#25 Days Until Concert | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

totallynotslothhh · 2 months ago

Text

HOLD ME TIGHT PT.3

pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

word count: 4,562

warning: lot of angst, smut, sex in the shower, smoking, alcohol, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.

description: After days of inner torment for y/n, she finally find a way to meet Joost. Will their relationship be mended or be permanently destroyed?

author’s note: I don’t know how to describe the way I’m feeling, staying up until six in the morning doesn’t do me any good, not at all, but it’s such a sweet addiction. I modeled the main character as a whiner but we like it that way so it's okay

Honestly, I was really torn about whether to end this fanfiction badly or good, IDK, read it and let me know what you think. It makes me happy to read your tears and your thoughts.

I’m starting to work on some of the requests you’ve sent me, and don’t worry, they’ll be published soon.

That said, I leave you to your despair.

big kisses!

(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)

part.1 part.2 part.3

——————————————————————

The plaster on my ceiling was particularly interesting at 3:25 in the morning.

The heartbeat in my chest echoed through my ears and every inch of my body. I could feel the softness of the pajamas I was wearing and the discomfort of the mattress beneath me, which felt like stone against my back. My eyes were tired, but they couldn’t truly rest, kept busy by a mind racing, fueled by the caffeine I had consumed throughout the day.

I glanced at the space beside me in bed, seeing it empty, cold, the sheets crumpled from my restless tossing and turning.

I turned again onto my side, one hand tucked beneath my cheek and the other slowly stroking the empty spot where, up until two weeks ago, Joost’s body used to rest, sleeping, relaxed, stripped of all thoughts.

The premature nostalgia that flowed through my veins had settled over me like a cloak, always there, every moment of my life.

-This is your fault.-

It was my fault.

It all happened at the wrong time.

We didn’t even argue, we didn’t have a real confrontation. That night after the concert, he simply took me home and said nothing the entire drive.

The silence weighed heavier than any insult would have.

It stabbed me straight through the heart. The exact moment I felt the world collapse on me was when he let go of my face, stared at me for a few seconds, then simply nodded.

That moment: when I saw the deep disappointment in his eyes, a disappointment I had caused, I knew I had broken any chance of letting the feelings between us grow.

He didn’t say a word, but I could read it on his face: the regret, maybe even the shame of having kissed me, of having tried to show me he wanted something more. I understood what he felt, and because of that, I didn’t try to justify myself.

I didn’t start a conversation, didn’t try to touch him, didn’t argue. I let his hands fall away from my face.

And just like that, our relationship ended that night with a goodbye and the thick silence we shared.

I scoffed softly, biting my bottom lip, breath caught in my lungs as chills ran down my spine.

I missed Joost so painfully much.

I missed having him in my life, missed him being a safe place to fall, a warm space to hold onto, someone to share empty days with.

I missed being the girl he would run to, the girl he cared about, the girl he’d let help him through hard times.

I liked that he liked me.

I liked having his hands on me.

I liked kissing him, touching him, making him feel that someone was there for him.

I liked being his.

I liked that he was mine.

-Then why did you make it so complicated?-

-Then why did you slip from his grasp?-

-Then why did you run back to your ex at the first chance you got?-

I closed my eyes, gripping the bedsheet, curling into myself, trying to relax enough to fall asleep.

Sleep never came, not after ten minutes, not after two hours of my thoughts blurring together into tangled black smoke, overlapping and chaotic.

I wasn’t expecting attention from anyone. No good morning texts, no “how are you?”, no calls.

Not even from my ex, though we had exchanged a few messages since that encounter.

He wanted to meet again, and even though part of me didn’t want to, the other part felt so insecure it believed I wouldn’t find anyone better than him, that maybe he genuinely did regret how he had treated me.

I didn’t truly trust him, I was forcing myself to.

I had already lost Joost.

I had already lost the one thing that made me feel above the mess I was used to.

I had already lost my anchor.

I opened my eyes again, looked at the clock, and sighed deeply at what it showed: 5:00 AM.

-You need to wake up, you’re twenty years old and thinking like a fifteen-year old.-

I stared at the closed window and finally decided to get up and take a shower.

Maybe it would clear my head a bit, maybe it would bring on the sleep I desperately needed.

Or at least, that’s what I hoped. What I believed.

But by then, I had entered a loop that would be hard to break, unless I let time pass.

Time, vast waterfalls of it. Flowing rivers of minutes, seconds, hours, thick and out of sync with the world around me.

Time that moved slowly, quickly, chaotically.

Time with a soft, almost invisible ticking, and then loud, fast, powerfully real, like the stream of hot water I had just turned on, hitting the cold, damp floor and slowly warming it.

I looked at myself in the mirror and in the dim light, I focused on the details I never normally noticed in my reflection: pale skin, trembling hands from nicotine and caffeine and all my bad habits, messy hair and dry lips, sadness in my eyes and shallow breath.

My fragile frame drenched in thoughts.

-Do you really think someone could love you?-

Why were these thoughts coming back?

Why were tears so quick to pool in my eyes?

Why didn’t I feel like myself anymore?

I had to self-sabotage, like always.

I had to find a way to ruin everything, like always.

I ran my tongue over my lips and decided to ignore, once again, the frayed wires in my head. I finished undressing and stepped into the shower, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure at the feel of the scalding water on my skin.

A sigh of pleasure that, the last time, had been caused by Joost, in that very same shower.

“Do you always take your showers this hot?” His warm whisper filled my ear, making me giggle from the tickling sensation his hands created on my waist.

“It’s not that hot” I protested, pressing my wet back against his chest, closing my eyes and savoring the water cascading over my body, deliberately leaning my face into the stream.

“Yes, it is” he argued, pulling me closer, his hands moving curiously along my waist, one sliding up to cup my breast, the other gliding down to my thigh.

I smiled, tilting my head against his shoulder, and soon felt his face nuzzled into the crook of my neck, planting soft kisses.

“Mhhh… do you have to leave right after the shower?” I whispered, the only background sound being the steady trickle of the water. I tangled one hand into his wet hair, and he nearly moaned at the grip.

“I’ve got to go to the studio, come with me” he said almost pleading, gently fondling my breast and trailing his other hand back to my warm waist.

“I can’t, dummy, I have work” I muttered, stifling a moan, biting my lower lip and gently scratching his scalp.

“Come on, come with me” he whispered, brushing his lips along my cheek as he pinched my hardened nipple, making me let out a soft, closed-eyed moan. I arched my back, letting my hand travel to his neck, feeling his hips push against my backside.

“I can’t, Joost…” I murmured, now both his hands were on my breasts, caressing and kneading my excited nipples. The need to feel like his again gave me a strange kind of peace.

“You’re so boring” he chuckled, nibbling on my earlobe, licking it and kissing it. I had time to stop him, to turn in his embrace and press my chest against his, arms around his shoulders. I locked eyes with him and giggled, kissing his lips and feeling him breathe against me.

My hands roamed: one resting on his cheek, the other tangled in his hair, pulling him under the shower, letting him soak, crouching just enough to make up for our height difference. He gave my breast one last squeeze before holding my hips, responding to the heated, wet kiss I had started with slow, sweet strokes of his tongue against mine. I pulled back after a few seconds, trailing small kisses, making him laugh low in his chest.

“How do you fuck someone this boring?” I teased, standing on my toes, pressing my needy body against his, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

He grabbed the backs of my thighs, lifting me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist.

“I’ll keep fucking you, because you’re the most beautiful, intelligent, and sexy boring girl ever” he murmured into my face, pressing my back against the cold, damp shower wall. The sudden contact made me arch with a shiver, goosebumps all over.

“Don’t ever leave me…” I whispered, touching my forehead to his, kissing his lips again, moving my hips slowly against his and feeling his half-hard length against me.

“I’m not going anywhere” he said in the middle of the kiss, grinding into me gently, holding me firmly in his arms.

“Promise me” I whispered, breathless, letting our breaths blend. I pulled back just enough to hold his face, locking our gazes. I looked at him, his wet hair flat against his head, his still-sleepy eyes, parted lips curled into a soft smile, the pink tip of his nose, his heavy and hungry breaths.

“Promise.” he murmured with a smile, brushing his lips softly against mine, savoring them inch by inch, hands gripping my thighs as he moved his hips. I felt his length rub against my entrance, stimulating my bare clit and pulling a moan from deep inside my chest. My fingers dug into his shoulders.

“Is it okay if we do it here?” he asked in a rough voice, breaking the kiss to start worshiping my breasts. He bent to my right one, taking the nipple into his mouth and, without giving me a second to process, started sucking slowly, occasionally leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” I panted, throwing my head back, melting into the now-warm marble wall, letting go in his protective arms.

“We don’t have a condom. You sure, baby?” he checked, halting both his thrusts and his mouth, lifting his gaze to meet mine, needing to be sure.

I smiled at him, tugging his blond locks with greedy hands.

“It’s okay. Just pull out” I said, licking my lips, smiling at the immediate nod he gave, like a puppy.

I still had my legs around his waist, his hands all over me. I felt his bare length against my core before he slowly pushed inside, his moans of pleasure echoing right into my ear.

The moans I let out after were heightened by the bathroom’s acoustics, his face buried in my shoulder.

Feeling him so deep, then moving slow at first, then more erratic, more intense, more forceful, made my shoulders tense.

I shut my eyes, curled my toes, and rolled my hips into his as much as space allowed, moving with him.

But it wasn’t just the act itself that made me feel that way.

It wasn’t the simple, mechanical rhythm of our hips meeting.

It wasn’t just sex.

It was everything.

Everything that made the pleasure so deep.

Our hearts beating at the same pace; my sensitive breasts rubbing against his chest; his tense muscles; his whispers dissolving into the steam; his moans; his hands; his scent; the promise he had just made… the thought that it was Joost making love to me, that he cared this much, that we could kiss like this…

I was falling, deeply, into someone. So fast, so soon.

Then it was all gone.

Now I was alone in the shower, the water pouring over me, my forehead resting on the cold marble, lips parted not in moans, but in the struggle for breath, for humid air and any oxygen I could catch to keep my breathing steady.

I washed myself alone, holding the sponge tightly in my hand.

Joost wasn’t here to make me laugh, to kiss every inch of my body before soaping it up, always trying to keep his eyes on mine.

“Stop it, idiot” I’d mumble, laughing, feeling him kiss my stomach all over, then dragging the sponge over it with delicate-scented body wash.

“Idiot? I’m worshipping you and you call me an idiot?” he’d exaggerate, pulling away to look at me from below. I’d smile, stupidly, running my hands through his freshly washed hair, washed by me, and pulling him up to get a kiss.

A kiss that wouldn’t come now, that had no place under this hot water that had taken his systematic role.

I wouldn’t be held right before he pushed me into orgasm, whispering: “Fuck, you drive me insane, you make me so weak.”

I wouldn’t cum on his length. He wouldn’t hold the rhythm just to help me ride that orgasm. I wouldn’t feel his release warm on my belly. I wouldn’t have my vision blocked by his head and his lips kissing me after, hungrily, devouring me.

I wouldn’t feel that good.

It wasn’t just sex. And I saw that clearly now, six in the morning, under the shower and lost in memories of that morning nearly three weeks ago.

“But out of all possible futures, fate chose the one where we’re apart;

And we were impossible, and couldn’t make up our minds;

And even if I’ve shut the door, I’ve learned to live with it;

I still feel the draft from invisible windows:

From all the futures I could’ve had with you.”

“I told you I don’t feel like it, why do you have to insist?” I snapped, whining, leaning back against my kitchen counter, putting on a bothered expression and arms crossed tightly over my chest.

“Please, y/n! You can’t stay in here all day. It’ll do you good to get out, and come on, you’ll be with me, what could go wrong?” said one of my closest friends, the kind who had known me since I was little and knew exactly how to handle me, how to convince me or comfort me.

“I don’t feel like it. I said no” I answered firmly, shaking my head, holding her gaze and when I saw her face turn serious, I already knew where this was going.

“You’re letting a situation with your ex ruin you, can’t you see that? He made you push that nice guy away, he’s pushing you away from your friends, from everything you loved doing before he left. Is it really worth it, y/n? What are you punishing yourself for? For being naive and falling for it? Okay, it happens. You messed up, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer forever as penance” she said in that calm but firm tone that made my heart ache. Because I already knew all those things. I knew that’s why I was acting like this because deep down I knew I had messed up, even though that mistake still carried a big question mark.

Joost had come into my life at the wrong time, a time too fragile for my soul.

A time that had left his soul aching.

I sighed, hiding my face in my hands, thinking: if I saw him again that night, it would be a dreamy nightmare, a gust of air too fresh, an embrace too tight to let me breathe. And in fact, the oxygen stopped flowing to the aching branches of my lungs, my eyes dried out, my hands trembled and my feet suddenly became sensitive to the not-too-high heels I’d put on to match my outfit.

I parted my lips, dark purple from lipstick, and the alcohol that had been in my system for at least an hour amplified everything.

He was there, on the balcony of that house, smoking with a girl beside him who had just made him laugh with some joke. Tears welled up, and just as I was about to leave, to run away again, to go back into hiding, disappointed, angry, frustrated, my heart collapsed in a pit full of tar.

He met my gaze across the distance.

Our two worlds, so painfully far apart and yet frighteningly close, had collided.

The pressure in my chest tightened, my fingers clenched the fabric of my long skirt, my brows furrowed in a pained expression. I knew my face didn’t reflect his: I stood still, unmoving, with a melancholic stare that screamed nothing but hurt and anger.

-So it’s a habit of his to flirt with girls like that, huh?-

His expression didn’t soften when he saw me, but it didn’t harden either. Just a few seconds of eye contact, but enough to throw my mind into chaos, and maybe his, too.

The alcohol in my body was starting to burn my stomach.

-Is it the alcohol, or is it him?-

I was the first to look away, turning and biting my lower lip to stop myself from breaking down. I couldn’t let him see me like that.

Him.

The one who, up until two weeks ago, was my entire world.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my skirt, grabbing the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with trembling fingers and walking toward the entrance door, escaping as fast as I could. The music from inside still faintly echoed outside, a cruel soundtrack to the chaos and hurt inside me, wounds inflicted by my own thoughts and feelings.

I sat on the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees. After a bitter drag of my cigarette, I buried my face in my arms.

My nose began to sting, tears started falling, not just carrying that salty trace of emotion, but also the black mascara that I wiped off my cheeks with the back of a shaking hand.

I sobbed and let it all out:

Seeing Joost.

Being at that party.

Not feeling sober.

Feeling like I couldn’t do anything to draw his attention back to me.

Feeling trapped in a volcano of emotion.

Feeling like I could never be that girl beside him again.

I opened my tear-filled eyes, stifling a sob, inhaling the awful air from the cigarette. I’d decided I’d leave as soon as it was finished. I’d come to this party with my friend, but I’d walk home alone, I didn’t care to stay even a second longer. For what? To drink more until I felt sick? To try not to think of Joost? No way. I had to go.

-You’re running away from your responsibilities again-

Those responsibilities slapped me in the face and sat right beside me just after I put out the cigarette. They had come looking for me, chasing me down a second time.

I lifted my head and curled into myself even more when I saw him. I leaned my cheek against my knees, completely tuning out the sound of my heart threatening to collapse.

My eyes still ringed with messy black makeup, his figure now fully visible:

Black jeans.

His signature boots.

A white t-shirt covered in scribbles.

Black hat tilted to the side, with blonde strands sticking out messily from under it.

A thick black jacket, heavy enough for the October cold.

He sat right next to me.

Only a centimeter between us.

He mirrored my posture: knees to chest, head against the wall, lips pressed tight.

