The savory smell of the dish wafting out almost immediately, and Yoongi visibly perks up from his table; if perking up meant him temporarily stopping his incessant clicking and head tilting a little to the side.

“Is it all meat?”

Placing down the container, you opened the other one to reveal the same dish except this time with fried rice.

“Yeah, you want fried rice or no?”

“Whatever you like less.” He grumbled as he returned to his work.

“That's not a proper answer.”

“Just take whatever you want, I like either.” He muttered.

Staring at the food on the table, you found yourself at a crossroads. The fried rice looks more appetizing than the plain white rice on the other container but you've had enough sodium for the week, having challenged Taehyung, Jimin and Jin to who can eat more ramyeon in one sitting the day before the concert.

But today just doesn't feel like a plain rice type of day. 

But fried rice isn't healthy.

“Just choose please, I don't know what I want either.” You groaned out, frustrated.

With a grunt, the man took off his headphones and turned to face you before maneuvering himself closer to the table and picking up the container with the plain rice.

“Stop thinking so much about what is healthy or not,” He remarked as he took a pair of chopsticks from the paper bag. “I could hear your thoughts even with my headphones on and my back turned.”

“Then why tell me to choose if you already knew?”

Yoongi only shrugged as he took his first bite, prompting you to take yours. He seems to mull over something as he chews, staring at the food on the table for a while before placing the container down and leaving the room without a word.

You had learned not to question his confusing actions throughout the years, even then you couldn't help but be bewildered.

When he returned, he was carrying two drinks in one hand. Sprite and Kombucha. Settling back on his chair, he placed down the bottle of Kombucha in front of him before opening the can of sprite and placing it in front of you.

“I don't have any straws on me so you'll have to just chug it.”

People don't usually notice it but you think Jin and Yoongi are more similar in how they show their affections, just in different volumes. Seokjin’s care is always voiced out, always asking whether you want something or not and offering to do or make it for you while Yoongi just somehow always knows what you want and does it wordlessly. Both of them are providers who’d go as far as to pick the stars for you if you so wished.

If you had asked them for something as ludicrous and impossible as fried cotton candy with melted cheese on top, Jin would complain and express his disgust openly, ranting about the strenuous process while holding the handle of the pan and a spatula in the other while Yoongi would cook it without questioning your sanity.

Either way, it never fails to make your chest warm.

“Thank you, Yoongs.”

He suddenly takes a huge bite, bringing the container close to his face before humming out his response, easily flustered as ever.

You both eat your food in silence. With years of friendship under your belt, you have learned to enjoy the serenity Yoongi’s silence brings. It had been rough at the start, his quietness matched with his stoic expression had often led to misunderstandings where you often thought he thinks of you badly for being close to his brothers, especially after Jin’s confession.

He had confronted you once he heard it from Namjoon,—who had immediately tattled onto his hyung after you had told him not to tell anyone—saying he simply had problems expressing himself. You could remember how his hands, despite being entangled with each other, shook with his voice, could recall how he had forced himself to hold eye contact with you when he always had difficulties in holding one.

It was thoughtful and that was the first time you had felt the tingles of warmth in your chest. Teenage you had her feet swept off by a stuttering mess of a guy with eye contact issues.

Despite Jin being the first in the group to confess, Yoongi was the first to touch your heart.

“Why are you looking at me like that?’

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

A conflict of emotion crossed his eyes as he struggled to find the words but before he could, your phone vibrated from your pocket.

           [13:54] Guwon: I'm at the cafe close to your building

You almost choked on your spit, surprised by his message and Yoongi hurriedly put his food down to pat your back. 

Guwon’s office was on the other side of the city, why would he drive so far just to get some coffee with you during work days? 

Love , a voice answers and you immediately waved it off.

There was no way he had fallen in love with you in such a short time. You have been on two dates with him and he hadn't even asked you to be his girlfriend when there's been multiple times throughout those days and nights he had the chance to do so.

During nights where you'd restlessly toss around on your bed, you found yourself facing one more problem outside of your friends.

You didn't notice when it started when Guwon began to make your stomach churn and it bothers you to the nines at how you were being suspicious of him.

Guwon is a genuinely nice guy with a legit and grand background from what you learned throughout the short time you've been hanging out, his case stories of helping out women stuck in abusive relationships and bringing justice to those the law has failed once proven true when you've typed his name on Naver. The man didn't deserve the doubt twisting in your stomach nor the aversion you were slowly gaining towards him.

There was just something about him that struck you odd.

Your conflicting feelings surrounding your friends' confessions shouldn't be affecting your relationship with the man you will marry at some point yet it ended up doing so.

There was something foul and bitter simmering in your guts these days whenever you force yourself to think about him during your time. It burns like bile and tasted like betrayal, almost like unfaithfulness ; you try not to think hard on why you feel this way but it's hard not to when Jimin and Taehyung's jealousy keeps flashing behind your eyelids with every blink.

           [13:55] You: Oh wow, which one?            [13:55] Guwon: The one on the left side, Areum Cafe.            [13:55] Guwon: Are you free to get a cup of coffee with me?            [13:56] Guwon: Sorry for springing this up on you            [13:55] Guwon: I missed you🙁

“Who is it?”

“It's Guwon,” You say, scratching your head. “He says he's at the cafe down the road and wants to meet up.”

Yoongi placed down his food and stared at you, long and hard. Cat-like eyes narrowing and observing you as he leaned back on his chair and sighed.

“I assume you need help getting out? I'm not as… bold as the younger ones but I think I can help… somehow”

His presence would surely help tamper down the discomfort that had bloomed with the recent revelations. Yoongi is intimidating as he is caring, having him next to you while meeting with Guwon would ensure you a shorter time spent with the man, as well as prohibit him from pulling another surprise kiss on you.

But why are you so uncomfortable spending time with Guwon anyways?

You didn't have any problems before, even wanted to sleep with him the night prior so why now?

“How’d you know I need help?”

“You looked like your mother just told you to come to another date.”

Immediately, you ironed out the frown you didn't realize had marred your face. 

“I thought you would've been delighted you've finally met your match?”

“I-I am.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, the sound echoing louder in the silence of the room. “Try again. A little more sure this time.”

You sighed and relented, knowing the man wouldn't let you take a step out of the door if you lied to him again.

“Everything just started feeling wrong for some reason.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, eyes widening with surprise. “How so?”

“You know, when Jimin and Taehyung came over last night to make sure I got home safe, they were acting strange towards Guwon.” When he made no move to respond, you continued. “When Guwon suddenly kissed me, Taehyung looked… scary. Jimin too, if you can believe it.”

“I actually do.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Yoongi goes silent again, mulling over something as his gaze finally met yours for the first time that day. “For someone so perceptive, you're a bit oblivious.”

“What is it?”

“I won't elaborate, I'll let you realize things on your own.”

You groaned, facepalming because ain't no way Yoongi just added more fuel to the forest fire that is your thoughts. The man doesn’t even look aware of what his words had done, reaching over and innocently sipping on his kombucha once more.

Another chime from your phone and it was Guwon asking once more if you’ll come and meet him. You hold back a frown and Yoongi notices.

“Back to what you were saying, why do you think it felt wrong to see Guwon?”

With his calm voice and the deafening silence of the room, you found yourself comparing Yoongi, who even has his hands folded over his crossed jean-clad legs, to a therapist and laughed.

“Didn’t know I was due for a therapy session when I dropped off your lunch.”

“Well I did, just not with Guwon,” He placed down his bottle. “So, do you need my help or not?”

“Is breathing important? Obviously yes.”

He nods and stands, but not before saying, “I hope you know this conversation is far from over.”

While his presence had given you more peace of mind, leaving the BigHit building with Yoongi—who had forgone his usual outdoor style of beanies and big prescription glasses had only worn a black mask in order to appear more intimidating, claiming the beanie and glasses softens his edges, something you playfully rolled your eyes at—still felt like walking into your doom.

The moment he steps out of the building, suddenly everyone's eyes are on him. The cool stoicness surrounding him commanded attention and the people listened without complaint, not when Yoongi looked like every highschool teenage girls’ bad boy wet dream.

Strolling into the cafe is easier with Yoongi trailing behind you like a guard dog; or in his case, a guard panther.

There's something about having the rapper, who has never shown a hint of romantic attraction to you in all your years being their friend, accompanying you to meet the man you might marry made you feel awkward. It makes your heart jittery and your stomach twisting uncomfortably, the nerves from meeting Guwon only adding fuel to the fire.

It felt improper somehow, as if you were breaking an invisible rule you're yet to uncover from the depths of your soul.

The tempting aroma of freshly baked buttery goods and roasted coffee beans greeted you the moment Yoongi had pushed the door open for the both of you. In the controlled volume of mixed chatters from different tables, a calm acoustic instrumental flies through the air and you almost forgot what you came here for. 

It didn't take long for you to find Guwon sitting on the table farthest from the entrance, secluded and away from the wide glass pane windows. When the door had opened with a chime, the man had raised his head from his phone and met your eyes. You try not to linger on how his expression stiffened when he realized you had Yoongi in tow before a smile wipes it away.

“You see him?” Yoongi’s voice grumbled from behind and you nod. Guwon stands, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor catching his attention. “That him?”

“Yeah, I don't think he's happy I brought you with me.”

He chuckled darkly. “Good.”

Good?

Guwon met you both halfway, arms opened wide to greet you with a hug and you let him. When you pull away, his hand casually falls to your waist and your skin scrawls . 

Immediately, Yoongi’s eyes drop to look at it but before any hint of emotion breaks onto his face, his cool eyes are already back on your suitor’s face.

“Which one of your kids am I given the pleasure of meeting this time?” Guwon asks before offering his free hand to Yoongi who had taken it with a carefully crafted blank expression and an unrelenting stare.

Seeing him remain in eye contact with Guwon surprises you. The man, even after your years of being friends, had never held eye contact for longer than five seconds outside the time he had opened up to you about his struggle with expressing himself.

It made you curious. Why is he provoking him? Is he testing Guwon?

“I'm not one of her kids, I'm actually older than her. Min Yoongi.”

“Yoo Guwon, a pleasure to meet you.”

Even when both their hands had long pulled away from each other, their eyes lingered longer. Challenging on Guwon's part, and taunting on Yoongi's as he stared back completely unfazed.

Seeing them silently engage in a dick measuring contest, something you didn’t expect Yoongi to ever partake in since he had been loud in his distaste for his own gender, irked you. The tightening grip on your waist didn't help, wanting nothing but to slap it off if it wasn't for your promise to your mother to not fuck this up.

‘If you don't tell them what you're uncomfortable with, then they'll continue on doing it. The other guys out there aren't like us who'd feel guilty if we knew, I fear that they might take advantage of you instead, noona.’ Hobi’s voice echoes in your mind.

Sorry Hoba, I'm trying to make this work. But if this behavior continues, then I'll listen to you.

“I thought you idols are often more busy than the average folk?”

Yoongi sucks air through his teeth before responding. “We were in the middle of a fitting prior. I hope you don't mind me keeping watch, can't have our staff getting distracted by heartthrobs like you.”

Guwon laughed, a little louder than usual.

“She's been telling you guys about me?”

“All the good things, don't worry.” He then turns to you, eyes searching your face for a hint of extreme discomfort before continuing. “I'll go order the others some food.”

Sparing one last nod of his head at the man next to you, Yoongi then turns towards the counter to order. The moment he was out of earshot, dread drops onto your stomach like an anvil and you looked up at the Guwon whose eyes were already trained onto yours, a lazy smile stretched on his lips.

“I assume you’ll be needed back once he’s done?”

“ Yeah, I’m sorry it's just… Wrong timing.”

He waves you off. “Nonsense, it’s my fault for bringing you out of your work. They won’t fine you for this, right?”

“I went with one of my bosses, of course they won’t.”

His eyes studied your face for a moment, searching. 

For what? You don’t want to know. 

When he had found whatever it was, his face melts into a softer, more mellow expression and your heart clenches. The outpouring of awe in his eyes felt heavy and thick, it clogs up your throat and weighs your already strained form.

“I missed you.” He whispers with the sweetest of voices. “Did you miss me?”

“I-I do, kept thinking about you...”

The lie weighted like lead on your tongue and burned like acid. Compared to the genuineness practically dripping from his lips, your words fall short in your ears. With the way his softened expression crumpled into a frown, you knew he also noticed the hesitance in your voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. With the tour being so close and more sponsorship offers coming in, it got a bit stressful than usual.”

When his arms reach around your shoulders and pull you flush to his chest, you will yourself not to tense. You were both hugging in the middle of the coffee shop and you could feel the nearby patrons’ stare pressing onto your body, judging and unpleasant. Embarrassment burns your cheeks and the desire to push him away grows.