The silence between us was destined to last just a few seconds, just long enough to look at each other and exchange a glance that said everything and nothing all at once.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay out here any longer” The warmth in his voice made me shiver. I felt at home again, in a warm, safe place. I looked away, curling deeper into myself.

“I’m leaving soon anyway” I whispered so softly I surprised myself that he heard it. I rested my cheek back on my knee and looked at him again. He let out a light chuckle, shaking his head, and leaned off the wall just enough to shrug off his jacket.

I watched silently as he draped it over my shoulders, covering my back completely.

“You’re leaving because you don’t want to talk to me” he said, more as a fact than a question. He adjusted the collar gently, waiting for me to hold onto the fabric, to pull it tighter around myself, to cling to his warmth and scent.

“You’ve got good company already” I mumbled, eyes fixed to the ground, curling into the jacket like a cocoon, only daring to look up when I heard him laugh.

“Why are you laughing? Is it not true?” I raised my eyebrows, a flicker of irritation growing inside me, adding to the weight I’d hoped to shed.

“So you still care” he said, leaning back fully against the wall and locking his eyes on mine, trying to read me like he always used to.

A new realization hit me. Of course I still cared.

How could I not?

Despite everything, he had come to talk to me. To find me. To chase me, like a child trying to catch a runaway butterfly.

“Yes…” I let the word slip through my lips like a fragile truth, finally shedding a weight but feeling like I was standing at a crossroads. He glanced down at his hands folded over his knees, a faint smile tugging at his lips, revealing his dimples.

“Then why did you run away like that? Why didn’t you explain anything, let the silence ruin it all?” he asked directly, and I hid my face again, feeling exposed, vulnerable, even though a part of me was relieved to finally face this mess of an issue.

-Don’t run away again-

-Don’t ruin it this time. Maybe there’s still hope.-

“I’m sorry” I started, barely audible. My heart was pounding again, my breath short, and the shivers returned to my skin.

“I didn’t want it to end like that… That day meant something, and I ruined it. I didn’t want to make you feel humiliated… I just needed time.” The words flowed out of me in a near-whisper, my face still hidden. I felt his gaze on me, his presence beside me, his warmth outside and inside me beginning to soothe everything again.

“Time I ended up not even needing… I- Joost, I miss you.” I lifted my head and met his gaze, his eyes already fixed on me, like I’d guessed.

Silence followed, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. Then his cold hand found mine, gently squeezing it, his thumb brushing over the back.

“We’re two complicated people, huh?” The irony in his voice softened the atmosphere, making me chuckle quietly. He smiled, too.

“I miss you, too… And I owe you an apology, for not being understanding, for not talking to you that night… for not giving you enough time.” He spoke while pulling me closer through our joined hands. I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes, letting his voice wrap around me.

“I knew you were just out of a long relationship. I should’ve expected it. I didn’t choose to fall for you so hard” he finished, bringing my hand to his lips and planting soft kisses on my skin, kisses that tasted like home.

I realized then that all I ever needed was him, his touch, his spontaneous words, his hugs, his kisses.

I realized I needed his love.

A love I wasn’t used to receiving like that, and one that had probably scared me at first.

“Joost…” I murmured, lifting my face toward his, and in his expression, I saw softness. Despite everything, he could still look at me that way.

“I love you, and I knew it far too soon for the situation we were in” he cut in gently, eyes drifting between my eyes and lips.

That sentence was exactly what I’d said earlier, a hug too tight to let me breathe. My breath caught in my throat, tears filled my eyes again, and a bittersweet smile curled on my lips in front of him.

He loved me. He still wanted me.

-Take this path. Open your heart again. Live these moments.-

“You have no idea how long I waited for you to be single” he said, smiling, “At every party or event, I’d see you from afar and think only about how much I wanted to hold you, touch you, kiss you. I won’t lie… when I heard you broke up, I was pretty happy.” His words made me laugh and cry all at once. A single tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away quickly with my free hand.

“You don’t know how long I wanted you. That night, after my performance, all I wanted was to show you how much I loved you.” He kept talking but I didn’t let him finish.

I leaned in, cupping his face and pulling him into a soft, sweet kiss; one that held all the words I couldn’t say out loud.

It held all the love I had for him, for that pure soul I was so afraid I had broken. He shivered under my touch and kissed me back, our tongues meeting after just a second of realization, this was a kiss we’d both been waiting for.

I felt his nose brushing mine, his scratchy stubble tickling me, his full lips confirming what I’d finally understood: he was mine.

“I love you too” I whispered, and his full smile lit up his whole face. He leaned in again, kissing me harder this time, hands finding my waist, pulling me against him.

Maybe the setting wasn’t perfect.

Maybe the cold had taken over his bare arms while he kept me warm.

Maybe everything had been wrong.

Or maybe, maybe it was finally right.

The words, the feelings, the touch.

Everything fell into place, my heart finally wrapped in bandages after all that pain.

The moments that followed were poetry for our souls.

We decided to go home, but the passion didn’t turn into sex, it didn’t become something to be consumed. We lay in bed, the empty, cold side now belonging to Joost again, the only one who belonged there.

His arms wrapped around my waist, his head buried against my chest, his eyes closed, and my hands tangled in his hair.

Just like the first time.

Same position.

Same closeness.

But with new awareness, new feelings, and a peace that filled us from within.

“I promised you” he mumbled sleepily against my skin, hugging me gently and slipping his hands under my pajama shirt to caress me.

“Mh?” I whispered, confused, glancing at his half-asleep face.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you” he repeated, a sleepy pout forming after he lifted his gaze to mine.

I smiled, completely taken by the love I felt. I kissed his lips, then placed gentle kisses all over his face.

“I love you” I whispered against his forehead, leaving my last kisses there.

“I love you” he replied a few seconds later, looking at me with small, sleepy eyes, maybe his vision was blurry, but that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was feeling each other, body to body, speaking softly, and knowing our hearts belonged to one another.

#joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost fanfic #joost klein smut #joost klein x y/n #joost klein fluff #joost klein x you #joost klein angst #joost klein fanfic #joost klein rpf #fanficz

140 notes · View notes

oatmealwrites · 6 months ago

Text

NSFW Holiday Hoes: [Frat JJK AU] Megumi x Reader

Holiday Traditions!

Vet Student! Frat Member! Megumi x F!Reader

Megumi's always been called the total scrooge of Christmas despite never having a stable family to celebrate the holidays with. Though this year he's hoping to make some good memories with you... even if you do drag him to go ice skating despite his protests.

note: reader and Megumi ARE IN COLLEGE. I will NOT write ANY nsfw jjk fics w the students unless they are aged up to their 20s.

Tags: porn with plot, friends to lovers, down bad Megumi, Yuji and Nobara cockblock, sweet toothache fluff at first, mentions of arousal & masturbation, megumi calls reader 'angel', oral [f receiving], female anatomy, p in v, protection used!, condom, missionary, legs on shoulders, aftercare, established relationship at end, MDNI, 18+

Holiday Hoes Masterlist

regular masterlist

not totally proofread

Word count: 9.9k (im cooking again, maybe)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fluff of a certain white-haired dog sticks to your shirt as you read out the answers from the mock exam back to Yuji and Nobara who look more sullen with each question you reveal. Snacks and soft drinks litter the kitchen of the apartment and both of Megumi’s dogs circle the table like sharks waiting for stray scraps.

Yuji places a firm ‘X’ on the last answer and throws his hands up in exasperation, “This is insane! Surely you’re reading the answer key wrong!”

You look down at the paper before turning to the man on your right, handing Megumi the mock exam answer sheet and now carefully peeling tufts of fur from your shirt. Nobara compares her sheet with Yuji, silently cursing as she notices their tied score for 4/25.

“Nope, she did it right,” Megumi places the sheet of paper across from his two friends, “You two just failed. Again.”

A pity giggle escapes your lips and Megumi looks over in your direction, the ghost of a blush on his cheeks before he returns a solemn face to the pair.

“Argh! This is impossible.”

“Really! The prof has to curve it!” “No one in the class is doing well either.”

“I heard people will file complaints for his lack of teaching.”

Nobara and Yuji go back and forth spouting excuses for their poor scores, blaming everything and everyone but themselves for a lack of preparation.

“Enough,” Megumi pushes back from the table and scratches the head of the large black dog at his feet before collecting the stray cans that had accumulated, “If you two fail this exam you’re going to be sitting for retakes.”

The air is deflated from the two, and they immediately sink onto the table in worry and self-pity while you watch Megumi step on the pedal of the recycling bin and dump the aluminum inside. His hair is still messy from bed and his clothes are loungewear of university sweatpants and an oversized band sweatshirt from a concert Yuji and Nobara had dragged him to last semester.

“Ah it won’t be so bad! How many days do you have until the final?” You stand up and collect empty wrappers, silently passing them to Megumi in an effort to assist in the clean up.

Nobara taps her finger to her chin, “Hmmm I think it mentioned it in the syllabus ... .Friday maybe?”

You stop short, “Three days!? And you just now began studying?”

Megumi sighs and watches Yuji sheepishly play with the white dog’s fur, hiding behind the clouds of hair that fly up from the action, “I’m not surprised.”

You wince and lift the answer key back up again, “Well I’m not much help considering our different majors, but I’ll keep reviewing the concepts with you until you have a better understanding.”

Yuji and Nobara shoot up and raise their hands in gratitude.

“Thank you!”

“So kind!!”

“I’ll do any favor you want.”

“Just say the words-”

“–Hey,” Megumi points to the answer sheet with one long finger, his eyes narrowing at both of them, “Don’t take advantage of Y/N’s kindness. She’s willing to help you out but that doesn’t mean you can slack off the entire day and not take this seriously.”

“I am taking this seriously!” Yuji shoots back, his eyes wide with passion and determination, “The resit exam is the same evening as the holiday frat function!”

“We can’t miss it!”

Megumi nearly deflates from the response and resorts to picking up the TV remote and flipping through the channels in the connected living room, uninterested in any other argument that they have to offer. You turn back to Yuji and Nobara who are actively planning their evening plan for the function, the exam completely forgotten.

“Do you guys have a party for everything?”

Yuji snaps back and grins wide, “Yea isn’t it great? I heard Nanamin is making cookies for this one!”

Nobara ‘oooos’ and begins recalling the best cookies her childhood friend had brought her from a trip to Tokyo while you sit at the table and reconsider your choices in life. Megumi slides the remote onto the kitchen counter and looks at the TV before standing next to you and breaking the commotion.

“If you two are going to be unfocused at least make this an honest break. Let Y/N and I also rest in the meantime.”

You look up to him with a slight smile as if to say ‘thanks’ and turn back to Yuji who is already standing from the table and stretching. Nobara follows suit, opening her phone and scrolling a few times before checking the time.

“Hey Yuji– let’s go to the convenience store. I’m hungry.”

“Huhhh? Didn’t you eat earlier?”

Nobara shoots him a glare and Yuji raises his hands up in defeat, not wanting an argument to break out before the clock has even hit noon. You take this chance to stand up and stretch as well, a slight grumble emitting from your stomach.

“Why don’t we go by that new cafe that just opened up? I think it’s only a few blocks down the road and I’ve been dying to try it.”

Yuji and Nobara exchange a glance between each other before turning to Megumi who holds their stare. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes hold enough to show a small indication to something only known between the three of them.

It’s not unfamiliar, the three of them are much closer to each other considering their shared time in high school, though the feeling is still as isolating as ever. You look between each of them, wondering what the inside reference could possibly be before Yuji speaks up and awkwardly scratches the back of his head, “Ahh that cafe? Maybe some other time Y/N… we’re just getting snacks for now.”

You force your lips into a tight grin and nod once, trying your best to not let the feeling of disappointment be heard in your voice, “Oh ok. Pick me up a Red Bull and some chips?”

Nobara smiles once and the two shuffle on their winter jackets before making a promise ‘it’ll only be 30 minutes’ and heading out of the apartment door. Megumi retreats back into the living and sits on the sofa while you take a moment to admire the coziness of the atmosphere. Yuji was the one who insisted their shared apartment needed to be decorated for the holidays and Nobara had offered to assist in setting up. Colorful winter lights are hanging along the border of the ceiling, small stockings that Jin had mailed Yuji hang under the TV using command hooks and push pins, and a semi-alive tree sits in the corner with every branch holding an ornament.

You walk up to the couch and sit on the other side of Megumi, shuffling around to look for a fallen throw blanket to cover your legs with. The dogs move to lay in their respective beds, enjoying the sunlight that comes pouring into from the windows for their midafternoon nap.

“Are you cold? You can have a pair of my sweatpants if you need.”

You shuffle and pull the blanket over your leggings, the edge of your oversized JJK frat t-shirt from a function you assisted in running reaching your mid-thigh, “It’s alright, but I might need to take you up on a sweatshirt later though.”

Megumi smiles gently at you before peeling his eyes off yours and back to the TV which was now playing a cheesy Hallmark flic. The main love interests are currently holiday gift shopping for their mutual friend together, though it’s painfully obvious the male lead is beyond jealous. The cliche of it all is enough to make you roll your eyes, but before you can give a coy remark you catch Megumi’s stare at the screen.

His face is the same it usually is, attentive but uninterested, yet despite that he makes no move to change the channel or shut the TV off. Dark, nearly navy blue eyes, stare between the two characters almost longingly, as if he was watching something he could never have.

Though all other indicators of his body language show otherwise, feet planted on the ground as if he were to stand up at any moment and fingers twitching like he may reach for the remote again.

“You don’t like this movie?”

“Hmm–”, He turns and looks over at you for a moment, slightly pink from catching him off guard, before turning back to the TV. “Oh, more like I find it… unrealistic? Maybe that’s the word...”

“Oh yea I agree. I mean who goes Christmas shopping with their crush for another guy? So cheesy.”

Megumi furrows his brows and shakes his head lightly, his eyes not leaving the movie couple who are now arguing but show nothing but desire on their faces, “Sorry, maybe it wasn’t the best word. I guess unrelatable fits it better.”

You don’t say anything instead of a slight ‘hmm’ for him to continue.

Megumi sighs and shrugs his shoulders, motioning to the array of holiday decor scattered across the apartment but stopping short when his hand nearly reaches your direction, “I just don’t have the same association you guys do with this time of year. Holiday parties with friends and family, decorating trees with tacky music in the background, going on da-”

He cuts himself off and stares at the screen for an extra moment before turning to you earnestly, “Yuji always calls me a scrooge but… I just don’t see the point. It’s not like I grew up experiencing it.”

Fuck. Great, just great. Try to make small talk and accidentally bring up family trauma. Another reminder to never go into the psychology or therapy majors.

“Oh, yea I guess that’s fair,” you snuggle into the blanket further and try your hardest to ignore the pouty form of his lips and the way his hair kisses the apples of his cheeks every time he moves his head. “Are you going to the frat function at least?”

“Huh?” Megumi opens his mouth in awe and raises an eyebrow, “No way.”

“Really? You’re seriously not going?”

“Well..” he rubs the back of his neck annoyed, a slight twitch in his eyebrow, “Satoru is my big… I have no doubt he’ll try to drag me there anyways.”

You giggle and the large white-haired dog stands up from its bed with a long stretch and quick shake before placing its head in your lap and waiting for attention.

“Could be fun~”

“Maybe..” Megumi mumbles as he watches your fingers run through the hair of his beloved pet, soft coos and kisses leaving your lips as you look at the dog with admiration. The same longing look creeps onto his face as he watches you, an almost pained expression as he listens to the soft praises he so desperately wants to hear be directed at him instead of the canine in front of you.

“I guess I just don’t see why this time of year has to be any different than any other season..”

You shrug, still petting the dog and scratching behind its ears, “I mean besides the vibes… it is colder. So better for staying close and warm?”

Megumi pauses and stares at you with a slight blush before the implication of your words sinks in and you raise your hands in protest, “Not like that but I mean… It is cuffing season… which is unrelated! Hahah… when is Yuji back? It’s been 30 minutes right?”

Your words are fumbled and rushed together while Megumi blinks slowly and gently grins, a warm glow on his cheeks, “Well, what do you like to do this time of year then?”

You bring your hands down and rest them back on the fur of the dog, though your attention is still focused on Megumi, “Hmmm, ice skating?”

“Ice skating? Sounds menial.”

“What? It’s super hard at first but also really fun!”

“It's just rollerblading on ice… how is that holiday themed anyways?”

You pause and cross your arms, “Geez, you were the one who asked for my opinion..”

Megumi pauses for a moment and turns back to the TV for a split second, looking at the way the couple is now sharing a passionate kiss having revealed their true affection for one another.

“Let’s go.”

Megumi turns his attention back to you in slight shock, “What?”

“Let’s go ice skating. I’ll show you it can be fun.”

“I already know it won’t be. We can save the money for admission by agreeing to that now.”

You roll your eyes and nearly give up on the idea, your heart slightly retracting at the borderline rejection and go to kiss the dog another light air-kiss. Megumi watches and sucks in a breath, “I mean.. I guess we can give it a try.”

“Really?” Your eyes shoot open and your hand leaves the head of the dog to the armrest of the couch to support your body as you pivot to face him fully, “I’ll show you how fun it can be. I bet all of us will have a great time!”

Megumi sinks back into his chair slightly, taking short glimpses at the TV couple with an uneasy expression now written on his face.

“All of us?”

“... I mean.. I thought you would want to invite Yuji and Nobra.”

He takes the corner of his bottom lip between his canines and bites for a second, the white-haired dog now meandering over to him for attention and placing its head in his lap. Megumi pets it absentmindedly, lost in thought before turning to you, “I’ve already done decorating with Nobara and watched a million ‘classic’ movies with Yuji… if it’s alright I’d like to just do this with you.. And see why you like it so much.”

OH MY G-. stay calm. This is cool. This is totally chill and totally platonic. Right? right.

“Yea, I’d like that.”

Megumi smiles earnestly and an invisible weight can almost be seen lifting off his shoulders at your response. He nods once and turns back to the movie, your bodies still positioned close to each other and only separated by the thin fuzzy throw blanket. Despite the sunlight pouring in from the windows, the array winter lights reflect a warm rainbow of colors on his hair and the chill of the winter air makes you snuggle into the fabric deeper. Before he can open his mouth again there’s a shuffle in front of the apartment door and Yuji swings it open with Nobara following him closely.

“Alright guys! Got the goods!”

Yuji kicks off his sneakers next to the shoe rack and shimmies out of his jacket while Nobara empties the contents of the plastic bag onto the kitchen table. Megumi sighs and stands up, waiting for you and folds the throw blanket once you rise from the couch. With a slight yawn you open the plastic folder on the table and take out the second mock-exam for the final before passing it to Nobara and Yuji.

Yuji lifts his pencil and stares at this paper with determination, “This time– we’ll pass it!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday comes faster than you expected, having been so busy assisting Yuji and Nobara with their exam review and running around various shopping malls to finish up last minute holiday shopping that the text message from Megumi indicating he could pick you up at 2pm nearly causes cardiac arrest.

He follows through on his promise, picks you up from your apartment promptly at 2pm, and raises an eyebrow when you suggest playing holiday music during the drive to ‘set the mood’.

“Nonsense… Christmas..? Are you sure this is classic holiday music?”

“Yep! Listen to it every year.”

Megumi shrugs as you two make small talk about campus events, future frat functions, and winter break plans; enjoying the company of each other and a slight burn on your cheeks from how easy everything seemed with him. After only 20 minutes he pulls the car into the parking lot of the ice rink and gives you one last look of ‘are we really doing this?’ before sliding out of the car and opening your door.

It’s busy but not overcrowded, the two of you only waiting about 5 minutes to pay admission, which Megumi insists on paying for you, and grabbing a pair of rental skates. The two of you walk to the edge of the rink and admire the ice for a moment; Megumi walks on the skates with perfect balance and grace making you wonder if he’ll be skating circles around you in no time.

You take to the ice first, sliding on it a few times before planting both skates and moving a few arm’s lengths away from the entrance and turning to watch Megumi. He stares at the ice and grips the edge of the wall, mirroring how you had felt the ice before pushing off with both feet towards the center.

You watch in awe at first at the way he glides further down the ice, before he lifts a leg to push off and immediately crashes down onto the rink. The ice pushes his body so he slides into the wall with a ‘thud’ and it takes all of your personal resolve to not immediately lean over and cackle.

“Oh my– pfft- Are you? Heheh Are you ok?”

“People find this fun?”

You stand next to Megumi and offer a hand, which he wastes no time in taking, and pull him to his feet so he can balance against the wall.

“It’s fun to me.”

“Yea, probably funny watching me fall.”

The cold air nips at your cheeks and nose, painting them a pale pink while you dust off some of the ice from his jacket; the moment is so wholesome you can’t even think about anything else besides the man in front of you and his lack of balance.

“Come on~ try again ok?”

Megumi sighs but listens regardless, pushing off the wall and immediately falling back down, scowling when a small child easily glides past him without any help at all. The cycle repeats a few times, and by the 4th time he falls, the confidence and patience in the activity is nearly drained.

“Ok, how about this?” You drag him up again, as you’ve been doing the whole time, but this time you don’t let go of his arm. “It seems like you prefer holding onto the wall… so why don’t you just hold on to me?”

“Huh?”

You skate outwards and drag his body off the wall, watching the way his face goes from flinching to fascination when he doesn’t immediately topple over. An arm wrapped around his bicep, as he always been this fit?, you gently guide the man down the ice. Megumi doesn’t miss the way your eyes are looking everywhere but him and the intense blush on your face that is surely mirroring his own; he swallows thickly and leans into your touch slightly, trying to memorize the way it feels to have you wrapped around his arm as if your bodies were made to fit together.

“See? Not too bad right?”

Megumi looks down at you and grins, though holds his sarcastic tone for the bit, “Mmmm I guess it could be worse..”

You gently nudge him and laugh while he lets out a few chuckles and matches moving his legs at the same interval as your own. A fast learner, you both manage to do an entire lap around the rink without falling over, though a few wobbles on a particularly beat up patch of ice causes his grip on you to intensify.

“You’re a natural.”

“Only able to do this because you’re here with me.”

Looking up at Megumi it would be impossible to miss the way he’s staring at you, admiration and honesty on his face while his gaze swaps between your eyes and your lips. Excitement coursing through you now, your head subconsciously leans in when his hand dips from your shoulder to waist and pulls you closer into his body.

About to shut your eyes, your body jerks when the same small child from earlier glides right past Megumi, but close enough to make him flinch and stumble. In slow motion, he topples to the ground and drags you along with him, hitting the ice with a combined ‘thud’ as you land side by side and still wrapped into each other.

“I… I’m so sorry! Are you hurt-”

Tears break from your eyes and laughter leaves your lips loudly without any care, the entire situation being too funny and cliche to elicit any other kind of reaction from you. Megumi chokes on his words and watches you with his eyes wide and lips parted; any resentment towards the annoying kid for ruining the moment instantly dissipates as he gets lost in the sound of your laughter.

“You’re ok?”

“Hmm?” You wipe a tear and sit up on the ice, Megumi's arms still wrapped around you as they were earlier to break to your fall, “Yea I’m fine. This is just part of learning and it’s hilarious.”

His face is bright red and before he can lean in again, in an attempt to re-do the one thing he’s been aching to do for months now, a whistle blows signaling the end of the open session. Looking up at the time you wonder how 2 hours could fly by so fast before standing up and pulling your companion to his feet right after.

“What do you usually do after ice skating?”

You glide to a halt and step off the ice and onto the mats on the floor, offering Megumi a hand when he follows suit, “Hot cocoa? We can make some and watch a movie?”

The man at your close side, closer than usual, slides out his phone and checks the time, “That sounds good. Yuji and Nobara are still on campus for a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your lips hover above the rim of the mug, blowing steam away from the beverage before taking a sip and sighing at the familiar flavor. Another cheesy holiday romance movie plays in the living room while you lean against the kitchen counter and watch Megumi pour himself a hot chocolate. Silently you pass him the toppings—whipped cream, marshmallows, and chocolate syrup—while he raises an eyebrow at you and mumbles about ‘getting a stomach ache’ before adding them into his mug.

“So… how was ice skating? 1 through 10 ranking.”

Megumi winces at the sweet flavor of the beverage and leans his weight into the counter next to you, so close that the scent of his laundry detergent fills your senses.

“Well I did fall a lot..but,” he looks off with a slight blush and coughs slightly. “I guess it’s not so bad given the company.. Maybe a 6?”

“I’ll take a 6. You know the more you do it the better you get? We can go again next weekend if you're free.”

Megumi watches as you sip on your hot cooca, eyes lingering on the way your face lights up at the same flavor he can’t seem to digest without getting a toothache; he takes another sip regardless, wanting to experience it the same way you certainly were. You don’t pay any attention until the feeling of a paper napkin is wiping your cheeks at the whipped cream that had rubbed off against your face with your last sip.

Smiling up at Megumi and aching to slow your increased heart rate, you take the napkin and wipe off any remnant while he continues staring at you; lips part and close again as if he were constantly trying to start a sentence before backpedaling and remaining silent. This particular holiday movie in the background shows two friends attempting to make a gingerbread house, though their touches against each other are anything other than platonic.

Megumi watches it for a moment before inhaling slowly and resolving himself to finish what he keeps trying to start, “I want to do that again. Go ice skating with you again. But…”

A deep breath escapes his lips and you internally prepare for rejection.

It’s fine… just happened to misread the situation. If he doesn’t want anything more… it’s just something to accept and move on… even if it hurts like a bitch.

“I have to come clean about this-” he places his mug on the counter and looks intently at you, “I accepted the offer as if it were something friendly… like two friends just hanging out,” you wince but he continues, “But in all honesty I wanted it to be different. For us to be different.”

He pushes off the counter and moves forward to face you head on, “I’m sorry about my intentions… and lack of clarity for them but..” he pushes a chunk of his hair back in frustration at the way he keeps getting caught in his words and the strands fall right back into the same place, “I just can’t sit here with you drinking hot cocoa, watching movies, going ice skating and feeling you hold onto me and pretend to feel something platonic when the only thing I want is for us to be anything but that.”

Huh? HUH?

Megumi stands in front of you, waiting for anything to leave your lips at his words, and cringes at himself for the lack of clarity in the way he worded everything. The black-haired dog nudges into his leg waiting for a treat or some attention, but he stands motionless waiting for your response.

“I think I understand…and I feel the same. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t secretly wish ice skating was a date.”

“It could be.”

You look up at Megumi who watches you with eyes full of a different kind of longing than they hold during the movie; his eyes watch you carefully as if at any moment you could back pedal and crush his vulnerable heart.

“What do you mean?”

“Well..” he takes the mug from your hands and places it on the counter next to his, “we can mark this one down as our first?”

His voice is gentle and sweet, his eyes searching yours for reciprocation when you resolve to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him in for a kiss. There’s a slight sigh through his nose at the feeling, soft lips move against yours, and your hands tangle in his messy dark hair. You both break away for a moment, taking in the realness of the situation before connecting at the mouth once more and pulling each other in closer to solidify the mutual decision.

Tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss further, his lips move in sync against yours while his hands rest politely on your back. A whimper escapes his mouth when your hands leave from the mess of his hair and reach around to grab his knuckles and push down to rest his palms on your hips. The sound of his earlier disposition melts into a moan when he’s given permission to sink his fingertips into the flesh of your hips and waist, relishing in the moment he’s been dreaming of.

His hands massage the flesh and occasionally dip down just a liiittleee lower to grab at the upper curve of your ass; your lips break and reconnect with more force. With a slight tug on his hair and knead of your ass, his tongue pokes out to break a testing swipe across your bottom lip. Instantly you part open your mouth just a bit wider to feel the hot muscle of his tongue push against your own, teeth occasionally clacking from the awkward angle before you both find momentum.

Megumi hums into the motion, addicted to running his tongue against yours, savoring the sweet flavor of the hot chocolate.

“I don’t mind that much…” Megumi mumbles, breaking from the kiss for a short moment before reconnecting his lips and taking a firm squeeze of your flesh in his hand, “the taste of that sugary drink” kiss “isn’t bad when I’m tasting it off you..”

Knees nearly weak at the comment and a blush intense across your face, you drag his face into yours with more pressure, trying to hide the embarrassment from his admission. He chuckles and pushes you into the counter further, chasing your lips before a firm sensation pushes into your pelvis and Megumi backs up awkwardly.

Awkwardly pivoting and nearly tripping on the fluffy black dog that was sitting behind his feet, Megumi catches his balance and looks off to the side and brings his hands up in apology.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean… I hope… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable..”

You struggle to follow until your eyes trace past the worry on his lips and slight tremble of his finger tips before sinking further to the obvious erection straining against the fabric of his left upper thigh. He shifts his weight uncomfortably and shoves his hands into the pocket of his jeans, pushing the fabric up to avoid the obvious bulge that grows with the heightened sexual tension.

You feel the slick of your own arousal seep into the cotton fabric of your panties and you clench achingly around nothing. Megumi pants deeply but refuses to make eye contact, silently wondering if he had pushed things too far and broken a boundary by his body’s reaction.

Your mouth feels so dry and your throat is growing tight from the carnal desire building. “N-no… you didn’t make me uncomfortable at all..”

Megumi breaks his gaze from the TV screen and looks back at you, hair disbelieved more than usual and pupils blown wide as he listens to your response. Shit he’s powerless against that stare, well against all of you in truth. Anything you want he’d do, every word he’d listen to; that same hypnotic spell you placed him under the first time Yuji had introduced the both of you.

“Y-yea? It’s ok?”

You nod and drag him back into you, hovering your lips. Surely you could just keep kissing and ignore right? How hard could that be? Haha… we’ll just ignore it…

You reconnect your lips and his hands make no hesitation to rest on your hips again while your hands tangle in his hair before tugging the material of his sweatshirt closer to you. It’s as if he’s drunk, all the plans he had on wooing you are thrown out the window as soon as his skin touches yours.

The plan, the original plan, he had was to impress you at ice skating and maybe even hold your hand during it. That failed, so he resorted to your proposal of hot chocolate and a movie, an opportunity to ask you out, but this time as something more. Even then he couldn’t muster up the courage until you offered to go ice skating again.

You groan against the muscle of his tongue while his hips grind against your pelvis, the friction his body craved finally getting a taste.

No. Megumi knows he has to make a move here; tired of the way he usually sits back and lets life do what it wants with him. It takes Yuji and Nobara dragging him out of the house to actually doing something, and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let the one girl he’s actually liked kiss him without knowing exactly what he’s been thinking and feeling all this time.

Walking his dogs together, grabbing lunch on campus, fuck even Satoru teasing him countless times at functions for acting like a needy virgin when he stared helplessly at you; begging for an once of attention as if he were a dog.

Megumi pushes into you further, his hand going south to grab your ass and kneed the flesh before his lips break yours and his mouth sucks hard and fat spots onto the side of your neck.

“Fuck.. Megumi—“

His tongue swipes the skin before he sinks his teeth in hungrily, mind going fuzzy from desire and arousal. Every time his name leaves your lips, his teeth sink in just a little bit harder and his cock twitches painfully from within his jeans.