Even Jimin and Taehyung doesn’t dare to get affectionate in public, none of your friends ever did anything more than a hand on your shoulder to lead you to the correct direction or a supportive pat on the back when Jungkook had more sleep and food ingested, and was bouncing off the walls and you just happen to be assigned to him.

You wanted nothing more but to tell him to back off but the words got stuck in your throat. 

“Just a tip, she doesn’t like PDA so maybe step away?”

Immediately, Guwon scrambles off of you. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Guwon says, his hand falling from your shoulder and down to your arm. You tried your best not to shiver, you really do. “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

A firm and familiar hand lands on your shoulder before Yoongi’s tugging you to stand next to him. There’s a set in jaw as his eyes narrowed down at Guwon, the hand replacing Guwon on your arm is tense and rigid but not enough to hurt. The air around him has sharpened and cooled into icy spikes.

For a moment, you had thought you were being hounded by Taehyung again.

You sensed that he had a lot to say once you were out of sight, all of them expressing his distaste for the man you’re set to eventually marry. Even when you were all standing there, you could already imagine the curses and nitpicked details pouring out of his lips.

“We’ll be going back now,” Yoongi says to Guwon, voice tight as if holding back his emotions as he curtly bowed. “Our leader is already demanding us to come back so we’ll have to cut this meeting short. It was nice meeting you though.”

Guwon looked incredulous at the turn of events, eyes shuttering before he nodded in understanding and turned to flash a smile at you.

“Message me when you’re back at the company, alright?”

Yoongi didn’t even linger long enough for you to respond, already walking away. By the time you turned to look at him, he was already three long gaits away from leaving the coffee shop. With a dip of your head, you sprint to follow closely behind the man now pushing through the door. 

You could understand the reason for his irritation, Yoongi was always the most protective out of the bunch and the one with the most to say about men. To see your closest female friend be made uncomfortable by her suitor, a stranger in his eyes, there was no doubt he’d be livid.

But why does he have to walk so damn fast?! 

You’re not physically built to match his pace, he takes one step and you have to do three. It was infuriating but you couldn’t exactly scream at him to slow down in public, catching the attention of other people would only create more problems than you both could take on.

He eventually slows down to a halt in front of the double glass doors of the BigHit building and you were able to finally catch up to him. In the lobby, you both calmly approached the elevator, a complete juxtaposition of how hasty you two were not a moment before. 

But the moment the metal doors of the elevator shuts, isolating you and Yoongi from the rest, he begins.

“I don’t like him.”

It was stupid but you wanted to know what specific trait he had found irksome.

(Deep down, you knew you were finding a reason to stop, to let go of Guwon and stop this stupid charade.)

“He didn’t even notice you were uncomfortable earlier. When you told us that he’s good, I thought he’d be decent, not top grade bare minimum.”

“H-He was actually good, believe it or not.”

“So he's a pretentious prick?”

You sighed. “H-He just—”

“Hyung wouldn't approve.” Yoongi cuts in, his hardened eyes now piercing through yours, almost taunting you to bite back. “Not just him, everyone wouldn't. You'd break poor Jiminie’s heart if you continued seeing him once he found out how he acted today.”

You knew he was guilt tripping you and it was working. But you swore Guwon was better than the others, he had treated you with a gentleness and care your friends had shown yet something had changed after that night. 

Was Taehyung's clinginess, their presence in general, been the catalyst?

Had he felt threatened by them showing up? You had established early on that they're your boss and your mother would've mentioned your relationship with the boys in passing at least, so why would he feel threatened by them?

“I know what you're thinking but it doesn't work like that.” His voice, now softer than it had been earlier, pierces through the trance you’ve submerged into. “Even if you had said you’re only friends with them, it's human nature for us to still feel intimidated even if we're just friends.”

“That's dumb.”

He shrugged. “Men are dumb, I'm just slightly better than the rest.”

“That's debatable.” You joked and he raised an eyebrow.

“ Your taste is questionable.” He shot back and you hit his arm in response, making him laugh but it dissolves as fast as it came. “I'm serious, hyung won't like it if you continue meeting Guwon.”

“I know, I can already hear him and we're not even there yet.”

“Don’t be dumb and break it off with him. If you want a husband so bad, tell auntie to wait for me to renew my contract next year and then I'll marry you.” 

He meant it as a joke, you knew that, but you couldn't stop the butterflies in your stomach from fluttering wildly. You're suddenly reminded of a scene from years ago, his alcohol-flushed cheeks pulled taut by the dopey smile stretching his lips wide and his slurred voice admitting something you, even in the present time, have no recollection of what had been uttered.

You both have been battered to the nines, drunken out of your minds and stumbling over the smallest rocks on the street by the time Seokjin and Namjoon had found you halfway home. It was a miracle you both got off unscathed with how giggly and dumbed down you both were.

“Bold of you to assume I'd say yes.”

“I got wealth, I got a good mug on me, I can do all the household chores, what else would you need?”

“Seokjin also got and can do those.”

He pondered long and hard, sucking air through his teeth before he turned to you again with a glint in his eyes.

“You know what they say about my tongue right?”

He couldn’t say he didn’t expect the punch in the arm that followed soon after.

When the elevator door opens and you both go straight for the dance studio, the conversation about Guwon is put on pause and you dread the moment Seokjin hears what had transpired in the coffee shop when suddenly, Yoongi stills and hissed out a curse.

“ Shit , I forgot Jungkook’s muffins.”

[seresinhangmanjake]

Becoming His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x concubine!reader

Summary: Feyd chooses you as his concubine

Notes/Warnings: Smut (but not an overwhelming amount), so 18+. Possessiveness (ownership of other human beings and whatnot). It changes from third person perspective to second person, so i’m sorry if that irritates some people, but I just thought that it expressed the feelings of the story better, considering the tonal switch. This is based on a request. Sorry if there are typos.

It can be read as stand-alone, but it goes along with the following fics: His, Don't Touch What's His, and Only His. This fic takes place before any of those.

Words: 2400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd was sent for peace. The Baron sees use in House Wallach and very specifically instructed his favorite nephew to arrange a deal. With House Wallach’s planet producing items of value, the Baron would not attempt domination over their world in exchange for those items. That seemed fair—as fair as the Harkonnens get—but if one party fails to deliver, consequences follow. Sometimes, that means the taking of other items of value.

They aren’t prisoners of war—they can’t be considered such when war did not actually occur—but they’re close enough: women taken from their home planet after their leaders failed to protect them, leaving them weak and vulnerable and unprepared for what their new lives will thrust upon them. For the first time in their blip of existence, they are a foreigner's property; the most humiliating of circumstances for women of their status: three high-ranking handmaids, the live-in bene gesserit, and the daughter of their Lord and Lady. And Feyd has to choose one. 

“It’s within your right,” the Baron tells him. “And expected. To turn them away without taking one for yourself would be a showing of weakness.”

Feyd scans each one. He supposes they’re all appealing in their own ways. The handmaids were raised to obey, an ability Feyd would have them exercise often. The bene gesserit has knowledge beyond her years. And the benefits of owning an heir of a Great House can be summed up by title alone. 

However, they have their faults as well. The handmaids aren’t particularly beautiful, and as they stand there, shaking, huddled together, with their eyes down and chins tucked into their chests, Feyd finds them grossly undesirable. If he wanted a mouse, he would take one of his own servants. 

The bene gesserit, regardless of appearance, is a witch whose most vital loyalty will belong to the Reverend Mother and her followers before House Harkonnen—a traitorous snake in the making. He cannot have a woman in his bed that he will be unable to trust.  

The one remaining, the Lady, she’s fearless. He can see it already in the set pout of her pretty lips. He doesn’t like fearlessness; it’s disrespectful, potentially disobedient, but at the same time, she encapsulates everything else he could want: a face he doesn’t hate to look upon, to say the very least; nobility, a reminder that he claimed something invaluable to an entire planet; and perhaps most intriguing: she’ll be a challenge—not easily torn down—and the more he looks at her, the more the others fade into nonexistence. 

Feyd steps closer to her, drawn in by delicate features, and waves of hair, and luscious curves. 

“This one,” he says. 

With those two words, a spark shoots across her irises. Her knitted brow soothes. Her mouth, now unburdened by the weight of the pout, twitches up in the corners. There’s a hint of a dimple in her right cheek that is there and then gone, taken from him before he can fully understand why his heart thumped at the sight of it. 

“Fine,” the Baron replies. 

Commanding his guards, he says, “Rid of the others,” prompting gasps and tears of fear, and even Feyd is unsure what will become of them. Slaves? Entertainment in the arena? Perhaps his uncle will let him feed them to his pets.

To his servants, the Baron says, “Clean her up.”

And to his nephew, he says, “She’ll be brought to you later,” just before two small Harkonnen women take her by the arms and lead her away.

—

He thought all afternoon of the noises he would soon be forcing from you. The yelps, the squeals, the cracking from your grinding teeth. Everyone’s flesh makes a unique sound when sliced open, and he imagined what sound your flesh would make. The masterpiece your face would be after your tears melt your makeup he’d be proud to claim as his work. 

But then his servants bring you to him. They push you through the door and position you in front of him before skittering away, and in the silence they leave behind, Feyd can only detect his own heartbeat. 

He liked you in the pinkish-toned clothing traditional of your house—it made you stick out amongst the darkness surrounding you, like uncorrupted sweetness in its last moments—but in Harkonnen black, you’re something else entirely. 

He’s read of goddesses and angels, deities and divine spirits lost with those who once worshipped them, and he always wondered how such beings cultivated mass devotion without the consistent doling out of immense pain. But he gets it now. He understands the draw of the ethereal. 

After minutes of staring, his eyes feel dry, scratchy; he needs to blink, he needs to close his parted mouth, but he can’t, nor can he form a coherent thought separated from the way your hair frames your face and how the silk cascading down your body doesn’t do a perfect job of hiding everything underneath. Touch. He wants to touch. Run hands over soft skin. Press his lips to–

He stops himself. That’s wrong. He is meant to sink his teeth into you. He should be digging his nails into flesh, draining blood, staining sheets, licking tears from cheeks like the men before him have done to their concubines. 

She’s yours, so train her well—that’s what his uncle said, and Feyd knows for a fact that the Harkonnen method of training a woman is devoid of anything but pure torture. Harkonnen training is rough, crude, brutal on the body and mind to break someone down. Only the strong build themselves back up into warriors—like he did—and concubines are not meant to attempt that feat.

“Am I going to stand here all night?”

Your voice sends a chill down his spine, yanking him out of his head. He finally blinks. As his eyes meet yours, he swallows and says, “Do you want to stand there all night?”

“Not particularly,” you tell him. “And I don’t think your servants spent hours fixing me up just so I can take post like a statue at the foot of your bed.”

He wouldn’t mind a statue in your likeness, actually. He’d feel a lot less conflicted if he had two of you at his disposal; one for what a concubine is meant for, and one unaltered from the way you are right now—no pain in your eyes, no quiver to your lip, no marks marring your skin. 

“They did not,” he confirms. 

He pushes off the desk he had been leaning against and uncrosses his arms as he steps toward you, stopping just before colliding with your body. Your head tilts back, and he knows he is supposed to smirk at your powerlessness; his eyes should be pouring with the promises of a painful future, but he can’t access that otherwise always-accessible emotion. The hatred is not quite there. The vile pool of black sludge that has resided within him from the moment he pierced his mother’s throat with a blade has started to drain because of the doe eyes that stare up at him. 

“I’m not scared of you,” he hears, and for a second, he cannot tell if the words came from your mouth or from his. But you don’t reply, so that must be his role.

“It's stupid not to be scared of me.”

“Maybe,” you say, your head cocking, “but you don't look at me like you want me to be scared of you.”

That right there—he should kill you for that. You see too much. He wonders if you see his thoughts as well. He doesn’t need a woman with eyes that see more than what is tangibly in front of her. 

Instead of his body operating on its own, he has to force his hand to wrap around the neck of the threat before him. But five seconds of the delicate column in his grasp goes by, and then ten, and then fifteen, and his fingers have yet to squeeze any tighter. Surprise is etched onto your face, but it’s different. It’s not the look of a woman suddenly in a vulnerable position. By the way your eyes trail from his face to bicep to forearm, it’s more like you’re shocked that his touch is as warm as it is, as if you expected the paleness of his skin to mean hot blood does not course through his veins. 

Tentatively, your hands reach up until your palms are cupping his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to jerk away as your tongue slides out to wet your lips and you rise on your toes. You gently tilt his head down to yours, and then you brush your mouth over his. 

Feyd’s lungs tighten in his chest as you do it again. The hand around your neck slides into your hair, holding your head in place so he can take more, kiss harder. But it’s not long that he’s devouring your taste before he comes to his senses and shoves you away. 

“Stop that,” he spits, his brow drawn. “I did not tell you to do that.” 