You’re nearly squished between his erection and the corner of the counter, in an effort to breathe you take a step back but Megumi immediately follows suit, mumbling into your neck “Haaa.. don’t run… please angel…”

He grabs your hips steady and reconnects your lips, continuously grinding against you, making no effort to hide the way his body was begging for more. Further crushed between the force of his pelvis and the cool counter, you take a hand down from his hair and place it flat against his chest, pushing back.

Megumi allows himself to be swayed back, momentarily worrying if you would call it off here before you tug on the hem of his sweatshirt. “We can… go upstairs?” You turn to the counter and laugh dryly, “It might give us some more room?”

A shiver runs down his spine and Megumi exhales shakily at the thought while his cheeks puff with every breath. “That’s alright?”

Immediately he thinks of his room, is it messy? Did he pick his clothes up off the floor? Would you notice a very obvious box of tissues and lube on his night stand?

Before he can continue internally worrying about the state of his bedroom, you take him by the hand and nod, mirroring the same face drunken with desire, “yea… I want to.”

Megumi’s brain nearly short circuits at the admission and his body moves towards his bedroom, dragging you behind him, Ok.. this is happening… act casual.

His palms halts on the door knob for a moment, silently wondering when the last time he shaved was, if his deodorant was still working, and– “Oh..”

As soon as he opens the door, both dogs nudge past your legs and get comfortable on his bed and floor, looking up at him as they would every evening routine. Boner still uncomfortable in his jeans with his hands now on your waist while your panties are sopping wet, you both exchange uncomfortable glances.

“Alright.. Sorry..”

Megumi shuffles over and picks up the white-haired dog from his bed while you corral the other out of the door; only stopping once both are shooed back into the living room. Megumi sighs and clicks the door shut before turning back to you; instead of an awkward small talk over the fact his dogs are cockblocks, he resolves to grab your waist with one hand, cradling your neck in the other, and pulling you into a kiss.

Your brain returns to its dizzy and fuzzy state, crawling backwards onto the plush mattress of his bed when Megumi guides you to it, his lips never leaving yours. Fingers leaving the dip of your hips, his hands gently push your back flat while he remains standing between your legs and dips his head down into your neck.

Cool fingers play with the hem of your sweater and admire the warmth of the skin of your navel before playing with the elastic of your leggings. His kisses are lighter than the bruising ones from earlier but each movement of his lips leaves goosebumps on your skin.

“Can I…” he swallows and stands upright, pinching his fingers between the elastic of your leggings, “take these off?”

Heart pounding in your chest and mind fuzzy with desire, you nod once and watch the way he gently tugs the fabric down and motions for you to raise your hips; pulling them past the curve of your thighs and down your ankles before throwing them haphazardly behind him.

Your breath stops as his movements halt, embarrassment burning on your face as he stares at the dark blue cotton that’s stained an even darker color from the amount of slick saturating the fabric. “Oh wow.. Angel..”

The new pet name barely registers in your head before a finger glides up and down the fold of your pussy, occasionally pushing against the wet patch to see how much more the fabric could sop up before it leaked onto his finger. You shiver and whimper with each stroke of his finger, flexing your hips when his other hand moves to rub circles around your clit through your panties.

“Aaaa… M-Megumi..”

Your head is thrown back when he finally hooks his fingers along the waistband and tugs the underwear down to meet your leggings on his bedroom floor. He splays your thighs open with a strong grip on your legs and stares for a moment once more before leaning down to place open mouth kisses along the flesh. One particularly fresh bruise on the side of your thigh gets a few extra kisses, as if an apology from Megumi for pulling you to the ice and causing the small injury.

Impatient hands tangle in his hair as you attempt to tug him to where you need him the most, “Please.. Megumi.. Need you…”

And who was he to resist you? In the same hypnotic trance, he kneels against the edge of his bed and groans slightly at the pressure against his cock before licking a long stripe up your pussy. Nails scraping his scalp and head leaning into the plush blanket on his bed, Megumi wastes no time licking several more long stripes.

It’s the girl he’s been dreaming about nonstop with her thighs spread wide for him, and Megumi finally snaps. All the months of hesitation come rushing back into his mind, remembering every time he was too awkward to tell you directly how he felt, and it flips a switch in him. No longer testing the water, he delves his tongue into the entrance of your pussy and wraps his arms around the underside of your thighs to keep you still.

“Oh my-.. Nnnghh”

His nose occasionally bumps your clit and the reaction leaving your lips makes him only more feral, increasing the sloppiness of his tongue moving in and out your cunt and creating a pool of saliva and wetness staining his chin and the bed below.

The noise is disgustingly lewd, sopping french kisses to your pussy before his tongue rubs against your clit and an index finger slowly stretches you open. You throw your head back in pleasure and Megumi looks up to watch the furrow of your eyebrows before diving back in; his hips humping pathetically against the mattress, erection growing painfully hard.

“Fuck!”

A second finger stretches you open so nicely while his teeth pinch and nip at your puffy and swollen clit. Megumi’s lips continue focusing on you intently, determined to make you finish at least once on his mouth. He’s been dreaming of this moment for so long, and was not about to let it end without making you feel as good as he’s been planning to. All the nights of shoving his hand down his boxers, wishing, needing it to be yours, was nothing compared to the sounds that left your lips and pussy.

“Right.. Ahhh.. right there…”

Digging your nails into his hair and pulling slightly, your back arches when his fingers graze that one spot along your vaginal wall. The sensation has your toes curling and twitching as they rest on his shoulders and he wears your thighs like earmuffs.

“Right here?” Megumi looks up at you, eyes half shut in drunken desire and a mess of fluids dripping down his chin to the bob of his Adam’s apple, before flicking his fingers upright from inside you, “Here, angel?”

A partial whimper, partial gasp is all he needs to hear before his fingers curl to bully the rough patch and his lips dip to rub his tongue against your clit with as much force and speed he could give. Hips twitching and raising to meet his action, a familiar coil builds in your abdomen and you begin to clench pathetically against his fingers.

“Shit.. just got so much wetter f’me..”

Increasing the speed of his fingers to a bruising pace to rut against your g-spot, you throw your head back and convulse slightly at the amount of pleasure that washes over you as your orgasm ripples through your body.

“Yea.. just like that angel.”

Megumi continues thrusting his fingers, though slower, to gently fuck out the rest of your orgasm and then lift his hand to his mouth to suck your cum off of them. You wearily blink at him and sway your head from side to side, the weight of your release leaving your limbs like jelly.

With a slight ‘pop’ of his fingers, Megumi rises once and softly rubs circles into the flesh of your thighs with eyes staring intently at you in stark contrast. Almost as if watching prey, he tilts his head to the side and leans in, “You ok there?”

Sitting on your elbows and catching your breath, you nod once and drink in the sight of him drunk on desire and his lips still glistening from the essence of your arousal. Leaning down he connects his lips to yours, letting his tongue play against yours and provide the taste of your own orgasm with a small hum.

Breaking the kiss with a string of saliva connecting you before it lazily snaps, your eyes break contact from his and notice the way his erection was pushing painfully against the denim of his jeans.

You lick your lips at the sight, silently wondering what his pretty cock might look like, “Want me to help you out there?”

Nearly buckling at your words, Megumi shakily exhales and shakes his head before leaning back and tugging off his sweatshirt and under t-shirt in one pull. Toned and lean abs carve his flesh and a dark happy trail begins just below his navel before sinking past the hem of his jeans. The sight is enough for another gush to seep from your pussy and cause your nipples to erect against the fabric of your bra.

“No angel.. But I will definitely take you up on that later.. ‘Cause I think–” he unbuttons his jeans and lets the material fall before kicking them off his legs onto the floor without care, “I might cum the moment I feel your tongue on me.”

You sigh at the sight of his erection straining against his thin cotton boxer briefs, a patch of pre cum staining the gray material even darker. Megumi brings his fingers to the hem of your sweater before pulling it up and above you, eyes lingering on the swell of your tits. Even prettier than he imagined, he dips down to plant open mouth kisses between the valley and wrapping his hands behind your back in an attempt to get the clasp.

After a few failures, you bend your hands behind yourself to release the metal hooks and toss the bra to the corner of his room; Megumi doesn’t bother complaining, now relieved to finally see the tits he’s jerked off to, in person.

Immediately, his lips wrap around your left nipple while his hand lifts to knead the fatty flesh of the other breast. Gentle teeth nip at the hardened bud before sucking a few deep purple hickies around the swell and lower collarbone.

His lips leave a trail of fire, and your hands tug at the roots of his hair when he plants an extra kiss on one breast before swapping to the next.

“Wouldn’t want this one to feel left out.”

You scoff lightly and arch at the sensation of the wet muscle gliding along the sensitive flesh, and the roughness of his hand massaging the smooth skin of your other tit. A few more bruises are sucked onto your chest before Megumi lifts back up and guides you further up the bed to make room for him to climb up and join you.

“Oh wait–” Megumi stands on his knees on the bed and looks around his room, “condom.”

The anticipation of getting a condom and getting railed by the guy you’ve been crushing on, and the guy who’s very appearance causes a gush in your panties, elicits a shiver of excitement. Sighing slightly, he lifts himself off the bed, “I’ll be right back.”

His words are meaningless, as if you were going to leave anyways, and he opens his bedroom door a crack to slip out. Sets of paws against the wooden floorboards can be heard as Megumi shoos his pets away in an attempt to run down the hall to Yuji’s bedroom and dig through his drawers for a rubber.

You take a brief moment to admire his room while he’s away, the tidiness of it all isn’t surprising, but the lack of wall decor and personal memorabilia is. A few posters of bands, notably Weezer, hang on his walls alongside a few photos and awards for his achievements in the veterinary field, but other than that, the room is bare. The color palette is a blue-gray and the only plushies in the entire room are toys for his dogs; a feeling of almost sadness emits from the intense minimalistic aspects of it all. As if he didn’t have anything to fill the walls with, rather than him choosing to leave it completely bare.

“Ah.. shit–” Megumi slips back into the room and struggles to keep his dogs out, “I’ll take you for a walk after..”

After…

The feeling subsides and the anticipation courses through your veins again as Megumi successfully coerces the canines to retreat back to the living room. He shuts the door in success.

“Got it.”

A half smirk that nearly looks out of character is planted on his face while he wastes no time in rushing back up to the bed and positioning himself comfortably over you. Leaning down for another kiss, his erection grinds against your navel, still covered by the thin fabric, but with enough force some of the pre cum smudges onto your flesh.

He sighs at the friction and sits up to shimmy off his boxer briefs and kick them to the floor without care. The happy trail that starts at his navel extends down to the base of his cock into a neat bush of pubic hair; he wasn’t regularly shaving, but still kept things tidy.

Longer than average and slightly thicker than any of your exes, the sight of his dick made the walls of your cunt clench pathetically around nothing. Balls heavy and aching, Megumi wraps his hand around the shaft to give a few pumps before splitting open the foil package and sliding the rubber down his cock.

It takes a few extra tugs before he’s certain it's snug enough, and he nudges your thighs apart with his knees and leans back down into your neck.

“You ready angel?”

“Y-yea.”

You instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders and sink your nails lightly into the flesh of his back as you feel him slowly slide inch by inch inside. The stretch is an erotic burn that, despite the sting, only makes you even hornier for it all.

An uneven breath escapes his lips by the time he bottoms out, taking a moment for you to adjust and Megumi to reel his brain back in to avoid prematurely cumming in only a matter of seconds. You twitch your hips at the feeling of wanting more; his deft hands reach for one of the pillows behind you, and slides it under your hips to make the angle easier to move.

Megumi does a few test strokes before finding a steady rhythm and snapping his hips into yours with a small ‘thawp’ of his balls hitting your ass with every pump.

“Oh shit angel…hnngh.. Better than I ever i-imagined.”

You whine deliciously into his ear and sink a few crescent shapes into his back from the sensation; twitching every time the tuft of pubic hair grinds perfectly against your puffy clit. The sensation is mind numbing and Megumi begins lazily biting at flesh on your neck, pussy drunk from the sensation and devoid of any rationale.

Even with a condom he can feel the way your cunt clenches around him, as if your pussy was molding to the shape of his dick with each thrust. He can’t even imagine hitting it raw, resolving that if you ever let him do that, he might just have to put a ring on your pretty finger.

Over the combined moans and whimpers, the bed frame smacks against the wall in a steady ‘thud, thud, thud’ and the wooden frame creaks from the motion.

“Fuck… Megumi…”

“Yea.. you got it Angel… just haaa.. Keep those pretty hips steady f’me.”

“Megumi! Exam’s over!”

Nearly falling forward and crushing you, Megumi stops all motions while the two of you look at each other in total terror. Despite the cockblock of his roommate and potentially getting caught balls deep inside you, his cock twitches inside aching for release; you dig your nails into his shoulder in worry.

Nobara’s shoes can be heard clacking on the wooden floor next to Yuji in the kitchen, “Hmm two mugs.. But the content is kinda cold… did they go out for a walk?”

“The dogs are here though…”

Megumi hunches over you pathetically and grinds his hips without pulling out before you usher him to back up. He follows your instruction and slides out, watching as you scurry off the bed and gently get on the floor, bringing a pillow for your hips. Eyes wide in understanding that on the floor the bed frame wouldn’t be making any noise, Megumi follows suit and positions himself between your legs again.

This is bad. So very bad. If Yuji heard you two, there was no chance hell either one of you would ever hear the end of it. But… the way you look up at Megumi and spread your legs wanting and waiting for him to continue is enough to disregard any worry.

Sighing at the feeling of your cunt wrapping perfectly around his cock once more, Megumi lifts your ankles to rest upright on his shoulders and begins thrusting again. Not pulling out all the way, his strokes are shallow but forceful, still kissing your cervix with every movement; he plants chaste kisses on your ankles before moving a hand to cover your mouth when a whimper threatens to escape.

“I guess they aren’t home?”

“Oh!” Yuji’s hands can be heard clapping through the door, “He probably finally took her to that cafe! You know I felt so bad the other day, but Megumi would kill us if we took Y/N there before he could ask her out.”

You look at Megumi and nudge the side of his face with your foot in a half-heartwarming and half-teasing manner before he pinches your sole with his fingers. Despite the truth being poured out by his best friends just outside the door, his thrusts are getting more erratic and an orgasm quickly builds in his abdomen.

To even the situation, Megumi slides a hand down further and rubs quick circles against your click, quickly ‘shushing’ you when whines escape your lips in pleasure.

Shit. He was about to cum. About to cum with his fucking friends outside his bedroom door listening.

“Well– Let’s get food then too! Maybe steak?”

Nobara can be heard walking to the front door again and scoffing, “No way– let’s get sushi.”

The pair can be heard grumbling between each other before the front door eventually ‘clicks’ and you're left in silence again.

Immediately, Megumi picks up the pace and rubs quick circles against your clit before pushing your legs off his shoulders and splaying your thighs. Long and harder strokes leave his pelvis smacking your clit, and your head leans back in pleasure at the sensation of his cock smacking into that rough patch over and over.

“Yea angel… cum.. Please– cum on my cock”

As if his words could force the action, the coil building in your gut inevitably snaps and you lean your head into the carpet of his floor and moan out his name.

“Y-Yea.. Just like that.. Fuck.. Y/N.. gonna fucking c-cum” A few more erratic thrusts and Megumi shudders as he cums hot ropes of semen into the rubber of the condom, admiring the cream of your orgasm getting pushed up his shaft to sit at the base. The sight, sound, and smell are so errotic there’s nearly a haze in the atmosphere from the intensity of it all.

Megumi thrusts a few more times with a weak exhale before slipping out of your cunt and hunching over on his knees to slip the condom off. You wearily look around and wince at the empty feeling before sitting up and wiping a few drops of sweat off your tits.

“Oh sorry,” Megumi tosses the soiled rubber into his bedroom trash and rubs the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, “didn’t mean to drip on you.”