Your teeth trap your bottom lip. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Lay on the bed,” he says, then quickly adds, “On your stomach.” It’s better that way. If he isn’t focusing on you, your eyes, your lips, then he won’t be distracted from his own pleasure.

You don’t hesitate to do as he says, and you walk past him to the mattress. He doesn’t turn to watch you shed your thin gown, fearing what the combined vision of face and bare body will do to him, so he works on removing his own clothes, facing you only once he hears the shifting of the coverings on his bed. 

Your arms are bent, hands overlapped under your head as you wait for him to join, and after taking in the curvature of spine and the dip in lower back before the swell of bottom, he does, settling behind you. 

He doesn’t know where to start. There’s so much to take in and he does his best to memorize it all until, eventually, he lets his palm slide up the center of your back. When it causes you to shiver, he rips his hand away.

“It wasn’t bad,” you tell him. “I’m fine.”

Feyd hums in a manner intended to come off much more displeased than it does. He didn’t ask if you were fine, and a scolding is on the tip of his tongue for even suggesting the idea, but the piece of him that knows he would’ve stopped if you had said the opposite keeps the words from reaching past his throat.

Feyd tries once more, this time placing his hand at your hip for purchase as he guides himself inside of you with the other. With great effort, he swallows his gasp before he falls forward on clenched fists that press into the mattress on either side of your breasts. 

You’re warmer than he expected. Tight and slick and warm, and amidst the sensations that take over his entire being, he somehow manages to find enough clarity to question the normalcy of your body. 

Harkonnen women aren’t warm like this. Warm, yes, but your warmth is more comforting, more engulfing. He’ll feel an unpleasant chill when he removes himself from you and so decides it might be best to stay right there inside of you for as long as he can. But after he hears the little sound you make through the ringing in his ears, he doesn’t know how much longer that will be.

He pulls out slightly and then pushes in, and he receives another of your sounds, louder this time. Your hips lift an inch off the mattress, pushing back into his. He thrusts again and his brain fuzzes. When he shoves in deeper, you yelp at the spot he hits and he loses his mind entirely, left with the sole desire to see how many notes he can get you to sing for him. He finds there are many more, and as you continue to belt out a chorus along with each of his movements, he suddenly thinks: fuck everything else. Fuck the things he is supposed to be doing to you. Fuck the lessons he is supposed to be teaching you. Fuck the training that is supposed to be putting you in your place. He needs to see you. 

Your head lifts and you look back at him as best you can when he leaves your body. “Why did you st–”

“Turn over,” he demands with heavy breaths.

“What?”

You’re not fast enough. His hands firmly grip your hips and he flips you onto your back, spreading your legs and stuffing himself back inside of you. You moan. Your eyelashes flutter. Your mouth stays perfectly parted as you reach over your head to tighten your fingers into the pillow. 

That’s exactly what he wanted, and that’s all it takes to shun his cares for anything other than the way you look beneath him. His chest meets yours and he darts his tongue out to lick the bottom of your upper lip before capturing your mouth with his. You kiss him just as much as he is kissing you. You touch him as much as he is touching you. Your legs wrap around him, taking everything he has until his hips stutter and he’s coating the walls that are milking him with each pulsating squeeze. 

He pulls out with ragged breaths, body falling beside yours, and as you both stare at the ceiling, his mind finally clears with the sudden realization that what he just did might’ve stolen some of his power and handed it to you. You know of the Harkonnens’ cruelty—everyone does—but what he gave you was not that, and he cannot allow you to get the wrong impression.

“You're mine,” he reminds you. “I own you. You follow my orders. Don’t irritate me. Don’t speak unless I am the one speaking to you. You go where I tell you to go. You do what I want you to do. And don’t get any ideas that you’re not disposable to me.”

Minutes pass in silence, but then you say, “What happens if you end up liking me?”

That question hits him right in the gut. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what the fuck happens if he likes you more than he already does. It won’t do him any good; he knows that. 

His back teeth clench. “I won't,” he says. “So don’t ever ask me that again.”

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.5 these feelings are hard to find

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 5/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 10.4k

a/n. aaaa this chapter took me a while because i was having some pretty bad writer's block. i seriously can't believe it crossed over 10k words, i very poorly planned how much i wanted to get done by this chapter, but i didn't feel like splitting it into two so oh wellll. hope you enjoy! pls excuse any typos we all live on a floating rock.

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

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“I really don’t understand why I’m here…” you’re grumbling as you, Mina and Todo make your way up the pavement of the driveway leading to the house party. You glance to your right where Mina and Todo are holding hands, arms swinging as they keep pace together. 

It was finally Friday after a particularly long and stressful week, so you were extremely excited to just spend the rest of the night relaxing at home. You had already poured yourself a glass of wine when you returned from your evening class and were sitting on the couch with a blanket on, scrolling through Netflix, when Mina approached you while she was talking to Todo on the phone. She mentioned something about an SAE party tonight that she wanted you to come along for and Todo said he’d extend his other invite to you. When you politely declined, Mina slumped down on the couch and told Todo she had no interest in going unless you also came. And then Todo was bribing you with a hundred bucks. Easiest hundred bucks you’ve ever made. 

“Don’t be a downer. You’re here because I think you’ve been working hard and you need to relax a bit,” Mina chirps, now clinging onto Todo’s arm, “and there’s no better way to relax than getting drunk.”

“I could be getting drunk at home,” you mumble to yourself, the night you were imagining for yourself all day being very different from where you find yourself now. 

The guy that was bouncing for tonight’s party was scanning people’s phones and engaging in some small talk before allowing people inside. He was pretty handsome and you wondered if there was some sort of requirement written in the rules to the SAE fraternity that they must be good-looking to join.

“Hello, my brother,” Todo says as he approaches, smacking him so hard on the back in greeting that the man stumbles over slightly and sends an irritated glare Todo’s way before he regains his balance.

“Hey, big guy, are these your invites?” He gestures towards you and Mina, his eyes landing on yours and lingering for a moment. You blink at him. 

“Yes, this here’s my lovely lady, and this here’s my lovely lady’s friend,” Todo says with a faux suave that only makes you narrow your eyes at him. The man at the entrance sighs and nods before stepping out of the way and motioning the three of you towards the entrance. 

The minute you enter, you immediately realize that this party felt very different from the one you were at last week. It was slightly less crowded, but there were still plenty of people bustling around the large expanse of the ground floor with loud rap music that practically shook the walls. It was dark, much more edgy, with the only source of light being the sporadic flashing of lights over by the DJ’s booth. You felt disoriented from the atmosphere, and the smell of weed and alcohol only further dazed you. 

“This is insane,” you barely hear Mina say beside you over the music as she looks around the expansive interior of the house. In between the brief flickering lights that lit up people’s faces, you register that Todo is grinning at her as though he was entirely satisfied by her reaction. 

You only make it a few steps inside, trailing behind Mina and Todo, before feeling the need to excuse yourself to get away from the intense environment for a second. “Hey, I think I’m going to use the restroom real quick. Todo, do you have any idea where it is?” You feel like you’re shouting just to be heard. 

He looks over his shoulder at you. “There are some downstairs but they probably have lines. You could try upstairs.” 

You give him an appreciative nod and head over to the base of the staircase at the right, glancing up before making your ascent. There didn’t seem to be anyone else upstairs, which surprised you, but you figured you were just in luck and began to walk up step by step until reaching the top. The music downstairs begins to sound muffled as you turn around the railing post and make your way to the left into the narrow hallway likely leading towards the bedrooms. There's a white door somewhere in the middle of the hallway that could only be either a closet or a bathroom. You wrap your hand around the cold metal door handle and twist, satisfied that it wasn’t locked.

The mumbling noises of people inside doesn’t register in your mind until you’ve already cracked the door open half-way, and your entire body recoils in the immediate rush of embarrassment washing over you as you take in the sight of two people, a man and a woman, getting handsy with one another in the bathroom. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” is all you manage to squeak out, blinking dumbly at the scene. 

You’re quick to avert your gaze and about to close the door, incredibly mortified by what’s just happened, when the familiar silhouette in front of you causes you to freeze. You slowly lift your line of sight from the bathroom floor until Gojo Satoru is looking you straight in the eye from where he has a girl on the bathroom counter clinging to his shirt. 

“I…” you stutter, face feeling immediately hot as you let go of the door handle and look away from his shocked face. “Sorry,” you say again, this time barely above a whisper, before turning on your heel and making your way down the hallway in such a hurry that you don’t even realize you’re going the wrong way. You hear a feminine voice echo something in the bathroom like what the fuck are you doing?, and then there’s footsteps following after you that sound faster than your own. Ignoring the call of your name, you practically storm into one of the bedrooms, entirely relieved that it was empty, and can only take a couple of steps inside before a hand grabs at your wrist. A chill runs down your spine from the contact.

“Wait, y/n,” Gojo says behind you from where he’s followed you inside, sounding like he’s out of breath. His hand is still holding onto you, keeping you still and you can feel the roughness of his calluses against your skin. When you turn around to face him, he’s close to you and you see his chest is heaving, his hair is disheveled, his shirt is wrinkled at the front and there’s a crease in his brow. 

Your eyes don’t stay on his for long before you’re looking away from him again. “I’m…I’m really sorry, that was really awkward,” you say with a forced laugh and an attempt to wiggle yourself free of his grip but he’s unrelenting. The image of his fingers sliding up that girl’s top was still burned in your vision and no amount of excessive blinking at the carpet beneath your feet seemed to make it disappear. 

“No, I’m sorry, I was supposed to lock…” his trails off and you notice there’s a rough quality to his voice, “that was just-, we were just-”

You finally brave yourself to look up at him and he somehow seems closer than before, his face just inches away from yours and his eyes briefly flickering to your lips before he meets your gaze with a tense expression on his face. You haven’t seen him look so flustered before, and you’ve certainly never heard him struggle this much to find his words either. 

His other hand rubs the back of his neck as he closes his eyes in what looks like frustration, then takes a deep breath to seemingly calm himself down before speaking again. “She’s…We’re just friends,” is all he manages to say. 

There’s a silence between the two of you as you blink at him and he stares at you, his thumb pressing into the skin of where his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. You try really hard to bite back the words you’re about to say, but no amount of willpower could’ve helped you. Your chin tips up, looking at him more decisively, and his gaze is flickering to your mouth again. “Just friends…can’t say I’ve ever tried to get my friends naked in the bathroom at a party before.” You didn’t understand why your tone came off so hostile, but it felt good to criticize his choice of words for some reason.

His lips press together, gaze narrowing slightly and eyebrows furrowing further at your words. He leans in closer to the point where your senses were entirely occupied by him and it was impossible to think of anything else. “Well, you weren’t supposed to see that.” His eyes are contrite but his tone is vexed. 

You relax your body language and use your other hand to forcefully slide his hand off of your wrist, encountering some resistance from him before he acquiesces. Your skin tingles from the absence of his touch and you take a step backwards away from him. His posture straightens slightly, eyes continuing to dart across the features of your face and wide in anticipation as though he was patiently waiting for you to say something that would put him at ease. 

“It’s fine,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice as level as possible, “I accidentally walked in on something I shouldn’t have. You don’t owe me any sort of explanation for it.” Gojo seems to tense up even further at your words, his expression briefly contorting into one of confusion before it reverts to concern again. 

You walk around him towards the bedroom door and see him in your periphery watching every step you take until you eventually exit the room. This time, you don’t hear his footsteps pursuing you from behind. It’s only when you make it past the bathroom, not even daring to take a look inside of it, and about halfway down the hallway that you unsteadily let out the breath you were holding in. Your hand takes its place over your chest in a flimsy attempt to calm your heart down as you quickly make your way down the stairs. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach and you knew you just had to get as far away from here as possible. 

You’re barely able to spot Mina from where she stood with Todo in a corner near the backyard screen door, and briefly notice that Nanami, Geto, as well as a few of their other teammates were clustered there too. You politely acknowledge their pleasant greetings to you as you approach Mina, pulling her to the side.

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” She asks, stumbling a little bit and you let go of her sleeve. 

“I’m going to go home, not feeling well, I think I just got my period,” you easily come up with a lie, “Nobara says she’ll pick me up.” In truth, you were planning on just calling an Uber for home, but you knew that Mina wouldn’t let you go home by yourself. You didn’t want your confusing and heightened emotions ruining her night.

“Wait, are you sure? I’ll come with you,” she’s quick to say, taking a step towards you but you shake your head.

“No, it’s fine, stay here with Todo,” you demand, “and call me if you need me to pick you up. I’ll let you know when I’m home.” You give her a little hug and she’s standing there confused before hesitantly nodding, and then you make your way to the door. The loud music, flashing lights, and blurred faces around you were so intensely stimulating that when the cold air from outside finally hit your skin, you felt like you were human again. 

The Uber comes by in less than ten minutes as you wait for it on the sidewalk. The driver drops you off at the entrance of your apartment complex and the biting chill of the air has you wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the elevator to take you upstairs. Glancing down at your phone to check the time, you see a message from Mina asking if you were home yet. You also see that it’s nearly one in the morning.

Finally making your way inside your apartment, you lock the door behind you and text Mina that you’re home, then slide down with your back against the front door until you’re sitting on the floor. The heat inside was so comforting that you just spent a moment to warm yourself up and just breathe. 

Memories of your conversation with Gojo from just half an hour ago instantly come to the forefront of your mind and you’re shutting your eyes to try and repel the thoughts away. Still so embarrassed that you walked in on him making out with someone, your brain decides to mortify you even further by asking what if you had walked in a few moments later instead? What would you have seen then? 

You squish your cheeks between your hands defeatedly before letting out a sigh and drawing your legs in towards you, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn’t understand why you were so affected by what you saw. You’ve only met Gojo twice, and you knew even before you met him that he was that kind of person. He had a reputation of being involved with a lot of women, so his rather eager desire to explain himself to you just puzzled you even further. 

Standing up, you head over to your bed and flop down on it. Your wrist still burns with the memory of the heat of his hand, and all you can see behind the lids of your eyes when you close them is the sight of him so close to you, stealing glances at your lips. 

Somewhere along the night as you drifted in and out of sleep, Mina called to let you know that she was on her way home. When you hear her open the bedroom door and set her purse down on the nightstand near her bed, your body finally convinces you that it’s okay to rest, and that’s exactly what you do.

---

The weekend is over in the blink of an eye, simply not enough time to mope around in bed, and you’re walking out of your last class of the day on Monday. You check your phone pretty much every other minute to see if Gojo has sent you any messages regarding their new practice schedule for the week, which you’re sure he’s received by now, but there’s nothing. The last messages sent between the two of you were before the party on Friday, and an uneasy feeling has been settling in. You spent most of last week appreciating how helpful he was being so far, but you didn’t even consider the possibility that he could rescind his help at any time too.

You head over to the Department of Communication & Journalism building, making your way up the stairs until you reach the graduate division floor and walk down the hallway to Room 212. As you make your entry, a toasty and rich scent overtakes your senses. 

“Ah, y/n, hello! So good to see you, thanks for coming by. I missed seeing you last week,” you hear Utahime say as she sets down a cup of coffee for you on the conference table in the middle of the room.

“Sorry, I was just…very mentally occupied last week,”  you admit to her, setting your tote bag down on one of the chairs before taking the seat where the cup of coffee was placed, the fragrance instantly waking you up as you take a sip. “Thank you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, thank you, just working through my thesis,” she says with a sigh and takes the seat next to you. “Just a few more months…just a few more months, and I’m free!”

You smile at her and watch as she pulls out her laptop, the start-up noise chiming before she starts clicking away at the million tabs that were open. “Did you receive the email I sent you for the newsletter shots?” You ask.

Utahime was a 4th-year graduate student in journalism and was also the head of the school’s newsletter. She has so graciously allowed for Film Club photography shout-outs in every monthly issue for the past couple of years.

She nods. “I did,” she says, resting her elbow on the table and tapping her index finger to her chin, “how come I didn’t see any of your photos in there, though?”

You sigh, sulking your shoulders slightly as you peer down into the brown liquid of your cup and watch the steam evaporate. “I didn’t really take great pictures this month.”

“Aw, well are you working on anything right now?” She returns to clicking away at tabs.

“Yeah, I’ll be taking film photos out on the field of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni next week. It’s for an assignment,” you tell her and watch as her face lights up.

“That’s wonderful! That’s a pretty big gig, they usually only let professionals out on the field. How were you able to secure that?” Utahime asks you as she tips her head to the side.

“Ah…let’s just say I have some sort of deal with one of their players?” You say. Your heart drops a little when you remember the lack of communication from Gojo as of recently, wondering if he was able to get that referee permission for you.

“Which one?” Utahime asks with a teasing smile, leaning over to nudge you with her elbow.

“Gojo Satoru,” you say and then she’s pulling away from you and rolling her eyes, an annoyed look making its way onto her face. You let out a small laugh at her behavior. “Okay, well now I’m curious.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she peers beyond the window of the room. “I was his TA when he was just a wee-little freshman. He was always showing up late to class and trying to flirt his way out of completing assignments,” she grumbles, “is he still a little brat?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking way harder about her question than she had probably intended. “I don’t know…I don’t really know him all that well.” You look down at your hands. Despite the fact that you’ve only known Gojo for a short while, for some reason you felt like you did know him well. You knew the kinds of things that made him smile, you knew the look in his eyes when he was deep in thought about something. You knew what the heat from his body felt like, what the fragrance of his clothes smelled like. 

Utahime is silent for a moment as she studies you. “Hmm,” she’s humming next to you, “well, tell you what, send me your photos when you’re done with them. If they’re good, I’ll use your photos for the sports recap in the newsletter instead of the professional ones we get sent from the school. I can compensate you for them as well.”

Your eyes widen as you look at her, jaw dropping a bit as you blink in disbelief. “Utahime…you would do that for me?”

She gives you a smile and a wink. “Of course, talent helps talent. And it’s my newsletter, I can do whatever I want with it. Besides, you want to get into the school’s film graduate program, right? I’m sure it would look great on your application that you’ve had some of your portfolio published to the school’s official reports. The photos have to be good, though.” She points a finger at you and gives you a strict look.

You feel tears prickle in your eyes from her words, so overwhelmingly grateful for her support, and can barely whisper out a thank you before she’s rushing over to the other table to grab a tissue box and set it in front of you.

“Gosh, why do all my undergrads cry in my presence?” she complains as she pulls out a tissue and hands it to you.

You dab it to your eye. “Because you have such wholesome mom energy.” 

You say goodbye to Utahime after discussing a few more things and then leave the room. You check your phone and your heart skips a beat when you see Gojo’s name in your notifications.

|| 1:43PM Gojo Satoru: Hey, just wanted to let you know I was able to get that referee permission for you for next week

You let out a tiny gasp when you read his words then clutch your phone to your chest in relief. Utahime’s offer of the prospect of getting published in the school’s newsletter gave you a large sense of purpose, and you felt like it was time to take this assignment of yours extremely seriously to secure the opportunity. And Gojo was the one with the power to help you do that.

|| 1:52PM You: thank you so much, i really don’t know how to repay you

You sigh as you make your way to the stairs, grateful that you were getting some communication from him. The big game on the 28th was next Thursday, and you really needed to practice taking photos with your film camera. You open Instagram again to ask him for his practice schedule, but you see that he had sent you another message.

|| 1:54PM Gojo Satoru: No need to repay me, consider us even. Also sorry for the late notice, but we’re having a formal practice match in about an hour with one of the teams we played against earlier in the season. Do you want to come by?

After reading his message, you quickly shuffle your tote bag open and peer inside to see that you did indeed bring your film camera with you to campus today. Excited, you type out a response.

|| 1:55PM You: yes! i’ll hesd over right now

|| 1:55PM You: *head over

|| 1:55PM You: lol

You see little bubbles indicating typing in the left side corner.

|| 1:55PM Gojo Satoru: Meet me by the art sculpture, I’ll walk you over

You blink at the message for a few seconds, starting to type out a message before deleting it, and doing that a couple more times over. When someone tries to shuffle around you from behind, you notice you were standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs so you step away and lean against the wall. You press your lips together in consideration as you realize that today would be the first time you’re going to see Gojo again after that awkward interaction that you had with him at the party last Friday, and you were really not sure how you were going to feel having to be alone with him again.

|| 1:57PM You: that’s okay, i don’t want to trouble you

His response is instant.

|| 1:57PM Gojo Satoru: Just meet me there

Once you’ve made your way across campus, you spot Gojo sitting on the concrete barrier surrounding the art sculpture by the fields practically right in front of the please do not sit on the concrete barrier sign. His head is turned away from the direction you were approaching from, arms crossed at his chest and one of his legs impatiently bouncing up and down. You notice he’s wearing the school’s colors, a teal blue shirt and gray shorts that had some highlights of a sunset yellow, as well as gray athletic soccer shin socks and cleats. He looks so ridiculously sports boyfriend that you have to shake your head to try and physically fight the effect of how attracted you were to him.

He must’ve heard you approaching as you crossed the street towards him since he turned his head in your direction. He’s wearing a black sports headband across his forehead that’s pushing the hair up out of his face and you’re startled by the intensity of his blue eyes on you. When he stands up, his arms fall to his side, making you sad that you could no longer shamelessly stare at the way his biceps flexed when he had his arms crossed.

“Hey,” he says simply, staying perfectly still where he stood. 

There was only one way to dissolve an awkward situation, and that was to pretend like it never happened in the first place. You tip your head to the side, giving him a curious look before skipping right on up to him. “Hello, there,” you cheerfully say. He looks at you with a borderline annoyed expression.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he comments, his voice sounding deeper than usual. Almost tired. 

“Yes, very good mood,” you chirp as you walk past him, “I just got a very good offer.”

The sound of the bottom of his cleats on the sidewalk follow after you as you head in the direction of the softball batting cages. It's not long before he emerges at your side in your periphery. “What kind of offer?” You can tell from his tone that he was trying to restrain his curiosity. 

“Oh, you’ll see,” you say as you look up at him and smile. He gives you an irritated expression due to your lack of transparency but you continue to skip forward until you’ve made it to stairs that lead up to the grassy hills. 

Gojo’s about a step’s distance behind you as you lightly frolic across the land, your heavy tote bag bumping against your hip with every jump. You feel something fly out of it which halts you in your gleeful stride and look behind to where your bluetooth laptop mouse has fallen onto the grass right in front of Gojo. He’s sighing before crouching down to pick it up, then takes a step towards you and extends it out to you. When you glance up at him, he’s not looking at you and his face is hard to read. 

You grab the mouse from him, fingertips brushing against the skin of his palm, and he ever-so-slightly shivers at the touch. His gaze finally meets yours.

With a sigh, you toss your computer mouse back into your bag. “I’m trying really hard to not feel awkward around you right now, but you’re making it pretty difficult.” You were so used to feeling like he has the upper edge of conversation when you’re with him, but now you felt like you were the one with the power.

He raises an eyebrow at you and when you look at his hands, you notice he was apprehensively cracking his knuckles with his thumbs. “Maybe you wouldn’t feel awkward if you actually stayed to talk last Friday.”

You cross your arms across your chest, disliking his tone. “Stayed to talk? About what? How not close you are with your ‘friends’?” 

He tips his head up to the sky and closes his eyes, his brow furrowing like he was entirely frustrated by you, before he looks back down at you again. “If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine, but what’s with you always running away whenever I try to talk to you?”

“I wasn’t feeling well that night,” you mumble to him as you turn away and continue to walk towards the practice field. It was the truth, you weren’t feeling well that night, and it was because seeing him kissing another girl made your stomach drop to the core of the Earth. But that wasn’t something you were going to admit to him. It wasn’t even something you were ready to admit to yourself. “Also, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that I don’t care to believe you.”

“But why don’t you care?” he’s asking you, his voice sounding desperate now as he makes his way to your side again. He’s looking at you but you’re looking straight ahead.

You roll your eyes, continuing to march forwards. “Not everyone cares about your love life, Satoru. Contrary to what you might think.”

He jogs ahead a few steps, now walking backwards in front of you and you narrow your eyes at him. His tongue is poking at the inside of his cheek and then there’s a boyish grin on his face. “Say that again.”

“Say what again?” you ask.

“My name,” he says. 

You almost roll your eyes out of your head when you see his amused expression. “I seriously can’t believe this right now,” you’re muttering under your breath and walk past him down the large hill leading to the practice field, his gaze on you burning through your skin until you’re rubbing at your cheek with the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to physically wipe the blush away.

The practice field was much more crowded and busy than it was during the first practice you went to last week. Looking across to the other side, you see a group of men huddled near one of the benches, all of them wearing maroon-colored shirts with black shorts that have gold stripes running down the side of them. None of them were wearing jerseys, but you assumed they were wearing their school colors as some sort of distinguishing clothing that would help them during the practice match. 

“Satoru! Where the hell have you been?” You flinch upon hearing Coach Yaga’s stern voice nearby and you look over to where he had his arms crossed and glaring at Gojo through his thick sunglasses.

Gojo walks past you towards the benches and gives Coach Yaga a salute. “Sorry, sir, personal business.” He then makes his way over to the rest of his teammates that were huddled on this side of the field. There were a few tables located on the sidelines that had refillable water stations, bottles of Gatorade, towels and all sorts of other athletic gear. You walk up to one of the tables and fix the settings on your film camera before taking a snapshot of the items laid out on it. 