“Hah, it’s alright. Just help me up and we’ll be even.”

Nearly in a mirrored pose reversing the roles of you both today, Megumi pulls you by the hand to stand upright and supports your waist when you nearly topple over. A chaste kiss against your temple, he sets you straight and pushes a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Let’s shower, yea?”

“Mmm good idea, we probably need it.”

Megumi takes a quick peek out of his room before swinging the door open wide and shuffling down the hallway and towards the bathroom with his hand in yours. Both dogs follow suit, but leave space for you to enter the washroom and shut the door.

You giggle slightly as the slight bruises from earlier litter his toned thighs, and Megumi bends at the waist to start the water of the shower and check the temperature. He ensures it’s not too hot and offers you a hand while you both step over the ceramic tub and behind the plastic curtain.

It’s a different level of intimacy than earlier, no longer sexual but still incredibly vulnerable and raw. Megumi wets his hair and shimmies to the side to let you do the same before passing various bottles of shampoo and soap to use; popping the cap, you inhale the familiar scent he usually wears.

“So… that was.. amazing.”

“I agree–” you rinse off soap suds from your arms, “–now what?”

“What do you mean?”

A slight burn goes across your cheeks as you shrug, it’s not like you had the what exactly are we? talk beforehand.

Megumi admires the way water cascades down your body and tilts his head to the side, “I was honest earlier when I said you’re more than just a friend to me… and I by no means see what we just did as casual. To be honest, it pisses me off to even think of this as being anything but exclusive.”

“Sooo.. you want to date? Like.. date-date?”

Megumi looks at you as if it were the simplest question possible, “I do. I want to go places with you and watch the way people look at us. To hear you introduce me to your friends as not just ‘Megumi’ but as your boyfriend.”

You nod in agreement, “I’d like that too.. Though I have a feeling you would rather call me angel.”

“Oh that..” Megumi coughs and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly before moving to change the conversation and stepping out of the shower, “is the water ok? I’ll step out and grab you some towels and a change of clothes.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you watch him shake his hair off from side to side like a dog and wrap a towel around his delicious ‘V’ line before stepping out of the bathroom. Enjoying the warmth of the water on your bullied skin for a few extra minutes, you stay behind the curtain before turning the faucet off and hearing a short courtesy knock at the door.

Megumi shuffles in, now dressing in casual athleisure, and uses a free leg to push the dogs back before placing a stack of towels on the counter and a fresh set of sweatpants and t-shirt on the toilet lid. Despite just seeing you naked, his eyes avoid looking at your body as you towel dry and slip into the clothes.

“Ok… I think I get it now–” He throws your towel on the corner of the door to try and admires his ‘veterinary department’ university t-shirt and JJK frat sweatpants on your frame, “the whole.. Wearing your partners’ clothes, thing.”

You smile at him and lean forward to meet his lips gently, his mouth immediately chasing yours as if he needed it to breathe and pouting once you exit and head down the hall. Christmas movie still playing on the TV, you plop down on the sofa and immediately curl into Megumi’s chest when he positions himself next to you.

Back against his chest, head on his collarbone, and legs intertwined with his, the both of you watch the cheesy film as a light snow and wind pick up outside the window. One of the dogs climbs up and rests on the empty sofa cushion next to both of you while the other lays in a ball at the base of the couch comfortably.

It’s a comfortable silence, and the steady beat of Megumi’s heart is nearly enough to lull you to sleep.

“Well? What do you think of this movie?”

Megumi shifts his weight and settles his hand just under your shirt to rub mindless patterns into the softness of your flesh, still relishing in the idea of having you all to himself, “I think I like them now.”

“Really?”

“Yea..”

You remain comfy in his arms before Megumi continues, “I guess I just never had anyone to relate them to, so I figured they were wild overestimations of how it would feel.”

“Hmm? How what would feel?”

Megumi stops tracing your waist and settles to squeeze your body further into his, almost as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

“This. Having someone.. Having you.”

You look up at his words and trace his jaw with your finger to usher him into your lips; he immediately connects them happily. Gently leaning in and feeling him stiffen at the action for a potential round 2, a loud grumble emits from your stomach.

“Whoops.. Hahah guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

Megumi genuinely laughs lightly and your heart melts at the sound as he sits upright, “Come on let’s eat then… I have to take you to that cafe.”

“The one we heard Yuji mention?”

Megumi rolls his eyes at your slight tease but smiles at you, “Yea, I actually had planned on taking you there on a date.”

“Well, you would be.”

Megumi keeps you trapped in his arms despite just proposing to get up and get food, “What do you mean?”

“I mean… we’re dating, and you’d be taking me there.. so it’s a date.”

There’s a slight exhale that leaves his lips before he squeezes you just a bit tighter and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “mmm I guess you're right. It’s only fair to take my girlfriend out on a date.”

TY for reading the first installment of the Holiday Hoes! Frat AU JJK one shot series!!

most fics in this will be roughly this length and all in the same AU with some hints at the next few themes hidden in this one :)

writing megumi was lowkey harder than I thot, and i appreciate all comments/reblogs/likes

╰(´︶`)╯♡ -oatmeal

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #Megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro Megumi x reader #Megumi x reader smut #fushiguro x reader smut #fushiguro Megumi x reader smut #oatmealwords #oatmealwrites #oatmealwordsmegumi #oatmealwordsjjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut

350 notes · View notes

midnightsslut · 1 year ago

Text

A Guide to Red - The Quintessential Taylor Swift Album

After the release of The Manuscript, the role of Red and Red (Taylor’s Version) in Taylor’s life and discography has been highly discussed. A lot of people have referred to it as her magnum opus and most formative album. I have decided to compile a condensed list of about a dozen key interviews, performances, speeches, posts, and videos from 2011 all the way until 2024 that illustrate the importance of this record for Taylor’s personal life and career. I’m putting the list under a cut because it got pretty long. You don’t have to go through all of these, obviously, but I would suggest at least one per era. The bolded ones are essential in my opinion.

Pre-Red - These interviews hint at Taylor’s emotional state at the time and thus the content that will be explored on the Red album

2011 The New Yorker profile

Taylor Swift reveals new album is all about heartbreak - Extra TV

Bonus: an article going through Taylor’s arm lyrics on the Speak Now World Tour, which she described as mood rings for any particular show

Lover diary entries from the making of Red (credit to @cabincreaking for the scans)

- All Too Well lyrics first draft (February 2011)

- Random bursts of happiness and anxiety during the Speak Now Tour (June 17, 2011)

- Red (September 8, 2011)

- Holy Ground (February 2012)

- Nothing New (March 2, 2012)

- Working with Max Martin (June 10, 2012)

Red era - Listen to the original sixteen songs on the Red album at this point.

Red announcement livestream + Q&A

Red prologue

2012 Rolling Stone interview

2012 The Guardian interview

2012 Billboard interview

2012 Esquire interview

Sirius XM Town Hall - an hourlong interview from the day Red came out

Good Morning America - this is the first mention of the ten-minute version of All Too Well

Red track-by-track descriptions

Random interview where she discusses the connection between writing Speak Now and Red

I Knew You Were Trouble music video

Diary entry about how love is fiction and she might move to New York after all (January 6, 2014)

Diary entry from Grammy night (January 25, 2014)

Red Tour London performance of All Too Well - any performance of this song from 2013-14 will work here, but this one has a pretty comprehensive speech

Final performance of All Too Well on the Red Tour - just listen to the speech here

Post-Red era - Over the course of these interviews, you’ll see her relationship to the album evolve.

Taylor’s description of Clean (skip to 11:18)

2014 BBC Live Lounge interview

1989 World Tour interview where she mentions thinking she’d never sell as many albums as she did with Red before 1989 came out

Clean speech - a lot of these will work, but these two best describe her relationship with the Red era and heartbreak in general

All Too Well (The 1989 World Tour live)

2015 GrammyPro interview

All Too Well Super Saturday Night performance

Reputation Tour All Too Well speech

Red into Daylight performance - 2019 City of Lover concert in Paris

Re-recordings era - at this point, listen to the red vault

2020 Rolling Stone podcast

Red (Taylor’s Version) prologue

2021 Saturday Night Live performance

All Too Well: The Short Film + Behind the Scenes

Seth Meyers interview

2022 Tribeca film talk OR TIFF (both are equally good. I have a slight preference for the former, but there are some interesting new details in the latter). You could also watch directors on directors from the same year as a bonus, but it’s less comprehensive.

2022 Graham Norton - How All Too Well (10 Minute Version) came about + how the re-recordings inspired Midnights

Also listen to Midnights

The Eras Tour

All Too Well speech (Glendale Night 2 & Atlanta Night 1) - any of the speeches from March and April 2023 will work, but these two really illustrate how she feels about this time in her life now and how the fans changed the Red album for her. Obviously credit to @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes for the transcripts!

Maroon first ever live performance (‘This is a song about something that happened a long time ago, but it took place in New York’)

Aaaand finally listen to The Tortured Poets Department, especially The Manuscript

This is a lot, but it’s worth it. Enjoy!

#I really think this is just key to understanding taylor swift as an artist and a woman #red era #red tv #midnights #ttpd #maroon #old interviews #the manuscript #red #all too well 10 #all too well short film

536 notes · View notes

akawifeyy · 4 months ago

Text

mic check | smau & fic (LN4)

description: lando norris is the host of one of the most critically acclaimed podcasts. so when he contacts you, asking if you'd like a spot on the show, you're dumbstruck.

tropes: secretly in love, happy ending, age gap (22 and 25), podcast host!lando au, lead singer!reader

face claim: ayra starr

trigger warnings: suggestive content, swearing

| note: i actually would love to see lando host a podcast or a talk show, i think he'd be wonderful!

It was a universal fact believed by every celebrity phenomenon that being selected for one of the exclusive spots on Lando Norris’s podcast was an honor. Once a week, the infamous Formula One driver would host an audio show, interviewing other popular figures with his signature charming wit and humor. He had been doing it for over a year, finding enough spare time in his busy racing schedule to compose, edit, and publish some of the best comedic episodes of the modern era. His show had even been nominated and won an iHeartRadio Podcast Award.

Lando’s show was beloved by all audiences, even those who were unfamiliar with motorsports. They came because of the hype and stayed for the easy laughter and fun times.

So when you, the lead singer of the Cherry Soda girl band, found a bolded, urgent email lurking on the top of your page, titled: Season 2, Episode 5 of Lights Out with Lando Norris, you were in shock.

Your jaw dropped, fingers shaking as you clicked to read more. This had to be a joke. There was no way the Lando Norris would have selected you of all people for one of these coveted episodes.

Yes, your band was popular – you had recently sold out the Caesar’s Superdome for a one-night-only concert – but still! A Grand Prix-winning sensation knew of your existence, and wanted to talk to you!

You skimmed through the page, soaking in each word, your heart pounding faster as everything registered in your mind.

Dear Y/N L/N,

You have been chosen to co-host Season 2, Episode 5 of Lights Out with Lando Norris, filming next Wednesday (Feb. 14) at 12:00 GMT. Please register below, as the link given will grant you access to the Zoom meeting room where the interview will be conducted.

Thank you.

It was short and sweet, but it seemed utterly surreal. For the rest of the day, you could not focus on anything else, your attention consistently tugged back to the email gleaming bright in your inbox. As soon as the day ended, and you wrapped up the rest of your work (writing out some plans for your next gig and scribbling down some lyrics), you registered.

Another email popped up soon after, thanking you once again for your quick reply. When you left the office, you nearly stumbled down the front steps in your dream-like haze. Even by midnight, hours past your usual bedtime, you were still mesmerized by the events of the day, surprised at the magnetic pull you must have had in order to garner such attention.

Marketing Poster for "Lights Out with Lando Norris", featuring Y/N L/N (2025):

Across the continent, Lando Norris was equally, if not more, distracted. He'd finally secured an episode on his show for you, something he'd been aiming to do since its foundation. Every time he thought he'd be able to, someone suggested an alternate celebrity, one that would generate better press and higher profits. It's not like Lando needed more money (he was nearly drowning in it), but he didn't want to be awkward or rude to his fans, who supported him so fervently.

But! After ages and ages, Lando had convinced the powers that be to let you on the show, and it had worked. Just a handful of days remained until he'd be able to talk to you, someone he'd admired since the start of your career.

Oscar and Max had teased him about it endlessly, telling him not to be a muppet, and Lando had prayed that he wouldn't be.

Then, the day had arrived.

Lando woke up that morning in a cold sweat, his body tense and hands shaking.

My nervous system really can't tell the difference between being held at gunpoint and talking to a woman I like, huh?, he thought to himself, annoyed, as he shaved his beard in the mirror and nearly dropped the razor.

He ate a few bites of his oatmeal, but couldn't finish it, his stomach was roiling so badly. It was ridiculous how worried he was. He'd conducted almost thirty interviews by this point, but yours was the one he was tripped up over.

Well, of course he was. You were funny, smart, and not to mention, absolutely stunning. There was no way he wasn't going to stutter and make a fool of himself.

Lando sat down in front of his laptop, the mic poised right in front of him. Two minutes until noon. He took a deep breath and clicked to start the recording.

Here goes nothing.

Snippets from the Interview:

Lando Norris: Tell me about your newest hit, "The Outside", and its backstory.

Y/N L/N: Basically, I am part of a larger group known as the Cherry Soda girl band. It's me, my guitarist Lanie, my saxophonist and bassist Amina, my pianist Izzy, and my drummer Aiko. We are all members of the BIPOC community. We are all people of color. And this song is our anthem, talking about the discrimination we have faced. Prejudice still is very evident, very prominent in society, and this song takes the point of view of someone who deals with it every day.

Lando Norris: That's incredible. Did you write it all on your own?

Y/N L/N: No, definitely not! (laughs) I had a lot of input from the other Cherry Soda girls, and I also talked to other people in my community. I'm currently in the process of creating a version of the song that has other people's voices in it. It takes inspiration from Paris Paloma's song "LABOUR", which does something very similar, and I'm going to credit her. Her work is incredible.

Lando Norris: So, why did you decide to form the Cherry Soda band?

Y/N L/N: And why did you decide to become a Formula One driver? Because it was my destiny, I knew that this was the path I am supposed to follow. Since I was little, I've been crafting songs and performing at talent shows. I've known the other girls since my days in secondary school, and we've always had this dream. It took a lot of hard work to make it a reality, but here we are.

Lando Norris: Cheeky.

Y/N L/N: Sorry! I didn't mean to be rude. (giggles)

Email from Lando Norris to Y/N (2025):

Two Weeks Later:

Interviewer: Your last episode with Y/N L/N on "Lights Out" was a hit! Will she be returning to the show?

Lando Norris: Unfortunately, she can't for the foreseeable future. She's going on tour, so she'll be very busy.

Interviewer: What a shame.

Poster for the "Fairytale" Tour, featuring Y/N L/N (2025):

Lando entered the Ticketmaster queue, his fingers crossed as he waited to purchase tickets for your tour in Los Angeles. If it didn't work out, he was screwed.

"You could just ask her directly," Oscar had pointed out unhelpfully. It was the epitome of embarrassing if Lando contacted you again and begged for tickets. No, he'd get it the normal way, and surprise you.

You are number 190 in line.

Lando breathed a sigh of relief, sinking in his chair. The arena had over 15000 seats, so he would absolutely be able to grab seats for him, Oscar, and Max.

When the screen reloaded to show available spots, Lando frantically tapped to select three tickets in the VIP section of the lower bowl. He didn't even look at the cost.

None of it mattered, if it meant he'd be able to see you again.

@ cherrysodagirls.updates: Opening night ✓

tagged: @ cherrysodagirls, @ yourusername, & 4 others

comments (10452):

@ user1: HAD THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!!!!