The atmosphere is light since this wasn’t an official match and so you spend some time fidgeting with your camera before they get started. You can only imagine how tense it must be during a proper tournament game at the actual stadium off-campus, the thought of thousands of people spectating from stands sending a shiver down your spine. Athletes were of a whole different breed, despite how wholesome and down-to-earth most of the UTokyo soccer players you’ve met so far were.

Eventually, Coach Yaga and the other coach from the opposing school blow their whistles, both acting as referees for the match, and the players scatter themselves across the field. You notice Gojo is at the center of the circle in the middle, his foot on top of the ball as he scans his eyes across the field to each of the players with a focused look in his eyes. He draws his foot back, and just when you think he’s about to kick it forwards to where he was looking, the back of his heel makes contact with the ball instead and it’s sent swiftly behind him towards Geto. Instantly, all the players begin to move across the field, some of the offensive opposing side charging towards Geto as he shuffles the ball between his feet before kicking it way ahead of him to another one of their teammates. You bring your camera up to your face and take a snapshot when one of the opposing team’s defenders makes an attempt to steal the ball. 

The play continues further, both teams playing a push-and-pull with the ball. Gojo makes an attempt at a goal before the opposing team’s goalie lunges for the ball that was flying in the air straight towards the net, catching it in his arms and then crashing down onto the ground. Somewhere along the intense match, the coaches call half-time and you’re shocked by how fast the first half went by. 

Some of the players retreat to the benches to quench their thirst and wipe the perspiration off their faces with their towels, while others remain on the green expanse to pace around while catching their breath. Your attention is drawn to Gojo who stood at the center with his hands on his hips and breathing visibly heavily. He leisurely shuffles the ball between his feet with an innate rhythm before passing it off towards Geto who stood a few feet away from him. Gojo pulled his headband off of his face, his hair falling over his forehead onto the sheen layer of sweat above his eyes. With each breath, his chest rises and falls, lips parted in a display of exertion, and then he grabs at the hem of his shirt to lift it to his face, exposing his toned torso, as he wipes away the sweat at his temples. Your eyes widen at the sight, almost entranced as a wave of arousal suddenly consumes you, before he releases his grip on the fabric and it falls back down. He pushes his hair back up out of his face with one of his hands, the other securing the headband back onto his forehead with a snap, and the muscles of his arms tense fluidly with every motion. 

You quickly look away from him, afraid he'll catch you staring, and blink at the grass as you notice the fast beating of your heart. Coach Yaga's whistle blows, causing you to look back up again. Players were making their way back onto the field and Gojo found his position at the center again. His eyes darted across the field, making their way onto the faces of each player, and then they eventually landed on you. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly into a small smile before he's looking back down at the ball by his feet. And then they start the kickoff.

UTokyo ends up winning 3-1, and by the end of the match the sun is starting to set, painting the sky beautiful hues of purple and orange. You lean over to pick your things up off the grass as the players make their final retreat to the benches, and you gently place your film camera back into its case when Gojo’s voice next to you makes you jump.

“Hey. Please don’t run off,” he says. When you turned to look at him, he was still breathing a bit fast and he had a flushed, almost serene, look across his face. “Give me your phone.” He extends his open palm out to you. 

“My phone?” You ask him, reaching for where it was located in your back pocket and pulling it out. He nods without any further explanation. You place it in his palm and he’s tapping away at it before handing it back to you. When you look down, you notice he gave a random number a call.

“That’s my number. Save it,” he says. You blink at him. His expression is soft for a moment and then he’s turning around and away from you, heading over to where his teammates were crowded around one of the tables and giving each other pats on the back.

You tip your head to the side to watch him as a couple of his teammates sling their arm around his neck and smack his chest, masculine laughter and jokes filling the air. You can’t help but smile before you pick up your things and start making your way up the hill away from the field, back towards the heart of campus. 

---

The following days of the week where you don’t see Gojo play soccer seems like a waste, because why weren’t you spending every single day of your life watching him play soccer? You sigh to yourself at the question as you use clothing pins to hang up the film photos you took up onto a wall in your school’s photo lab. You finished developing the photos from Monday’s practice match, only to realize that you accidentally took them on one of your black-and-white rolls instead of full-color. You step back to take a look at all the images you had clipped onto the string pinned to the walls, snapping a shot of the collage with your phone, before pulling them all back down and stuffing them into a Manila folder. 

The only time the photo lab wasn’t bustling with other film & photography majors was usually after sunset, but by the time you finished having dinner with one of your friends on campus, you had made it there around 7PM. By the time you leave and make it to your parked car, it’s pitch black outside. As you step inside your car and turn the key to ignite the engine, the windshield wipers automatically swiping as the control lights inside come to life, the clock on your dashboard reads 10:37PM. 

The GPS for some reason prompts you to take an alternative route back to your apartment that avoids the freeway in an attempt to save you from twenty minutes of traffic, and you consider what to do for a moment before the exhaustion in your bones convinces you to take the allegedly faster way home.

As you begin to head in the unfamiliar direction, the excitement you had to make it home as soon as possible slowly starts to dwindle more and more as the streets morph from well-lit and bustling with people to dark and surrounded by trees instead. What used to be a three-lane street turned into one, and you count the seconds between every passing car you see coming by in the opposite direction. You’re worried when your counting makes it past sixty seconds. 

You turn your music up in your car to distract yourself from the fear of driving down the secluded and dark road. There was a slight fog settling up ahead in front of you to where you could only see clearly about thirty feet ahead. You spot something on the road, blinking rapidly to focus your vision, and then your eyes widen when you realize what it was. Rocks.

You’re instantly swerving your car to the side, attempting to deftly avoid the scattered rocks but unfortunately you drive over a few of them, causing your tire to pop and you let out a scream when you lose handle on your car. One of the rocks flies up and hits your windshield, cracking the glass, and suddenly you’re driving up over the curb to the right before you finally regain control of your car and swerve back onto the road, slamming on the brakes.

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your body, and you grip onto the steering wheel while you try to regain your breath. Your windshield had a large crack in it, large enough to where the cold air from outside was whistling its way inside your car, and you were slanted in your seat due to the punctured tire at the front. As you took deep breaths, you noticed how alone you were on a dimly lit street where you hadn’t seen a single car in more than five minutes, fear and anxiety surging through your body. Your hands reach for your phone, shakily turning it on and exhaling in relief when you see that you have reception, then call the emergency telephone line.

“Hello, how can we help you?” a feminine voice on the other end of the line says.

“Hi, um,” you say, voice sounding shaky, “I just got a flat tire on Musashi road, about five miles from the Main Street intersection. I don’t have a spare on me, and my windshield is cracked too…could you send roadside assistance?”

“Yes, absolutely,” the woman says kindly and begins to take down some information from you. “Thank you, ma’am. Unfortunately, there has been a big accident on the freeway, so many of the tow-trucks and officers have been dispatched to that area. It may take about an hour for help to arrive. Are you able to call someone to come stay with you as you wait?”

“Oh…” You press your lips together in thought. “Yes, I should be able to.” After working out a bit more logistics with the woman on the other line, you hang up and then you’re scrolling through your contacts. You first call Mina’s line, which goes straight to voicemail, and then you remember that she was out of town for tonight and half of tomorrow visiting her family. You call Nobara, who also doesn’t pick up, and then a couple of your other friends who go straight to voicemail as well. You start to panic slightly before calling your friend Maki who lives two hours away.

“Hello?” You hear her voice say when she picks up.

“Maki! Oh my gosh, thank you for picking up,” you say to her through the phone, your hand on your chest as you sigh. You explain your situation to her and she’s instantly providing you with soothing words. 

“Is there no one that can come stay with you? I feel awful that I’m so far away,” she says.

“It’s okay, they said that help will be here in maybe fifty minutes now…I just really wanted to talk to someone,” you say, peering out into the darkness of the night. You’re still shocked you haven’t seen a single car drive by in the past ten minutes. You pull your phone from your face to check the time and see a notification on your phone that says 5% battery remaining. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Maki asks worriedly.

“My phone is running out of battery…” you say with a defeated tone. Your anxiety starts to rise in your chest again. “I don’t know if I can stay on the line.” You scroll through your contacts again, finger halting the screen when your eyes land on another name. “I…I think I have someone else I can try calling.”

“Good, try that. I don’t want you to be stuck out there with a dead phone and a flat tire. Let me know if this person doesn’t pick up, okay?” She’s saying to you and you send her your location before hanging up.

You’re breathing heavily from fear when a particularly harsh gust of wind pushes more cold air through the crack of your windshield. Pulling your phone from your face, you click on the name in your contacts and bring your phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, almost a third time before you hear a click and then a voice.

“Y/n?” Gojo’s voice calls out, sounding surprised. 

Hearing his voice immediately causes a wave of relief to wash over you and you lay back in your seat, having to muffle the abrupt sob that threatens to erupt from the tightness in your throat. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Mm…no,” you admit to him, sniffling slightly and swiping at the stray tear that rolls down your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m just a bit scared right now.” Your voice cracks towards the end of your sentence and you silently berate yourself for not mustering enough emotional strength at the moment. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his voice starting to sound uneasy. 

“I was driving down this road, it was dark, I couldn’t really see much…but I ended up driving over these rocks and my tire punctured. I called for roadside assistance and they said it would take about an hour for help to arrive,” you ramble, “I tried calling Mina, and some of my other friends to come and wait with me, but-” You run out of breath to finish your sentence and you’re sniffling again. 

“Send me your location, I’m heading over right now,” he says and you hear what sounds like keys jingling in the background along with some other shuffling noises, “can you stay on the line?”

You pull your phone from your ear and see that you’re at 3% now before sending him your location. “No…my phone is running out of battery.” 

He’s silent for a second on the other end. “It says I’ll be there in twelve minutes. Just…hang tight, okay? Make sure your doors are locked.” 

You nod before remembering that he can’t see you, so you say I will. He’s hesitant to hang up on you but when your phone flashes from 3% to 2%, you tell him you don’t have much of a choice and then he’s giving you another word of caution before reluctantly hanging up. You’re all alone to your thoughts in your car again, shaking from the anxiety and blinking tears away. 

The twelve-minute wait felt so long, and eventually Gojo texts you that he’s one minute away when your phone is at 1% battery. You see headlights approaching behind your car in your rearview mirror, the first sight of another human being you’ve seen in probably the past thirty minutes stepping out of the driver’s seat and you immediately recognize his silhouette. He walks up to the passenger side door and tips his head down so he’s visible through the window. At the sight of him, you finally release the breath you were holding in before opening your car door and stepping outside. You both look at each other across the top of your car and you notice him letting out a deep breath of his own as his shoulders relax at the sight of you. 

He makes his way wordlessly around the front of your car to you and he’s studying your face intently. You look away from him when you realize he could probably tell that your eyes were puffy and that you had been crying. From your periphery, you see the back of his hand reach out when he’s right in front of you, hesitating slightly before it briefly brushes against your cheek, dabbing at a tear that you must’ve missed. His hand is warm against your skin and the sudden desire to hug him consumes every single fiber of your being, but when you look up at him, the soft expression on his face renders you still. 

“Thank you for coming,” you’re whispering to him.

He lets out a short comical exhale through his nose. “I wasn’t going to not come. What kind of person do you think I am?”

You shiver as another gust of wind passes through, crossing your arms across yourself. Gojo slips the jacket he was wearing off, revealing a beige sweater underneath, and then he’s circling around you to place it over your back. It’s cozy and it smells like him.

You’re about to voice your concern for him but his voice behind you cuts you off. “I run warm, don’t worry.” 

He walks around to the front of your car, bending over to the side to assess the flat tire at the front, his hands shoved into his pockets. You pull his jacket around you tighter. “Damn, the tread on your tires is horrendous. No wonder. You should really check on them more often.” He straightens himself up and peers at the crack across your windshield. “And that’s definitely not gonna be cheap to fix.”

You sigh in annoyance, his casual tone causing your eye to twitch slightly, but when you noticed your heart was calm and your breathing was normal again, you looked at him with the realization that him just being here managed to soothe you. 

He looks back over at you with a considerate expression. “Do you want to sit in my car? It’s chilly out here.”

You press your lips together before shaking your head. “I feel like I need the fresh air.”

Gojo’s walking over to the patch of grass on the pavement at the side of the road and sits down on the curb. He pats the spot next to him with an awaiting look on his face and you make your way to him, sitting to his left. He looks down at the distance you’ve put between the two of you, almost three feet, and he’s sighing before scootching closer to you. “Don’t be greedy with your body heat. I said I run warm, not that I’m a furnace.”

His shoulder brushes against yours and his knee bumps against your thigh as he gets comfortable. You bring your legs closer to you and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin on top of your knee. Gojo was leaning back onto his outstretched arms behind him, legs extended in front as he tipped his head back up to look at the sky. You look over at him. His gaze slowly shifts from one point in the sky to the other, and you wonder what he’s mapping with his eyes. 

“Thank you for getting the referee permission for me,” you say, realizing you never thanked him in person. “I’m excited to take photos out on the field next week.”

“Sure thing, my freaky little photographer. I’m sure you are,” he chimes. 

You stick your bottom lip out in an annoyed pout. “So, we’re even now.”

He looks over at you and smiles. His blue eyes were a bit darker underneath the starry sky with less light to reflect off of them, and the quality made them look gentle. “No, you’ve gotta make sure Mina stays interested in Todo.” 

You can tell he’s just joking, but you respond as if he’s serious anyways. “That was never part of the agreement,” you say, “besides, I don’t really think that’s necessary. She seems to be pretty taken with him already.”

He laughs. “And you’re not worried about that?”

“What’s there to worry about?” You ask.

“I don’t know, the fact they hit it off so fast?” He shrugs and you feel the friction of the movement against your shoulder.

“Hmm, no. Mina’s a smart girl, she’s good at sniffing out those red flags,” you say assuredly before lifting a suspicious eyebrow at him, “should I be worried? He's your friend. Enlighten me.”

Gojo shakes his head musingly at your concern. “Todo’s a good guy,” he says in a soft voice.

“He’s not on the soccer team, right? I didn’t see him the past couple of times I was on the field,” you say with realization.

“Nah, he’s just a mad lad I met in my freshman year econ class. We’ve been friends ever since,” he says, swaying his knee from side to side. “He’s the one that got me to join the frat.”

You two are silent for a moment, listening to the noise of the wind through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. The previous anxiety you had from the night completely dissipated into peacefulness instead, and the man beside you was responsible for that shift. 

“Can you tell me what that offer was that you were so excited about earlier this week?” he asks.

You look up to the sky briefly, trying to remember what he was talking about. “Oh. I might be able to publish the photos I take of the game next week to the sports recap in the school newsletter,” you say.

He turns his head to look at you, eyes widened. “Woah, seriously? That’s so cool. Can you make sure I look hot?”

You roll your eyes and go back to resting your chin on your knees. “Sure.” 

A comfortable silence settles before he’s speaking again. “What inspired you to be a film photographer?” He’s turning his body so he’s facing you a bit more directly. 

“Well, the end goal is film movie making…but my professor says that it’s important to understand the art of film photography before that,” you say, twiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “He says that ‘if a filmmaker cannot master the single frame shot, then how can they possibly put together a film composed of a million of them’?” 

Gojo is humming beside you and nodding in agreement. He turns away from you to face forward again and he starts tapping his foot on the pavement of the road. “Huh. That’s kind of similar to something coach says during drills.” 

You glance over at him, a little surprised. He continues to stare forward with a somewhat innocent expression on his face, and then you can practically see the moment another question pops up into his head. 

“Why don’t you make your Instagram public? Your photos would probably get a lot more views or likes that way,” he says in an excited tone, like he’s cracked some code. 

You let out a small laugh and bury your face into your knees, your voice sounding muffled when you speak. “I did have it public for a while. Until a troll spammed a bunch of hate comments on my posts and I quickly switched it to private after that.” Saying it out loud, you felt a bit silly. You’re apprehensive as you say the next few words. “I guess I’m scared that I’m not good enough to be acknowledged or successful, and that somehow other people will see that truth before I can.”

“Oh come on, y/n,” he’s saying beside you, gently nudging your arm with his elbow. The contact causes your breath to catch in your throat. “You just have to go for it. You can’t accomplish anything if you don’t face your fears.” When you watch those words leave his mouth, you notice he now has a thoughtful expression as he stares ahead to the other side of the road.

Another beat of silence goes by. “Why did you start playing soccer?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a long time as he blinks, to the point where you’re unsure if he even heard your question, but then he finally answers. “My dad used to play in college. He introduced me to the sport when I was younger and I fell in love with it.” Your perk up slightly and tip your head to the side in curiosity. He’s looking down at his lap now.

“That’s really wonderful, Satoru. Was he also center forward in college?” When you ask him this, you don’t miss the way his eyebrows pinch together for a split second before his expression relaxes again. 

“Yeah, he was,” he responds, “he got injured in his last year, though. Never got to play after that.” There’s an inflection at the end of his sentence that makes you think he’s about to say more but he doesn’t. 

Your face softens when you see him stare down at the curb with a slightly troubled expression. In a moment of tenacity, you place your hand on his thigh and his eyes widen when he sees the movement before he’s looking over at you.

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to brush a few strands of his hair away from his eyes. Both of you are shocked at the intimate gesture and you’re quick to withdraw your hand. 

Your faces are close, his side still pressed against yours, and neither of you break eye contact. You take a moment to study the handsome features of his face and your heart aches a little. The cold air has you licking your lips and Gojo’s eyes dart to them, gaze lingering, and you blink slowly when he leans forward slightly. Blue eyes find yours again and he stills himself, searching your face for something, and when he doesn’t see it he continues to lean forward and you lean towards him too. And then his lips press against yours, so chaste and so light that it’s possible you could have imagined it, but just when you feel his warm hand cup your face and he’s about to deepen the kiss, a loud honking noise startles the two of you and you both jump, pulling away from one another. You see Gojo’s face illuminated with bright golden lighting as he winces and holds up one of his hands in front of his face to shield himself from being blinded by it. 

You turn your head to the left towards the source of the light and see a tow truck approaching. “Hey! Is this the flat and windshield crack?” you hear the driver shout out from where his head was stuck out the window.

You’re speechless, cheeks feeling flushed from the realization that Gojo had just kissed you, and you turn to look at him. He silently stands up with a weary exhale and a calm expression on his face and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it is.” He makes his way over to the tow truck and you hear him make conversation with the driver as well as the man in the passenger seat. You’re still sitting stunned on the curb, bringing your fingers up to gently touch your lips that were still searing from earlier. Gojo’s suddenly standing in front of you and you’re staring at his legs before you tip your head back up to look at him.

“Do you have any valuables in your car?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of your car.

“Ah…my phone and my tote bag,” you say. He crouches down in front of you, earnest eyes level with yours, and his hand reaches into the pocket of his jacket where you had stashed your keys. He removes only your car key from the ring, handing the set of other keys back to you, and then he’s unlocking your car to get your stuff out of it.

You remain on the curb, watching as Gojo handles the entire interaction with the tow truck helpers. When they’ve successfully anchored your car to the tow truck and one of the men comes around to shake Gojo’s hand, you see him reach into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing the man some cash. You stand up in a bit of a panic and head over. 

The tow truck is already pulling away with your car from the curb when you make it in front of Gojo. He hands you a business card with the towing company information on it and then looks down at you with a mild demeanor, letting out a long exhale. “Ready to go home? You’ve had a long night.”

Exhaustion suddenly consumes your entire being and you hesitantly nod. 

The interior of Gojo’s car is nice. It’s clean, smells like him and pine, with nice leather seats that have warmers. You’re still wearing his jacket, clenching it tightly around you, as he inputs your apartment address into his GPS and starts to drive you home.

Neither of you say a word to one another during the ride. You watch his hand tighten its grip at the top of the steering wheel occasionally as he drives. He turns his car into the entrance of your apartment complex and parks in the loading zone. You watch as he makes his way out of the car to the passenger side door, opening it for you. You step outside and thank him.

“It’s okay, I’ll head inside from here,” you say, already feeling like you’ve caused him enough trouble. You abruptly remember that Mina isn’t home and the realization that you’ll be all alone tonight creates a hollow feeling in your chest.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Come on,” he says, walking past you to make his way to the elevator and pressing the up button. It dings before immediately opening and he walks inside like he’s the one that lives here. He places a hand out to hold the door sensors when he sees that you don’t follow him inside. You jump out of the mild trance you were in and quickly rush in before he withdraws his hand and the elevator door shuts. 

“Which floor?” He asks, finger hovering over the control pad. You tell him three. 

Once you reach the third floor, you step out into the hallway and he follows suit. Your apartment was just seven units down towards the right and the two of you eventually made it to the door. You turn around to look up at him. His expression becomes slightly distressed and when you don’t say anything to him, he shoves his hands further into his pockets and sways back and forth slightly. 

“Alright, mission accomplished, I got you home,” he says with a forced jovial tone, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. You notice he does that when he seems nervous about something.

Your mind recalls the kiss from earlier, the feeling of Gojo’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed up against you in the cold, the tender way his hand held your face still so he could have more of you, only for it to be cut short. Your heart is beating fast in your chest and your cheeks flush with warmth. He’s looking down at you intently and you’re looking up at him pensively. 

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Not yet.

Your hands reach into your tote bag to pull out the keys to your apartment. “Yes, home.” He watches you jingle the metal in your hands. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says and he takes a step back. Turning around, you push your key into the keyhole with shaking hands, turning it, and open the door to your apartment, letting yourself inside. You look at him from the entryway with the door still ajar. 

“Good night, take it easy,” he says to you.

“Thanks, you too.” And then he’s out of your sight as you shut the door.

You lean back against the front door, letting out a sigh and biting down on your lip, the thumping of your heart pertinent throughout your entire body. There was a lingering truth to all of the emotions that you’ve been having recently. It followed you in the early hours of the morning, it followed you as you tried to fall asleep at night, it was present in the silence, lurking in the dark, and it was there with you tonight for every second that he was by your side.

You had feelings for Gojo Satoru. 

a/n. thanks sooo much for reading and i hope you enjoyed aaa idk this week felt off for my writing for some reason but i heavily edited it so i hope it came out okay in the end.

➸ take me to chapter six!

tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru

[harrywavycurly]

Glitch: What Do You Mean?

Masterlist: Here

CW: Jealous Harry, manipulation (thanks Jeff), language, emotional immaturity (you were literally turned on less than three weeks ago so things are new for you), and some dramatic moments that could be called “causing a scene”.

A/N: It’s truly just so fun to write an unhinged Harry so I hope you enjoy and also I don’t think Shawn is anything like this it’s just for funsies. Enjoy the absolute drama that is this chapter.💓

Tag List: @alicivava @cosmicneptune @daphnesutton @valeriiyuhh @drewrry @obsessiveenthusiast @me-undiscovered @psicostyles @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @harryscherries28 @blckburd @harry2121 @cevans-winchester @prettygurl-2009 @maudie-duan @sassamanda77 @triski73 @mema10

Summary: When Harry sees you with someone else you have a hard time understanding why it makes him act the way he does💓

Harry hates going to events that require him to dress up and mingle with people he doesn’t know, it’s one of the major downsides to fame and it’s a giant reason why he’s enjoyed his time off for so long. Because in his mind, the music industry really doesn’t want anything to do with you if you don’t have anything to offer. So keeping out of the studio and having a life away from writing lyrics and chasing the melodies that are stuck in between passing thoughts in his head have done him a massive favor, it’s kept him out of the spotlight and off guest lists for parties such as the one he’s currently in the middle of. But famous or not Harry has always been one to rise to the occasion for important events in order to support the people he holds near and dear to him so of course when he got invited to a charity gala for a cause close to the heart of one of his bestfriends he was quick to RSVP, notably without checking the box for a plus one.

He is on his second leisurely lap around the event space, a massive ballroom of some upscale hotel that he can’t be bothered to remember the name of, when he thinks he sees someone he knows out of the corner of his eye. It’s the skirt of a gown that catches his attention, not being able to see anything else other than a few bright pink and orange flowers embroidered on a sheer white fabric before it disappears in the crowd. But a sense of something begins to stir deep down inside his chest, like he knows there’s only one person in the world that would be wearing a floral gown in a sea of stark black and the occasional red dresses but the odds of it being who he thinks are slim and while the universe may be on his side most of the time and he has been fortunate to be on the receiving end of its luck he knows tonight the luck of the universe has all but abandoned him. Because he gets a feeling that’s similar to a shiver that goes down his spine as he turns around at just the right moment and sees something that makes his blood turn to ice in his veins and his jaw to clench.

You’re standing there in a white floor length gown with a sheer lace overlay that has brightly embroidered flowers all over the skirt leaving the top half mostly white with the delicate lace creating a slightly more modest neckline and while Harry thinks you might actually be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen that’s not what draws his attention. It’s the person that’s standing next to you that earns his narrow eyed glare, the person with a hand on your waist as they stare down at you with a smile Harry knows is a playful smirk that clearly followed something cheekily said based on how your face has a faint blush to it and you bring your hand that’s not gripping the flute of champagne up to your face in an attempt to try and hide your embarrassment.

Normally Harry would just brush off the fact you’re here with someone, not caring at all what brought the two of you together let alone to a random charity event thrown by one of his close friends. Especially since Harry is trying to convince himself he doesn’t know you well enough to be bothered by any of that, considering he’s not sure if you’d even call him a friend at this point. But it’s who you’re with that changes everything for him, making him unable to just move on and go about his evening as if he never saw you because you’re with him.