@ user2: hearing "the outside" live was a life-altering moment 🙏🏻

@ user3: So indebted to this band, I survived 2023 because of them

-> @ user4: they helped me get through a rough patch too. it's comforting to know how much music heals people ❤️‍🩹

@ landonorris: Awesome performance! Can't wait to see the rest of your tour and what you accomplish!

-> @ user5: we love men supporting women <3

-> @ user6: He wants her so bad omg

A Month Later

@ ln4lore: Pictures from @ yourusername and the Cherry Soda band's recent event at the SoFi Stadium, where Lando Norris was in attendance!

tagged: @ landonorris, @ yourusername, @ cherrysodagirls

comments (8371):

@ user7: AWEEE

@ user8: Slide 3 is hilarious omg, I can't stop laughing 😂

-> @ user5: THE UPSIDE DOWN GLASSES ARE SOOO SILLY

@ user9: Oh they together frrrr

You exited the backstage, your hair pulled up in a tight ponytail as sweat beaded on your skin. Another completed night full of raucous laughter and chorus singing, and you were exhausted.

As much as you were grateful for the opportunity to perform in front of an audience of thousands of people, you couldn't deny the fact that it sucked up all your energy.

You held the support bar as you walked down the stairs, your eyes scanning for the exit, where your limousine was waiting for you. The other girls had left almost as soon as the show was over, but you'd opted to stay behind and help with the clean-up process. It was the least you could do after the show you'd put on. All the confetti was a janitor's nightmare.

Your eyes snagged on a familiar figure, his head held high as he waited for you to walk over. Lando Norris.

Rumors had spread that he was in attendance tonight, but you'd chosen not to linger on it. He was extremely cute and interested in you, and exactly what you wanted in a boyfriend. If you were to have one, of course.

Lando grinned at you. "Congratulations, your show was amazing," he gushed, cheeks turning pink. "Your voice is like an angel."

"Thanks," you responded, smiling back shyly.

He tilted his head down, averting his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "I really like you, Y/N. You're unbelievable."

"The feelings are mutual."

Lando's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Really?"

You nodded. "You're funny, and you went through the effort to surprise me by attending one of my concerts. And you waited another two hours afterwards. That's very kind of you."

"Can I take you home, then?" he inquired bashfully.

You pretended to mull over it, not wanting to seem overeager, and inclined your head.

"You may."

The rest of that night, Lando showed you just how proud he was of you, worshiping every inch of your body like a mortal kneeling at the altar of a goddess.

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #ln4 #ln4 x reader #lando norris #formula one #f1 fic #f1 writer #f1 fanfic #f1 smau

116 notes · View notes

munsonsmixtapes · 9 months ago

Text

Eddie Munson Masterlist Two

Eddie x inexperienced!fem!reader

Eddie is more than eager to show you a whole different side of sex after you break up with Steve.

Buzzing With Excitement (18+)

Eddie decides to tease you in the bedroom when he knows that you're needy. Little does he know that you also have a few tricks up your sleeve.

Take Care of Me (18+)

it’s Eddie’s birthday, but you’re the one who gets the gift.

It's So Easy to Bite With Your Hands Pinned (18+)

request: Eddie shows you what rough sex is like after you break up with Steve (18+)

Requests

request: Eddie helps you relieve your boredom at work (18+)

request: You and Eddie realize that you're the right person but at the wrong time for each other

request: Eddie tries to scare you with a Ghost Face mask only to find that you’re actually attracted to him with the mask on (18+)

request: You and Eddie have a very big fight and just when you think he's gone for good, he comes back to ask you a very important question

Professor Munson gives you a special tutoring session (18+)

Eddie gets with your ex best friend Chrissy and just so happens to overhear you call her out and he reveals that you were the one he liked all along

Eddie is head over heels for nerdy!you

There's a miscommunication between you and professor!eddie when you see him flirting with Chrissy Cunningham, another student

You take a very inexperienced Eddie ice skating

Eddie is super nervous to meet your parents, but it turns out he has nothing to worry about as they have the exact same interests that he does.

You'll Fit Right In

You carry around a stuffed animal from your childhood and Eddie assures you that he doesn't care

Eddie recalls your night together as he tells the others that he "doesn't know what those stains are" on his mattress even though he very much does (18+)

You and Eddie miss your holiday photo shoot because he just can't keep his hands to himself (18+)

You and Eddie buy a Christmas tree for your first apartment together

You give clumsy!Eddie your phone number

Eddie helps you with your nightly routine that helps you fall asleep

A day in bed with Eddie the morning after the two of you hooked up

You and Eddie are convinced that you hate each other until you realize that it's just the opposite

Swiftie!you has Eddie listen to All Too Well (10 Minute Version)

You buy Eddie a ring and aren't sure whether or not he likes it until you notice that he never takes it off

You and Eddie fake date to get Chrissy's attention until you realize that it's not fake anymore

You decide to surprise Eddie by wearing a bow and he wants to show you just how appreciative his of his gift

You're Eddie's daughter's babysitter and the two of you slowly fall for each other

After someone reveals that you have a crush on Eddie, he tells you that he feels the exact same way

Eddie takes care of you while you're on your period

You "arrest" Eddie for being too hot at one of your concerts

Eddie is jealous of your celebrity crush

Eddie tells his neighbor about a certain way she can relieve her tension (18+)

You're a 25 year old virgin and Eddie is more than happy to help you out with that (18+)

Wayne makes a mistake of walking in on Eddie going down on you (18+)

Biker!eddie shows you a good time on his motorcycle (18+)

You wear a matching lingerie set and Eddie shows you just how much he likes it (18+)

You've been touch starved since Eddie left for tour and now that he's back, he's more than happy to take care of you (18+)

Rockstar!Eddie makes up for lost time when he finally comes home to his girl after tour (18+)

You discover that Eddie loves nipple play (18+)

You and Eddie have a quickie in the Hideout bathroom once he sees your homemade Corroded Coffin merch (18+)

Eddie loves your tits (18+)

Eddie takes you in the classroom where you work after everyone has left (18+)

You and Eddie go at it on your kitchen island (18+)

You go down on Eddie in the school library (18+)

Eddie tries to take a make out session to the next level, but you're not in the mood. (18+)

After a moment of insecurity, you convince older!eddie that he's not too old for you

You show sugar daddy!eddie that you don’t need to be bought in order to spend time with him

You help Eddie clean his filthy room

Eddie touches you while his bros play Grand Theft Auto- based on So High School by Taylor Swift (18+)

Eddie is head over heels for plus size!you (18+)

things get hot and heavy with Eddie while you and the boys hotbox in his van (18+)

A fight with Eddie leads to a love confession

After a fight with Eddie, he shows you just how much he loves you and your body (18+)

rockstar!eddie sees your photos in a playboy magazine and uses your photos to help get himself off (18+)

rockstar!eddie needs some moans on the new single and thinks your the perfect person for the job (18+)

rockstar!eddie is very protective of his girl

rockstar!eddie takes care of you when you get sick on tour

you show Eddie how grateful you are for him saving you when one of his employees hits on you (18+)

Billy Doesn't Know Series

You and Billy have been hooking up and it isn't until you sleep with Eddie that you realize what you really like.

part one (18+)

part two (18+)

Halloween

You and Eddie meet at Robin’s Halloween party and realize that you’re dressed up as a couple.

As You Wish

You go to a fright night with your friends and can’t help be attracted to one of the scarers who passes by, and when your friends let you know just how weirded out they are by your acquired taste, he steps in and lets you know just how badly he wants to fuck you. If only there was a way to properly thank him for defending you.

Is Somebody Gonna Match My Freak? (18+)

Eddie is right by your side throughout your pregnancy. Part two to Is Somebody Gonna Match My Freak.

I'll Be There For You

request: you and Eddie carve pumpkins that look like each other

Headcanons

How dad!eddie would behave on your daughter's first Halloween

Eddie SFW alphabet

Eddie NSFW alphabet (18+)

Modern!Eddie x swiftie!reader

SFW

NSFW (18+)

Eddie x roommate!reader

You help Eddie get to bed after a night of drinking and it turns out that he doesn't need the alcohol to tell you exactly how he feels about you.

Sober Up

Rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

You and Eddie get up to a lot backstage after your concert with help of the handcuffs you gave him of course.

Pretty in Pink (18+)

Eddie x virgin!reader

Eddie invites you over for dinner but decides to skip straight to dessert.

Guess (18+)

perv!virgin!eddie x virgin!reader

Eddie touches you and you decide that it's far better than masturbation.

Just a Little Touch (18+)

Soft!Eddie

You go over to Eddie's to buy some weed after not seeing each other since high school. Old feelings arise and after smoking a joint together, you find yourselves tangled up in his sheets.

The First One's Always Free (18+)

You, Eddie, and your daughter come over to the trailer to celebrate Wayne's birthday and give him the best gift he could ever ask for.

That's My Boy

You and Eddie get your daughter to bed as you adjust to your new life in a new city that the three of you are having trouble with.

It'll Take Time

request: Eddie craves your attention after a long day at work

request: Eddie convinces you to stay home from work and cuddle him

request: Eddie helps shy!you through your first day at Family Video

request: you tease Eddie until he finally admits what he wants from you (18+)

request: Eddie guides shy!you through a make out session with him

request: your first time with Eddie (18+)

Best friend!Eddie

You and your best friend Eddie go skinny dipping in Lover's Lake where your friendship will never be the same again.

Take a Dive (18+)

You invite Eddie to hang out and he has a very important question for you.

Can I Ask You a Question?

Eddie's upset about something and unbeknownst you, he doesn't want you to on your date tonight.

Who's Gonna Love You Like Me?

Vampire!Eddie

request: Eddie finally turns you after months of begging

request: vampire!eddie is the perfect match for your night owl self

Ex-boyfriend!Eddie

After your boyfriend cheats on you at your birthday party, your ex Eddie reminds you that he'll always be your shoulder to cry on.

I'm Still Your Boy

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other.

I Never Got to Say Goodbye (18+)

Shy!Eddie

You work at the bar Eddie frequents all of your flirting always seems to go right over his head until one night, you're honest with him.

Take a Shot

Boyfriend!Eddie

You paint Eddie's nails for the first time and he enjoys it way more than he thought he would.

Pretty Boy

Eddie finally finds out exactly what you like in the bedroom.

Be a Good Girl For Me (18+)

Sugar daddy!Eddie

After Eddie gives you his phone number, he tells you to call him anytime and one night, you decide to take him up on it.

Just a Call Away

Eddie x Garethx fem!reader

What's supposed to be a smoke session with Gareth quickly turns into something very different and dirty with him and his best friend, Eddie.

Breathe Your Air (18+)

Rockstar!Eddie

Eddie performs a song for your birthday and you wonder if the two of you would have really good bed chem. Based on "Bed Chem" by Sabrina Carpenter.

I Bet it's Even Better Than in My Head (18+)

Eddie is never able to shut the fuck up about you.

Gotta Get Home to My Girl

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way.

That's My Man (18+)

You and Eddie meet at an awards show and realize that you have much more in common that you initially thought. Based on "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter.

I Know You Want My Touch For Life (18+)

You show up to Eddie's house looking for a good time and when you realize that that's not what you want, Eddie is nothing but a sweetheart about it.

Don't Be Sorry (18+)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff

262 notes · View notes

whimsimille · 5 months ago

Text

Our Bond Reaper

Minsung x Fem!Reader

Soulmate AU

Words: ~8000

contains mentions of 18+ content, sex, drug use, abuse of substances, nsfw undertone, established relationship (jisung x minho), oral (f and m receiving), piv, mxm, threesome, overstimulation, handjob, dry humping,

a/n: should i continue?

Chapter 1: Jack Daniels

Hook. Straight to the jaw. Side dodge. Low kick. Uppercut.

Boxing isn't easy. Sweat trickles down the temple, runs down the neck and soaks the tank top, clouding the mind. Raw skin protests every time an impact occurs, and knuckles burn beneath the bandages. Purple bruises appear along his arms, and his muscles shake from the strain of maintaining his vigilance. Nonetheless, if Minho didn't have this outlet for all the accumulated pressure of idol life—the endless travels, exhausting recordings for the new comeback, and the imminent move from the dorm he shares with Jisung—he probably would have imploded or smoked until his lungs turned to coal. Boxing is his purification ritual, his way of breathing when the world gets too heavy.

Yet, not everything can be that simple.

Light switches are predictable—flip them up, darkness dies. Simple physics, no philosophy required. But soulmate bonds? They're like someone took his brain's wiring and twisted it into art. Every time Jisung's thoughts leak through their connection, it's electricity dancing across Minho's synapses. Right now, his soulmate has colonized the space beside the punching bag, sprawled out like some blue-haired cat claiming its territory, completely oblivious to the fact that this is supposed to be Minho's escape room, not his personal reading nook.

Crumbs from Minho's protein bars (the ones he specifically labels "DO NOT TOUCH HAN JISUNG" in angry red Sharpie) dot his oversized hoodie as he devours yet another dusty tome.

Sweet fucking Psyche, Minho thinks, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. It's not that he isn't grateful for his soulmate—for Jisung's heart-shaped smile, the manhwa labyrinths across their bedroom floor, even those 3 AM trot concerts that drive the neighbors mad. Yet, just like you know hitting a switch will flood a room with light, Minho knows that every time he steps into this gym, Jisung's thoughts will flood his mind. His complaints about chalky protein bars, his excited rambling about dusty tomes, and his constant mental chatter—it's all there, derailing Minho's focus from the punching bag that's practically begging to be hit, unstoppable even if he slams the switch.

"Min," Jisung pipes up, his tongue darting out to catch the crumbs while his fingers tap a rhythm on the book's spine. "You ever wonder if maybe... maybe they haven't told us everything about soulmates? Like, what if there's more to it?"

Minho's fist freezes mid-trajectory, his heart stumbling over its next beat. "Han..."

"No, shut up for a second," Jisung sits up straighter. "I had this dream last night—we were somewhere old, like ancient-ancient, and there was this feeling in my gut. Like... you know when you're doing a puzzle and you're missing the centre piece? That kind of incomplete."

"For fuck's sake, we're not starting with this story again."

Here's what everyone knows about soulmates: they're as rare as winning the cosmic lottery, as unpredictable as Seoul's summer storms, and about as controllable as a sugar-high toddler. Whether you are cleaning your cat's litter box or running for coffee in the morning, the bond can strike at any age. Some couples are so emotionally invested in one another that they can tell when their partner is having a rough day from across the globe. Finding your soul mate, though? And three souls? That's fairytale territory, kind of bedtime story parents tell wide-eyed kids before tucking them in—right up there with dragons and honest politicians.

What Minho didn't tell anyone—not even Jisung, especially not Jisung—was how that whole soulmate business terrified him. In his 25 years of life, he had witnessed enough to understand that love was a force.

When the news leaked—three blurry photos of him and Jisung sharing that characteristic glow of soulmates during a rehearsal—it was as if a bomb had exploded in the middle of K-pop. The hashtags #MinSung and #SoulmateDuo dominated social media for weeks. Fansites shut down in protest. Other groups began canceling appearances at the same events as Stray Kids. JYP almost dissolved the group, citing "public image concerns.".

It was Chan who saved everything, planting himself in front of the CEO like a human wall and swearing he would resign from his position if anyone was forced to leave.

And now Jisung comes with this story about medieval dreams and a third person? As if the chaos of two men discovering they were soulmates in an industry that sold the illusion of eternally single and available idols wasn't enough. As if Minho didn't already spend sleepless nights trying to decipher why fate had chosen precisely him—pragmatic, cynical, broken—to complete someone as brilliant as Han Jisung.