Shawn fucking Mendes.

The one man he can’t stand for reasons even unknown to him, the man he swears does things just to get a rise out of him, the one person he has to actively hold himself back from smacking the silly little smile off his pretty little face, the man you just so happen to be giggling at as you place your hand on his arm. Honestly, of all the arms for you to be holding onto as you laugh at a joke Harry is sure isn’t even very funny and if it is then it’s one he stole from someone far more entertaining, of course it had to be Shawn’s.

It just further proves the feeling of the universe turning it’s back on Harry as he watches the two of laugh and whisper little things in each other’s ears as if you’ve known one another for years and suddenly Harry begins to wonder if maybe you have and that’s why he hasn’t ever seen you until recently. Because Jeff knows his distaste for the Canadian singer so it makes sense that he’d keep you tucked away in his contact list until he knew your entanglement or whatever it is that’s going on with you and Shawn was done with, but clearly Jeff made a mistake because by the looks of it your relationship with Shawn is anything but over.

If Harry was being honest with himself he’d admit how truly creepy he’s being as he watches you and Shawn from a relatively safe distance, but still close enough to hear your laugh filtering through the sounds of glasses clinking and muffled small talk between the other guests. Somehow the two of you have managed to be in the center of the room, near the bar and Harry finds himself slowly circling you as if you’re the center of his universe and he’s simply keeping himself in the comfort of your orbit. After a few laps that have him stopping for a few pointless conversations about things he has no interest in he gives up on trying to remain out of sight. And when he sees Shawn’s hand slide to your lower back as he helps you maneuver your way through the crowd Harry decides now is as good a time as ever to go a give you and your poor choice of a plus one a proper hello.

He gives a few people polite nods and tight lipped smiles as he makes his way towards you and it’s almost like you could sense he was near, a measly arms length away when you turn around and smile at him. It’s a smile that makes your eyes seem brighter as they get little crinkle in the corners and to top it off you raise your hand and wave at him. It almost knocks Harry off kilter for a moment having not expected such a warm greeting seeing as he’s the one who stormed off the last time he saw you in Jeff’s living room not even two days ago.

“There you are.” Your voice is like a soft melody he wants to put into a song that’s just for him and no one else so he can get lost in it while he listens to it over and over. “I was wondering when you’d come say hello.” Your words have a slight heat rising to Harry’s cheeks as he closes the small gap between the two of you so he’s now standing directly in front of you.

“Yeah Styles we saw you circling us like a shark in the water waiting for his time to strike.” Shawn’s voice makes Harry’s jaw tick as he slowly removes his gaze from yours so he can look at the tall annoying man to your left.

“Don’t flatter yourself Shawn I’d never waste my time on a little guppy like you.”

“You sure? I hear wasting time is all you like to do nowadays.”

“Hear about that while off not touring and just galavanting around in jungles and beaches huh?”

“Just shows how far and wide word travels when it’s about how boring Harry Styles has become.”

“Or it just shows how obsessed you are with me that you even manage to gossip about me while off trying to find yourself.” Harry doesn’t mean to go tit for tat with Shawn but he can’t seem to help himself, it brings a sick kind of joy to Harry knowing he can get a rise out of the normally very docile and charming young man. He ignores the glare the brown eyed boy is giving him as a slow smirk works its way onto his face as he raises an eyebrow at him. “How’s that going by the way? Figure out the meaning of life yet?” What Harry isn’t prepared for is how easily Shawn is able to brush off all the sarcasm that’s dripping from every word that leaves his mouth like rain dripping off the edge of an umbrella, as if it’s no concern to him because right now he has the upper hand seeing as you’re by his side and not Harry’s.

“You know,” Shawn’s arm loosely drapes over your shoulder as he begins to answer the question all while Harry watches, a look of disapproval etched on his face when Shawn looks down at you with one of his annoyingly perfect smiles. “I might have.” It’s the horrible attempt at a subtle wink he shoots you that has Harry seeing red, immediately knowing what the man is trying to imply while it’s clear by the look of slight confusion on your face that you have no clue what’s happening and what this conversation the two men are having is actually about.

“How have you been?” Shawn holds back a laugh as you try to dive into the conversation having no clue about the tension you just cut through making Harry’s attention fall back onto you. “I’m sorry for the other day I-I really didn’t mean-”

“You don’t have to apologize for speaking your mind.” Harry says quickly before you can divulge any details of what the two of you spoke about while in the presence of a man he can’t stand.

“Oh did the two of you have a little disagreement?” You just shake your head as Shawn’s hand rubs the top of your arm as if he’s trying to comfort you but Harry didn’t miss the slight flinch when his thumb makes contact with your skin, letting him know you aren’t exactly comfortable.

“No not a disagreement it-”

“None of your fucking business is what it is.” As soon as the words leave Harry’s mouth he knows Shawn has somehow managed to win this round of whatever game the two of them are playing. Because the harshness of his tone and the loudness of his voice makes you jump ever so slightly letting Shawn swoop in as some sort of protector as he subtly uses the arm that’s still draped over your shoulder to pull you closer into his side.

“Come on love let’s go take a walk and let Harry here get some air so he can maybe calm down a little.” Shawn says while looking down at you with a smile that Harry can see right through, he knows it’s not genuine he knows this is all an act to make him look like he’s the caring one but Harry knows him better than you do so he knows it’s just a ploy to get you to trust him and do what he wants.

“Oh uhm okay.” Your voice is low as you look over at Harry who is staring daggers at Shawn’s hand as he watches as it slowly travels from the top of your arm down to your lower back as he turns you towards an opening in the crowded space that the two of you can escape through.

“Nice seeing you Harry.” It’s not until you’re saying bye to him that Harry realizes just how much of a mess he’s made of this whole thing, how he let someone as unimportant as Shawn get in the way of the reason he even approached you in the first place, to talk to you and apologize for his behavior. But you’re swept away and once again lost in the sea of people before he can even attempt to say anything so he’s left standing there with words left unsaid and an unfamiliar hurt in his chest.

You look back over your shoulder in hopes to catch one last glimpse of Harry but it’s too late, his figure is already hidden by a small group of people heading to the bar to refill their drinks. You feel Shawn put a little more pressure on your lower back as he guides you to a secluded section of the party near the railing of the staircase the two of you had to walk down upon entering the event. When you look over at him he has his eye focused on what’s in front of him you take the time to get a better look at him, trusting that he won’t let you fall or have you bump into someone.

Now you’re well aware that Shawn is an attractive looking man, his jawline is impeccable and his smile makes your tummy flutter but something about him seems off and you can’t quite figure it out. All you know is that while he is nice to look at and is a decent conversationalist, you feel a tiny bit uneasy when he touches you like it feels wrong somehow, as if the hands you’re meant to be feeling on your arm and your cheek when he brushes some hair out of your face aren’t his but someone else’s.

You’re good at hiding your feelings because you don’t want to come across as rude considering he’s the one who invited you as his plus one to this charity event so you don’t want to ruin his night out. Especially since this is your first time meeting him in person having only shared a few phone calls over the last two days when he called to introduce himself to you and told you how Jeff was the one who mentioned your name to him and you trust Jeff, so you agreed to being his plus one and when he made you laugh at a silly joke you felt like maybe spending an evening with him wouldn’t be so bad. But that changed the moment you noticed a very familiar pair of emerald green eyes that seemed to be glued on you as you made your way around the event space, and by the way Shawn’s hand seemed to grip your waist even tighten you could tell you weren’t the only one who noticed the two of you were being watched.

“How do you know Harry?” The question makes your brows pinch together as you try to come up with a response that doesn’t seem too vague because honestly Harry is one of those people much like Jeff that you feel like you’ve just known forever. So you just go with the answer that isn’t a lie but also doesn’t feel like the exact truth.

“Through Jeff.” Shawn just nods as he leans an arm on the railing and looks towards you but you can tell he’s looking through you and scanning the crowd for any signs of the tall British man in question. “We uhm met at a party a couple weeks ago.”

“Must’ve been some party because he’s clearly got a crush on you.”

“Who?”

“You’re cute when you’re clueless.” Shawn says with a light chuckle as you look at him with a confused expression on your face because you really don’t know who he could possibly think has a crush on you. “You really don’t see it? The man is acting like a jealous-”

“Jealous?” You quirk a brow as the word leaves your mouth, having no idea what it really means and why it would be something you could see or a way someone can act. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” You explain making Shawn look at you in a way that makes you feel as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Harry is jealous.” He states plainly making you tilt your head as you try to figure out what that statement really means. “That’s why he’s acting the way he is and being-pardon my language but an asshole.”

“I just don’t think he likes you very much that’s all.” The laugh that leaves Shawn’s mouth as you shrug while giving him your response makes your eyes widen in concern because it’s a laugh that is more mocking than it is joyful.

“You’re not wrong but he also very obviously has a crush on you and that’s why he’s being extra-”

“A crush? On me? No-no way you’ve got it-”

“I don’t blame him.” You look down at your wrist as Shawn’s hand reaches out and gently wraps around it making the uneasy feeling begin to bubble up in your chest. “You’re stunning.” His eyes roam over your face before meeting your eyes.

“Tha-thank you.” You fumble with your words as the grip on your champagne flute tightens. “I uhm think I’m going to go get another drink.” You lift up your nearly empty glass making Shawn just give you a soft smile as he drops his hand from your wrist.

“Do you need me-”

“I’ll be fine thank you though.” Your words are rushed as you take a step away from him and towards the crowded bar area, when he doesn’t argue and just lets you walk away you let out a sigh of relief finally feeling as if you can breathe normally again the more distance you put between the two of you.

“One whiskey. Neat please.” Harry’s voice brings a smile to your face the moment you hear it, a deep and smooth sound that makes your heart do a weird sort of flip in your chest. When he turns to lean against the bar as he waits for his drink your eyes find his and all of a sudden he’s standing up straight and walking towards you as if on autopilot, moving through the crowd until he’s standing right in front of you.

“You forgot-” The rest of your sentence gets caught in your throat when Harry places a hand on the side of your face and before you can even blink has his lips on yours in a kiss that makes your whole body feel relaxed and at ease as if it’s finally figured out exactly whose hands are meant to be the ones touching you.

“I’m sorry.” His words are mumbled against your lips as his other hand comes up to cup the other side of your face. “I’m sorry for how I acted at Jeff’s and how I acted tonight I-I just got-”

“Jealous?” You ask as he pulls away just enough so he can look you in your eyes. The small twitch to the corner of his lips makes you aware that he is fighting back one of his signature smirks that makes a weird fuzzy sensation take over your mind.

“Yes.” He admits as he leans his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me but I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else but-but I especially can’t stand him getting to be the one who’s arm your on and-”

You don’t hear the rest of his explanation, your mind too busy trying to piece together the little bits of information you’ve gotten throughout the night. It’s all a jumbled mess inside your head making you almost feel like your mind is stuck in a fog as you stand there with the warmth of Harry’s hands on your cheeks and his thumbs gently running up and down your cheekbones. You close your eyes briefly and when you open them again the fog in your mind begins to lift and you see everything more clearly and it’s got your heart dropping to the bottom of your stomach.

“I get it now.” You get a stinging feeling in the back of your eyes as you take a small step away from Harry making his hands fall from your face, everything begins to click into place in your mind as you replay the whole night over in your head. And when you let out a watery laugh as you come to the conclusion of why Harry suddenly decided to kiss you, it makes his face contort into one of confusion mixed with hurt as his brows scrunch together.

“You get what?”

“Jealousy. I know what it means now.” Your words have Harry instantly reaching out for you but you’re quick to step away before his soft hands can make contact with your skin. “You-you did that because of Shawn because you’re-you’re jealous-”

“No no-well I mean yes I was jealous but-” You don’t give Harry time to finish explaining himself before you turn and start to walk away from him. You place your champagne flute down on the first table you walk by and when you finally get free of the crowd you place a hand over your chest as you try to take deep even breaths.

The feeling that starts to creep its way up from the deepest part of your being is one you’ve never felt before, it’s all consuming and has you gasping for air as if your lungs are being constricted and your eyes are doing that annoying thing where they just let rivers of tears pour out of them no matter how hard or often you try to blink them away. It’s as if you can feel a piece of your heart actually break and fall off, landing in the lowest part of your chest. The hurt you feel from it nearly brings you to your knees but before you end up on the floor you feel an arm around your middle holding you up.

“Come on.” When you look over you see Jeff giving you a smile, even through the tears you can tell it’s sad like he feels bad for you in this moment and wants to help you. “I have a car out front that will take you home.”

“He kissed me.” You mumble making Jeff just nod as he helps you up the steps. “But-but only because of Shawn.”

“I’m sure that’s not-”

“Please don’t leave.” You and Jeff stop your slow climb up the stairs at the sound of Harry’s voice coming from behind. “Please just let me explain.” Jeff turns to look over his shoulder at his bestfriend and the look of panic and what he would also describe as heartbreak on his face almost makes him want to help him but he doesn’t, he does what he thinks is best and gives your waist a little squeeze before he turns his attention back to the steps in front of him and continues helping you up them.

“Not now Harry.” Is all the man says making Harry stop in his tracks only a few steps behind the two of you.

“Don’t leave please just-”

“Leave me alone.” Your voice is what does it for Harry, it’s what sends him rushing up the stairs until he’s standing in front of you forcing you to look at him.

“No.” The word is followed by a glare sent in Jeff’s direction that has him slowly moving his arm from around you and waking up the rest of the stairs alone, letting Harry have his space. “I’m not going to leave you alone until you let me explain what just happened.” His voice is soft with a slight edge to it that has you avoiding his eyes.

“I know what happened. You kissed me because-”

“I kissed you because I wanted to or or-more like I needed to. It had nothing to do with that prick you came here with.” You bring a hand up to wipe at your face as Harry ducks down until you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening but ever since meeting you I-I can’t think of anything or anyone else besides you and it’s because you-you see me the real me and you see things about me no one else does and I don’t-” He pauses to take let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what to do about you.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t see me again until you do.”

“Please don’t-”

“It was nice seeing you again Harry.” You both know you’re lying and just trying to end this whole ordeal on a slightly positive note. “I have to go now.” You tell him as you fight off a new wave of tears, he lets out a sigh of defeat as he moves over a bit on the stairs to let you walk by him.

“I’m sorry.” You hear him whisper when you walk past him and you just rub your lips together to keep them from trembling as you look up to see Jeff standing there sliding his phone into his back pocket with an unreadable expression on his face but when he sees you he gives you a tight lipped smile as he holds his arm out for you to loop yours through.

“Give him some time to sort his shit out and maybe try to talk to him again.” He advises as he leads you out of the building and towards the sidewalk where his driver is waiting for you in a black SUV. “It’s going to be okay.” You just nod as he gives you a hug before opening the door and helping you climb into the backseat.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Jeff just smile at you before he closes the door, once the car is headed down the street he lets out a frustrated groan as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck why can’t I just get one night where things go the way I need them to? Just one fucking night that’s all I need.” He mumbles to himself as he pulls his phone out and scrolls over to the app that lets him control your personality traits deciding that you need to be a little more forgiving if he has any hope of you wanting to see Harry again.

But then he taps on your intelligence letting him have a wider control of what you do and don’t know and he feels his hand grip his phone almost too tight when he sees your knowledge on jealousy and intimate relationships is practically at zero, letting him know exactly why the evening turned out the way it did. Once he’s done fiddling with you he closes the app and slides his phone into his back pocket. He runs a hand over his face before turning around so he can go back inside and do damage control, seeing as not only did one of the world’s biggest stars just kiss a random girl in front of hundreds of people he also got left standing on a staircase on the verge of tears by the same girl. This makes Jeffery swiftly enter manager mode to make sure the no phones policy was strictly in effect and photos or videos of the incident won’t be leaked online, at least not until he wants them to be.

As Jeff walks back into the event he knows exactly where he’ll find Harry, at the bar drying to drown his sorrows in a glass of whiskey. Luckily Jeff also knows that his bestfriend tends to get more emotional when drunk and the more emotional Harry gets the more likely he is to put his feeling down onto paper and if he can get at least a single line of a possible song then tonight won’t go down as a total bust. So instead of cutting him off, Jeff orders another round when he makes it to the bar and stands next to his friend who is leaning over the top of it with his head in hands.

“If you tell me it’ll be okay I will punch you in the face Jeffery I’m not kidding.”

“Actually I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Yeah? Then what were you going to say?”

“I think you should just move on.” He knows those are the last words Harry wants to hear, it’s the words that will have him taking shots and mumbling things about how beautiful you are as the night goes on and by the end of it he will be drunk dialing Mitch to help him figure out which word he should use that rhymes with your name that doesn’t sound too cheesy.

“Fuck you.” Jeff has to bite back his smile as Harry lifts his head and grabs his glass and downs the rest of his drink on one gulp. “You’re an asshole you know that right?” His voice is harsh as he straightens out his suit jacket and runs a hand through his hair before turning and glaring at his friend. “Tell Shawn I said bye will you? Since I know you’re the one who invited him to this.” Jeff feels the color drain from his face as Harry reaches over and places a hand on one of his shoulders, he doesn’t know how Harry knows but clearly he does and stupidly Jeff opens his mouth to try to deny it.

“I didn’t-”

“Save it for someone who’ll believe it.” He gives Jeff’s shoulder a harsh pat before stepping to the side of him. “I’m going to go fix this bullshit your little stunt caused and if you’re smart you’ll tell Shawn to stay the fuck away from her before it’s more than just insults that I toss at him.”

“Okay.” Is all he can manage to say as Harry makes a show of shoving his shoulder into his chest as he walks by.

“Oh and one more thing.” Jeff turns around to face Harry as he lifts a finger in the air while turning around and pointing it directly at him. “Do something like this again and you’re fired.” The way he says it isn’t threatening, no it’s said like a promise that Jeff knows he will keep so all Jeff does is nod and swallow down his nerves as he watches Harry turn on his heal and walk off towards the stairs.

“This is fine.” Jeff says to himself as he turns to grab his drink off the bar. “I can work with this.” He says with a nod as he tries to calm himself down enough so he can try to think of a plan to get this to work in his favor.

After a few minutes and some hearty sips of his drink later he franticly pulls out his phone and sends a text to the man that he just watched walk away from him, sending him your number and address in hopes it will not only begin to help Harry forgive him for this whole thing but also aid him in the process of finding you and working things out, both things Jeff needs in order to reach the end goal of this whole thing. When his phone buzzes in his hand he looks down and sees it’s a text from Harry, a one word reply that while being simple still has Jeff smiling to himself because maybe just maybe tonight won’t be a total waste.

Thanks

[prettycalla]

|| in ruinas ||

Pairing: Geta/Empress!Reader

Summary: You interrupt Geta's plans for you, but he's rather good at improvising.

Tags and warnings: Smut (not overly explicit, but it's still very obvious what's going on), exhibitionism, Geta is even more of a nuisance, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

Word count: 1.4k (approx.)

(My Emperor playlists are entirely at fault for me writing this. I guess this is set in the same world as my last fic? I've proofread it like three times, but I'm tired, so hopefully it reads okay!)

Masterlist

“We do not have time, beloved,” you had said as your husband had sleepily tried to pull you back into his arms.

This morning had been the first in a while that the two of you had been able to enjoy each other's presence for more than a brief moment, and Geta had clearly intended to make the most of it.

“You would deny me,” he replied, his voice still thick with sleep.

“The games begin today,” you told him, slipping yourself free from his grasp, though not without some measure of difficulty. “Are you not excited?”

Geta dragged himself upright, rubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to rouse himself.

“I am,” he replied groggily, “Though it is for another reason entirely.”

A laugh escaped you at his words. How sweet in his depravity he is.

It was then that Caracalla had all but burst into the room, brimming with excitement about the games, and no more was said about it.

You are certainly regretting your actions now.

He had been on his best behaviour throughout the entire day - exchanging pleasantries with the guests, bickering no more than usual with his brother, and as always, he had had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand when the Master of Ceremonies had announced the arrival of the Imperial party.

His little plan this morning had been forgotten about. Or so you had thought.

As is your custom, you sit close to him in his ornate throne in the Emperor’s box. There had been talk of crafting a chair of your own, but Geta had quickly dismissed it. He likes having you close like this, and you certainly do not mind. There is enough room for the pair of you to sit comfortably - not that Geta ever keeps his distance for very long.

As if on cue, his arm winds around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You briefly lean your head on his shoulder affectionately before casting your gaze to the arena below. While you were never particularly fond of the bloodshed of the gladiator games, you understand how important they are to the people of Rome, and while he may not necessarily agree with your stance, Geta has become a little more merciful to the fighters since your union as husband and wife.

Your attention is soon drawn elsewhere, however, as your husband’s hand begins to wander from your waist. Innocently at first, along your hip, down your thigh, your knee, where he begins slowly inching the fabric of your stola up.

“Husband,” you chide, lightly swatting at his hand.

He stops, if only for a moment, before continuing what he has started. His hand slides under the fabric, fingertips grazing against the bare skin of your thighs.

“Geta,” you hiss in exasperation, your eyes wide as you turn to look at him.

Geta, however, seems entirely focused on the arena below, even as his hand continues to make its ascent.

You try to slap his hand again, harder this time, but he is persistent and you are weak to his touch.

His hand proceeds further, further, until-

You let out a shrill yelp. Fortunately for you, one of the gladiators lands an impressive blow upon the other at that very moment, and the crowd erupts in a thunderous roar, drowning out the embarrassing sound that has slipped free from your mouth.

You glare at your husband. He is grinning. To the unknowing eye, he is the very image of a man enjoying the excitement of the Colosseum. But you know better.

His hand moves again, tracing precise little patterns against you, and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to escape you. Even with his attention distracted, he still knows how to play you like a lyre.

You hazard a brief glance to your right, praying to the Gods that you do not have an audience. Fortunately for you, Caracalla is entirely enraptured by the battle playing out below, not letting his gaze wander elsewhere for even a second. For that, at least, you are grateful.

You turn your attention back to your beastly husband as you attempt to arrange the skirts of your stola to hide what he is doing if someone were to happen a glance in your direction.

“Geta, you cannot do this. Not here,” you plead, attempting to reason with him.

At that, he stops. You breath a small sigh of relief, until you realise that his hand has not moved from you. He leans in close to you, breath tickling your ear.

“You will continue what I have started,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him.

Just as you thought the situation cannot possibly worsen for you.

“What?” you gasp.

“You heard me.”

He looks at you then, gaze unwavering as he takes your hand and places it over his. His pupils are blown wide, and you are at least relieved to know that he is not as unaffected as he has been acting.

“Show me," he says, demanding.

You tilt your head, looking down the length of your nose at him in an attempt to gain even a little leverage.

“I have had enough of this,” you tell him sternly.

Geta laughs at that, soft and low, the sound sending a shiver through you.

“Have you now?” he asks, his tone mocking.

“Yes. I have,” you insist, though you have made no attempt to remove his hand from where it lies hidden.

“Tell me to stop,” he commands.

He watches you closely, like a lion circling its prey.

“Tell me to stop," he says again, "and mean it."

You open your mouth to speak, but words have failed you.

“As I thought,” he murmurs. "You are enjoying this."

He grips your hand then, not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to send another little shiver through you.

"Do not keep me waiting, wife."

The little whine that escapes you is entirely involuntary, and you would continue to believe so until your very last breath. Geta is no stranger to leaving you at a loss for words, but now... It is as if something has awoken in him. Something untamed, feral.

You do not dislike it.

Daring to let your eyes fall closed, you continue where Geta had keep you waiting, guiding his fingers against you again, his movements drawing little waves of pleasure from you that gradually become more and more intense with each passing moment.

“What would happen if they knew, I wonder?” Geta asks, his voice pulling you from the heady fog you had fallen into.

You open your eyes to look at him. He nods towards the crowd, their attention captivated by the violence below.

“How would they feel if they knew what their Empress was letting me do to her?" he asks. "That she was enjoying it so."

The smile on his face is downright devilish, and you wish you had the capacity to scold him as he so deserves, but those little waves are quickly becoming a tidal wave, ready to crash down and sweep you away at any moment.

“Geta, I-“

The rest of your words become caught in your throat in your desperation. He knows.

“Sing for me, little songbird,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping passed yours and pressing against you just so-

You tightly clap your free hand over your mouth as he brings you to release, pulling you over the edge again and again. Only when you are squirming and overwhelmed does he finally, mercifully, stop.

A wave of dizziness threatens to overcome you as Geta removes his hand from beneath your stola. He keeps his gaze focused on you as he brings his hand to his mouth, running his tongue over his fingers.

Before you can say anything, your attention is drawn elsewhere.

"Brother!" Caracalla is calling. "They await our decision."

Decision?

Geta smiles at you, then, with such boyish innocence that you think no one would dare believe what he has just done to you.

“Will the Emperors show mercy?” the Master of Ceremonies theatrically cries to the eagerly waiting crowd.

Geta rises to his feet, then, waving grandly as he takes his position next to his brother to rapturous applause.

As the rest of the Colosseum leans forward with rapt attention to hear what the Emperors will decide, you quickly find yourself slumped in exhaustion.

Your husband will most certainly be the death of you. And what a glorious death it will be.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)