"The dream was different this time," Jisung insisted, sitting up and letting the book fall to the floor with a dull thud. "We were wearing heavy clothes, like robes and cloaks. The river was freezing—I could feel the water on my feet, Min. And we were shouting for someone... a woman. I couldn't hear the name, but the feeling..."

Minho closed his eyes, his hands falling heavily at his sides. The problem wasn't not believing Jisung—it was believing too much. Because if there really was a third person, if those dreams were more than just his partner's hyperactive imagination... well, history had proven time and time again that love rarely came without its dark twin: destruction.

"I..."

"No, wait. Come see this." Han patted the space beside him with that infectious enthusiasm that made his eyes sparkle like city lights reflecting off the Han River at midnight. “Please? I swear it's important this time."

The older one gave in—because that's what he always did when Jisung deployed that specific tone, pitched somewhere between a whine and urgency. Similar to a fishhook stuck deep in his stomach, their soul bond yanked, and Minho found himself sliding down next to him.

Their knees brushed—just the lightest touch of skin against denim—and Jisung shuddered visibly. Minho was still drenched in sweat from training, the gray tank top clinging to his body.

"Holy shit, you smell like a CrossFit demon had a baby with a sauna," Han teased, his nose scrunching up in that way that made his cheeks bunch up adorably, but Minho noticed how he actually leaned closer.

"Fuck off. You're the one who invaded my training session like some kind of blue-haired gremlin."

"Technically," Jisung drawled, gesturing expansively with his free hand. "This gym belongs to the dorm. So it's ours. Collective. Communist. Like our hearts, you emotionally constipated fool."

"For the love of—" Minho fought back a smile. "Just show me the damn thing before I change my mind and go back to beating the shit out of that punching bag."

Laughing, Jisung folded back a page of the tome. For a heartbeat, Minho's breath caught in his throat—there was something hauntingly familiar about the illustrations sprawling across the yellowed pages, like déjà vu in ink and parchment.

"Look at this."

The illustration seemed to pulse with its own life—the kind of arcane artwork you'd expect to find in some medieval witch's forgotten grimoire, tucked away in a basement. The page edges were singed, as if someone had tried to burn away its secrets. Two soulmate marks intertwined—waves in a tempest, the other dancing like flames. In his abdomen, where his own mark rested just below his ribs, Minho felt an answering tingle. His fingers itched to trace the familiar patterns—identical to his and Jisung's marks, the latter's etched onto the soft skin of his side like a divine signature.

Minho's nose wrinkled as his eyes tracked over the strange characters crowning the page, his brain struggling to make sense of the alien script. "This title is wrong. It doesn't match what I'm seeing here. It looks like... like Latin got drunk and hooked up with something even older."

"Min..." Jisung’s hand crept up Minho's thigh like a curious spider. "You've always been absolute shit at dead languages. Remember that time you tried to help me with Ancient Greek and somehow translated 'divine wisdom' as 'cosmic chicken'?"

"Go to hell." Minho swatted away the wandering fingers, ignoring how his skin tingled. "Fine, they're our marks. Now unfold the rest before I lose what's left of my patience." He crossed his ankles, right foot bouncing in the air.

A third mark appeared from the yellowed folds of the page as Jisung unfolded it. It was a spiral of leaves and flowers entwined with the other two, so complex that it hurt your eyes to try to follow its pattern.

"What the hell is this?" Minho backed away as if the book were a snake about to strike, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. "Where did you dig up this crap? No, wait, don't answer. I don't want to know."

"At the national library," Jisung answered anyway. "Had to bribe three employees and promise a private show to the librarian. Even autographed her planner, can you believe it?" His eyes shone with that familiar intensity, like a child who discovered where the candy was hidden. He leaned forward, closing the space between them until Minho could count every microscopic freckle on his nose. "Min, aren't you connecting the dots? It's exactly like the dreams! The same curves, the same patterns we see every night!"

"Don't start."

Minho stood up as he returned to the punching bag. Lactic acid burned in his muscles like tiny fires, protesting the abrupt movement.

Sweat trickled from the tip of his nose and clouded his vision, and the punches had become unpredictable and uncontrollable.

"Damn it, Jisung." Punch. "Can't we just accept that it's the two of us and that's it?" Hook. "Do you have to keep digging up old stuff?" Uppercut. "You're like my grandma rummaging through family albums. Always looking for stories where there aren't any."

"You become such a fucking coward when you're scared, Lee.”

Goosebumps ran up his arms as the air conditioner hummed against his hot skin. "If I could have a straight talk with Psyche right now, you know what I'd say? Go fuck yourself. Because tying me to this hard-headed lunatic wasn't enough torture, right? Had to make up more drama. Had to keep pushing and pushing until everything breaks."

Jisung launched forward. Through their bond, he could feel exactly where Minho's defenses were weakest. His hands found the older one's shoulders, spinning him around with enough force to send Minho stumbling back, his spine hitting the punching bag.

"Look at me, you stubborn piece of shit."

"Get off me, Jisung."

"Lee Minho."

"Han Ji-fucking-sung."

Their mouths crashed together like waves breaking against cliffs. It was not kind; Minho dragged his teeth along his tongue in retaliation as Han's tongue pushed past his lips, causing their teeth to clank.

"I'm not just some fucking complication you can file away in that brain of yours. I'm your damn soulmate. Your other half. The flame to your tide." Jisung’s thumb brushed over Minho's swollen bottom lip, pressing just hard enough to sting where he'd bitten earlier. "And if there's someone else out there… Well, you'll have to swallow that truth too, darling. Because I'm not going to stop looking.”

Deflated, Minho lowered his forehead to Han's shoulder. Sweat mixed with that Dior perfume that Jisung insisted on wearing—Sauvage, he always corrected, saying it with a French accent just to irritate—in a sickening way. Moving to Minho's nape, Jisung's fingers played with the wet hair there.

"I just wanted some peace, damn it," Minho mumbled against the fabric of his soulmate’s shirt. "Is that too much to ask? I'm starting to feel like a Mexican soap opera protagonist. Any minute now, La Usurpadora's theme song will start playing in the background."

With his nails lightly scratching Minho's scalp, Jisung laughed. "Peace? With us? Make me laugh, darling. As if you don't know me after all these years of sharing a dorm. Peace is for the weak. And you," he gently pulled Minho's hair, forcing him to look into his eyes, "have never been weak a day in your life."

"I want to be fucking weak right now. Just... just for a moment."

Jisung's humming vibrated against Minho's throat as he pressed open-mouthed kisses there. With his fingers tightening on Han's hips, the older man's breath caught. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, Jisung controlling the pace while Minho made these desperate little sounds that he'd deny later. Hands mapped familiar territory, one sliding down to press against the small of Minho's back while the other traced the line of his jaw.

"Look at you," Han murmured against his mouth, teeth catching Minho's lower lip. "Already trembling. Your skin's so hot I could burn myself."

"I swear to god, Han Jisung, I will end you." But Minho's head fell back against the punching bag, exposing the long line of his throat.

"You're wound so tight, hyung. Let me help you forget for a while."

"Han—"

"Shh," Han breathed against his skin, "just let me take care of you."

And Minho surrendered, because that's what always happened with Han. He felt like that antique music box from his grandmother's shelf that haunted his childhood memories—a delicate ballerina spinning on worn gears, twirling gracefully until the mechanism wound down. The melody promised "eternal dance," but the dancer always ended up frozen mid-pirouette, her mechanical grace failing until someone wound her up again. Staring at the ceiling, feeling Han's heartbeat against his chest, Minho couldn't help wondering if this mysterious third person from Jisung's dreams would be the missing piece that could make him function properly, or if they'd be the force that would finally make his gears crack and splinter.

-----------------------------------------------------------

2 weeks later

"Unnie, holy fucking shit!" Bora bursts through the door. Doc Martens squeak against the freshly waxed linoleum, leaving zigzagging scuff marks that'll make the cleaning lady curse tomorrow. She doubles over, gasping, her hand shaking. "I need the special ink. The one in the red bottle. The heavy-duty stuff."

"Define your emergency," you murmur without looking up, wiping away crimson droplets from your client's hip.

Bora always gets like this—dramatic, overflowing with empathy she can barely contain. Unlike Mina, Bora explodes. She paces, she curses, she stress-eats entire packages of banana milk cookies. Even so, both of them try to shoulder burdens they weren't meant to carry, attempting to ease suffering through temporary tattoos when neither has the cursed gift of truly breaking bonds.

On the table, Jiyeon lies face-down, her designer crop top pushed up to expose pale skin. Mascara-stained tears drip onto the leather cushioning while her fingers trace the edges of the fresh tribal design—thick black lines and sharp angles now covering what was once a vine pattern, her soulmate mark. The same mark that tied her to Seo-yeon. After Jiyeon discovered that Seo-yeon was organising a spring wedding with her ex—the jerk who left her arms with bruises resembling cigarette burns—she stopped responding to her texts.

You don't comment on the crying. Several years of breaking bonds, and you've witnessed enough shattered connections to understand Psyche's judgment weighs heavier than any earthly pain. That ancient, otherworldly voice that scrapes against your skull like broken glass, whispering condemnations that echo through time itself. Every fucking day you hear it too.

Destroyer. Defiler. Burner of destinies. How dare you sever what the goddess has joined with her own hands?

"Stop touching it," you say, your voice softer than usual as you gently bat away Jiyeon's exploring fingers. Placing your palm over the fresh tattoo, you feel it.

Rainbow-colored boba pearls explode between teenage teeth. Clumsy fingers weave friendship bracelets during marathon study sessions. Graduation caps soar toward summer sky while joined hands squeeze promises of forever. Then reality shatters—screenshots of late-night texts between Seo-yeon and Eunkwang flood Jiyeon's phone. "He's changed," Seo-yeon insists while Jiyeon traces finger-shaped bruises blooming across old photographs. A wedding invitation arrives in a rose-gold envelope.

Under your touch, the soul bond flickers like a dying lightbulb. An once-vibrant pink glow that represented Jiyeon's side of the connection has faded to a sickly rose, the golden cosmic threads unraveling.

"Two days," you whisper, more to the universe than to anyone in the room. "Maybe less."

"Fuck me sideways," Bora hisses through clenched teeth, her lip piercing clicking against her canine. She paces the room. "The guy out front, Y/N... it's bad. Like, soap opera bad. Caught his mom fucking his soulmate in their family vacation house. He tried to burn the mark off with fucking bleach. Chemical burns everywhere. And my machine picked today of all days to shit itself, and you know I can't—"

"Out of ink," you cut her off, dragging your forearm across your eyes. It leaves another streak of black around them but it doesn't compare to how they're burning from three sleepless nights of the same recurring dream—a viscous sensation of seaweed wrapped around your ankles, invisible chains pulling you to the bottom of the river, voices distorted by water calling your name with a familiarity that makes you nauseous.

Punishment from your ancestors, who must be turning in their underwater graves.

"Damn, the guy's really messed up, Unnie!"

With a sigh, you pick up a bottle of lukewarm water from the table. Cleaning gel sticks to the plastic. "Tell him to come back tomorrow. I'm going to the supplier tonight, after the last client." The bottle is empty in four gulps. "If he's really struggling, there's Jack Daniel's in the bottom drawer. New bottle. Offer him a double shot; he'll need it."

As Bora leaves your room muttering a litany of creative curses at deities you didn't even know existed, Jiyeon finally gets up from the table. The movement is slow—like someone testing a broken bone. Her high-waisted jean shorts barely cover the bandage.

"You're kind of bitter, aren't you?" she murmurs. "Cold. Full of... walls. The true Bond Reaper. That's what they call you out there, you know? In the Telegram groups, on the forums..."

You shrug, already starting to dismantle your machine. "And what else do they say in those little groups?"

"That you charge in dollars. That you only take... complicated cases. That you almost died when you burned your mark. They say your heart stopped for seven minutes."

Shit...

Every Sunday morning, you still recall your father kneading dough while humming old Beatles songs, the flour sprinkling his dark hair like early snow. How your mother's sewing machine would provide percussion to his off-key rendition of "Hey Jude," guiding fabric through the needle. The way three-year-old Hyewon would toddle around the kitchen in her yellow polka dot dress, stealing bits of cookie dough when Dad wasn't looking. Despite Mom's objections, you were fifteen at the time, sitting on the counter and assisting Dad in measuring ingredients while daydreaming about your soulmate mark.

Then came that Tuesday in March. The sound of your father's belt when your mother used it to hang herself, three days after he ran away with his "true" soulmate, a yoga instructor. Following the dull thud of the body striking the bathroom tiles, there was the creaking of leather against the rusty metal railing. Hyewon's screams from her bedroom, where you'd locked her in with her stuffed rabbit when Mom started acting strange.

Then came your aunt Soo-jin, who was dying in her flat because her soulmate had wrapped his Mercedes around a lamppost in Manchester. Then came your high school friend Min-ji, who swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills after finding her soulmate in bed with her twin sister. When her mark turned ash-gray, indicating her husband's death in a fishing accident, your neighbour Mrs. Kim just stopped eating.

To keep Hyewon in school, you worked double shifts at convenience stores for three years, cleaned office buildings at night, and slept on newspaper-wrapped park benches when you could not afford rent. Somewhere between cleaning toilets at two in the morning and paying for Hyewon's school uniforms with your mother's cherished sewing machine, your sunny personality died.

Since then, you prefer your days fueled by weed from Park in 302 and bottom-shelf vodka from Mrs. Lee's corner store. Your nights are filled with casual sex with people who don't ask about the elaborate tattoo between your breasts.

Form, structure, and physical boundaries were desperately needed in the world to contain the primordial chaos that this soulmate nonsense threatened to unleash at any moment.

Much as a jellyfish was forced to develop an exoskeleton to survive on solid ground, you transformed your curse into art, your pain into livelihood. Just as precisely as they create beauty, your hands can break divine bonds. It was inevitable to succumb to the need for containment, to the visceral dread of remaining undefined, so you chose your own chains and forged your own prison with ink and needles. And if Psyche wanted to curse you with the gift of destruction, well... you would make this curse your masterpiece.

"Bitter? Die? Me? No way! They're just stories, dear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare the room for the next client. Mina handles payment at reception—cards, transfers, divine favors... hell, she'd probably accept your firstborn if Psyche deemed it worthy."

Jiyeon's fingers twist the strap of her designer purse. "Thanks... and thanks for listening too. Not many people understand the whole..." She swallows hard. "Best friends who were soulmates thing. And then with her marrying my ex..."

"Honey, I've seen bonds between twins shatter. Marks appearing on corpses.” You grab a fresh needle, testing its weight. "Your story? It's Tuesday afternoon in my world."

"The aftercare..."

"Right. Lukewarm water, mild soap, three days." You demonstrate the cleaning motion in the air. "No direct water contact. Healing ointment—the expensive kind, not the corner store garbage."

"And no swimming or gym," she mumbles, shoulders hunched forward like she's trying to make herself smaller.

"For two weeks minimum." The machine whirs to life in your hands, its familiar buzz drowning out the voices for a blessed moment. "If it gets infected or your friend starts fighting the severance—and trust me, she will—come straight back here. Don't play doctor with drugstore remedies."

Jiyeon shifts her weight from one foot to another, her expensive heels clicking against the floor tiles. "One more thing? How... how do you do it? Day after day, hearing these stories? The goddess's gift... is it real? The voices everyone talks about... do they..." She gestures at her head.

In the pocket of your apron, your fingers locate the pack of cigarettes. "Psyche's not some benevolent matchmaker—she's a cosmic chaos agent with a sick sense of humor. Some get marks, some don't. It's a divine lottery where everyone's ticket is already rigged. And some of us?" Your free hand unconsciously moves to your chest. "Some of us are born marked but spend every day wishing we weren't. As for the voices and that whole near-death drama? Just stories people tell to make sense of their broken hearts."

Words die before they reach Jiyeon's lips as her mouth opens and closes like a landed fish.

"Save your breath.” Once, twice—the metal wheel scrapes against your calloused thumb. Third time's the charm, and the flame dances to life. Destroyer. Defiler. Burner of destinies. Smoke billows out of your nostrils and you fancy yourself some ancient dragon, not hoarding gold but guarding a collection of bonds. “Just take care of that tattoo. And when you need another cover-up..." Before it falls and scatters on the floor, the ash column grows dangerously long. "You know where to find me. I'll be right here, giving the middle finger to destiny."

The door clicks shut behind her.

As soon as you feel safe and lonely enough, you trace the outline of the mark through your shirt. That cursed patch of skin that refuses to forget. Trembling between your fingers, the cigarette hovers closer to your chest. Closer. The heat seeps through the cotton, a promise of pain, of release. Just one quick press and maybe... Your breath hitches. Maybe this time...

When something—or someone—slams against the front door with enough force to make the ink bottles on their shelves dance akin to inebriated soldiers, the studio erupts in chaos. The cigarette slips from your startled fingers, landing on your thigh. "Son of a fucking—" Pain explodes across your leg as the ember burns through denim and finds flesh. Your fingers scramble to brush it away, skin blistering against hot ash.

Through the thin walls, Bora's voice rises like a war cry: "Oi, shitstain! Try that again and I'll rearrange your face so badly your own mother won't recognize you at Chuseok! Some of us weren't raised in a goddamn circus!"

"Christ on a cracker," you mutter, picking gray ash from your jeans.

It didn't work. Again. It never does. You’re too coward to burn the skin only to see it intact a few weeks later.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite agent of chaos." Mina materializes in your doorway like an urban legend, all dramatic timing and knowing smirks. From the recent burn on your trousers to the spot where your hand is still hovering over your chest, just above that cursed mark, her dark eyes dart. She clicks her tongue against her teeth. "That murder-suicide energy you're radiating could power half of Gangnam, and Bora's about to commit a felony in the waiting room. You know how she gets when entitled assholes treat this place like their personal fight club. The vibes in here?" She wrinkles her nose. "More fucked than that time Park Jin-young tried to cover up his ex's name with a portrait of his cat. Want me to tell your next client to fuck off? Park-ssi's been around long enough to know the drill. Wouldn't be the first time you've needed space to..." She waves her hand vaguely, "Process your shit."

Lavender incense—the kind she religiously buys from that ancient grandmother with milky eyes at Gwangjang Market every Thursday—weaves through the air. It combines with the sting of ink and your personal scent to create a mood that veers between a crime scene and a temple.

She moves through your space like water finding its level, the hem of her thrifted black dress whispering secrets against legs covered in Korean mythology. Dragons chase tigers across her calves, while dokkebi dance around her ankles.

There's always been something otherworldly about Mina, but today it pulses stronger, like a radio picking up signals from another dimension. Every word of your conversation with Jiyeon must have reached her ears through the paper-thin walls of this dilapidated building. And Mina, sweet, cursed Mina, has never learned how to shut off that cosmic antenna of hers, picking up pain frequencies that should stay buried in the static.

It's her fucking birthright after all—this ability to absorb others' emotional garbage like some metaphysical recycling bin. Psyche's golden child. The unofficial therapist of Seoul's walking wounded.

"I said I'm fucking fine," you snap, but your hands betray you, trembling worse than that time you tried to quit smoking cold turkey—another souvenir from that night in the burned-out palace gardens, when Psyche decided to make you her cosmic janitor. " Just... drained. This week's been absolute shit wrapped in more shit. Five bond severances back-to-back, and that perpetual disaster Park Jin-young showing up again wanting to tattoo what's-her-face's name over his chest. For the fifth fucking time! Fifth! I swear to god, that man's skin is more crossed-out names than actual skin at this point."

"And those dreams are back, aren't they? About the voices underwater?" Mina twirls one of her purple-dyed dreadlocks around her finger, a habit she's had since that rainy night four years ago when she crashed into your life—quite literally—by falling through your apartment's window while chasing what she swore was Psyche's spirit animal.

You remember how she sat there, surrounded by broken glass and your sister's scattered Barbie dolls, blood trickling down her temple, looking at you with those huge doe eyes and announcing, "The goddess sent me to find you."

She takes another step forward now, her collection of silver anklets jingling softly. "I heard you last night. Screaming about chains and seaweed and something about a book." She pauses exactly two steps away—close enough that you can smell her bubble tea, far enough that you won't feel cornered. "Listen, my cousin Seo-yeon—you remember her? The one who caught her ex trying to burn down her apartment? She's a therapist now. Specializes in post-severance trauma cases. Got her master's in Soul Psychology from that university in Bangkok—"

"No." You stand up abruptly, your thighs hitting the metal table hard enough to knock some needles that clatter against the floor. "I don't need therapy, honey. I don't need anyone else trying to get inside my head. I just need..."

"Just need what, unnie?" Mina's hand lands on your shoulder.

"I need you to stop trying to save me like I'm another one of your divine charity projects. I'm not a lost soul for you to rescue, dammit."

"What if I don't want to stop?" Mina challenges, lifting her chin stubbornly. "What if this is my purpose? My destiny? To heal what you break?"

Prior to your protest, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, right where your third eye would be—according to her endless spiritual babble. It's quick, almost chaste, almost sacred, a profane blessing. The kind of gesture she started making when she first noticed how the souls' voices wouldn't quiet in your head, how they screamed louder with each bond you severed.

"Psyche brought us together to be soul sisters, remember?" She murmurs against your skin. "Light and shadow. Healing and destruction. Yin and yang."

In some ways, kindness has always hurt more than cruelty, so you pull away as though her touch burns.

Your knees protest as you bend down to pick up the needles from the floor. "I just need to work, okay? The busier I stay, the less time I have to think about..."

"About how you still feel the bond even after burning it? About how Psyche cursed you in that garden, giving you the gift you feared most? Or about how you secretly like this gift because it gives you a perfect excuse to keep everyone at a safe distance?"

As if your own body were betraying you, you keep picking up needles from the floor, ignoring the fact that your hands are shaking more and more and that your fingers do not seem to be able to grasp the metal.

"Here's what I'm gonna do," Mina says, fishing her phone from the pocket of her dress. Her nails tap against the cracked screen. "I'm getting us coffee. That fancy shit from the place near Hongdae, not the vending machine piss you've been choking down."

"Don't waste your time, Min."

"See, that's your problem right there," she cuts in, already backing toward the door. Her fingers find the obsidian amulet she hung above your door last full moon—"for the dark energy," she'd said, while Bora rolled her eyes and muttered about superstitious girlfriends. "You think every kind gesture is a waste, every connection is a trap waiting to spring." One boot is already in the hallway when she stops. "News flash, unnie— Some people stick around because they want to, not because they have to. Some bonds heal instead of hurt. But your thick skull is too busy building fortresses to notice the difference."

Some bonds heal instead of hurt, you repeat mentally, but how can you know which ones are safe when even your own soul can betray you?

---------------------------------------------------------------

"When will I see you again, love?"

"When I run out of ink, Junho." You slide off his lap, adjusting your lace. "And that might take a while; I just got a new shipment."

"Are you kicking me out?" He laughs, that deep, husky laugh that makes your stomach do a treacherous flip. His fingers fish out a cigarette from the crumpled pack on the nightstand. On his bare shoulders, the old lamp's yellowish light dances. "I thought we had something special. You know, after that thing you did with your tongue..."

You roll your eyes while searching the bedroom floor for your shirt. Finally, you find the fabric under a stack of old sheet music, still damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably.

"The only special thing here is your ability to not take a hint." A bottle of soju is half-empty when your fingers find it. The liquid burns down your throat, already hoarse from earlier moans. "Don't complicate what's simple, guitarist."

"Simple?" Junho exhales smoke slowly as he forms perfect circles in the stale air. "You call this simple? Three months of late-night meetings, coded messages, and nail marks on my back? The way you tremble when I touch—"

Bile rises in your throat, acidic and familiar. You know this tone, have heard it from others before him—that possessive edge that creeps in like poison ivy. It would be easier if this was just about dramatic choices, lightsabres, and villains to defeat. Real life, however, is not a film with definite heroes and villains. Small decisions like accepting a second date, letting someone stay until morning, or acknowledging that the warmth in your chest is not just the soju talking are what can ruin you. These mundane decisions are the ones that can shatter your walls, and unlike a seatbelt click or a dramatic battle scene, there's no manual for protecting your heart from the slow poison of attachment.

"You don't even feel anything," you mutter, more to yourself than to him, as your fingers finally locate your combat boots under his vintage armchair—that hideous moss-green velvet monstrosity he swears came from some artist's estate sale in Hongdae. Still wrapped in its brown paper, your knuckles brush against a new bundle of inks and needles as you touch the top of it.

"What did you say?" Junho's voice carries that puppy-like eagerness that makes your stomach turn. He's too invested, too hungry for validation, for connection.

"Nothing. Just thinking about my next appointment with Lee Jiwoo. That cover-up piece won't ink itself."

"Come back to bed," he purrs, patting the twisted sheet. "I could reschedule my morning practice with the band. We could order that spicy tteokbokki you like!"

"What you're doing is pathetically obvious," you cut him off, yanking on your left boot. "The constant questions about my clients. The 'accidental' glimpses at my phone when you think I'm sleeping. Those calls you take in the bathroom." Your laugh is a broken thing. "What's the going rate for information about the bond reaper these days? Or did Detective Park promise to clear your assault record from that bar fight in Itaewon instead?"

Junho's face drains of color faster than soju spilling on concrete, his fingers clutching the bedsheet like a shield. "Jagi, I don't—you're not making any—"

"Spare me the stuttering act." You stand, ignoring how your knees crack from kneeling too long on his cheap laminate flooring. "You're not the first to try gathering intel between the sheets, and hell, you won't be the last. But here's some free advice: next time you're playing undercover cop's lapdog, don't keep your burner phone in the same jacket pocket as your guitar picks. Amateur move."

That carefully constructed puppy-dog sweetness melts away as his expression contorts. Something darker emerges, something that was always there, lurking beneath his gentle musician facade. "You went through my fucking things?" His voice cracks on the last word. "You paranoid psycho—"

"Oh, baby," you drawl, watching his jaw clench at the pet name he once begged you to use. Your lips curl into something that might look like a smile but feels like a wound. "I've been going through your things since that first night at the jazz bar. The police reports stuffed in your guitar case? Sloppy. Those surveillance photos under your mattress? Embarrassing. But those encrypted messages to Detective Park about my 'suspicious late-night clients' and 'possible illegal modifications of soul bonds'?" You trace a finger along your bottom lip. "Now that was some riveting bedtime reading."

With the coordination of a drunken toddler, he lunges forward, but you are already subconsciously affected by six years of street survival. Your elbow finds his solar plexus—right where that hideous compass tattoo points perpetually north—and he crumples. A puddle of regret and cheap tobacco forms as the Chamisul smashes against the floor and mixes with his dropped cigarette.

"Fucking—" he wheezes between gasps, one hand pressed against his stomach where tomorrow's bruise is already blooming, "—crazy cunt."

"See?" You retrieve your ink bundle from the chair, careful not to step in the growing puddle of soju. "That honesty suits you better than all that 'jagiya' bullshit." At the door, you pause, not bothering to look back at him sprawled among the wreckage of his failed operation. "Oh, and Junho? Next time Detective Park wants to investigate suspected bond modifications, tell him to send someone who can at least fake sincerity. This?" You wave vaguely at the rumpled sheets where you'd wasted three months letting him think he was getting close to proof. "This was just embarrassing. Even that rookie he sent last spring—Kim Minseok, wasn't it?—at least knew how to forge a convincing backstory."

As you descend the stairs of his shithole apartment building, past the perpetually broken vending machine that dispenses warm Sprite and the wall where someone spray-painted 'dreams die here' in neon pink, you don't feel anything. Not betrayal, not anger, not even disappointment. Sex had been decent, and his connections for rare inks had been useful. That's all it ever was. All it could ever be in a world where burning soulmate marks is whispered about in dark alleys, where even the suggestion of being the infamous "bond reaper" could get you disappeared into some government black site.

-------------------------------------------

When you get home, the low sound of some Korean drama—seems to be True Beauty from the theme song playing—leaks through the door. Mina and Bora are on the couch, a tangle of limbs and soft sighs. Bora, with her hair spread like a fan across Mina's thigh, has a thread of drool running onto her girlfriend's silk shorts. The caramel popcorn bag is tipped over on the Persian rug.

"Unnie!" Mina's voice is thick with sleep as you drape the blanket over them. Her fingers fumble with the remote, pressing random buttons. "Tell me everything about guitar boy. Did he do the thing with his tongue and the cigarette smoke again? We closed early just for your date, you know."

"Your concealer's smudged all over your chin," Bora interrupts, face still buried in Mina's thigh. "And you've got that look again—the one where you just crushed someone's soul into dust and maybe enjoyed it a little too much." She snorts, finally cracking one eye open. "Poor Junho-oppa. Bet he thought he was being so smooth with his undercover act."

"Both of you, sleep," you whisper, pressing a kiss to Mina's forehead. Her skin is warm, slightly sticky from the face mask she never properly washed off. When you kiss Bora's temple, she swats at you with the precision of a drunk cat, nearly knocking over the soju bottle. "We can dissect the train wreck that is my love life tomorrow, after I've had at least three shots of espresso and maybe some soju."

Bora mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "You're just scared of feelings," but her words dissolve into soft snores before you can argue.

When you first arrive at the flat, you are met with its familiar chaos, which is the inevitable outcome of living with two artists who view organization as a suggestion and an eight-year-old whose life's work is to collect every piece of Stray Kids item ever made. You hang the jean jacket in the hallway closet, wincing as the floorboard under your left foot lets out a betraying creak. The living room floor has transformed into an obstacle course of your sister’s scattered toys—plushies, abandoned coloring books, and what looks suspiciously like Felix photocards arranged in a perfect circle ("It's for summoning him!").

In the kitchen, yesterday's ramyeon bowls still crowd the sink like ceramic mushrooms, and a stack of bills—mostly from Mina's black card adventures at Gucci and her newfound obsession with some obscure Japanese streetwear brand—threatens to avalanche off the dining table.

Your eyes catch on the newest masterpiece stuck to the fridge—Hyewon's latest attempt at capturing Felix's essence. Despite the wobbly lines and questionable proportions, there's something endearing about how she captured his signature heart smile. The messy hangul beneath reads "The prettiest boy in the world!!!" with at least seven exclamation points. Next to it, held by that ridiculous rabbit magnet Bora won at some arcade in Hongdae, Mrs. Jung's neat handwriting reports, "Hyewonnie cleaned her plate today! Even asked for extra kimchi (progress!). Oh, parent-teacher meeting tomorrow at 2PM—talent show preparations.”

Gently, you fold the note and slide it into the pocket of your torn jeans.

In her room, the bedside lamp is still on. Hyewon sleeps hugging the official SKZOO pillow, and her long black hair, identical to yours, is spread across the pillow.

"Mom?" Hyewon's voice cracks with sleep, her small fingers rubbing at her eyes. She started calling you that when she was three, after your mother died. Back then, she'd cry herself hoarse asking for "mommy," and somehow, between midnight feedings and endless diaper changes, the word stuck to you like honey. "Is that... wait, ugh, why do you smell like an ashtray?" Her nose scrunches up. She pushes herself up on her elbows. "And that's definitely Uncle Junho's cologne."

You sink onto the edge of her bed and your fingers find their way to her hair, working through a stubborn knot near her temple. "Hey, detective squirrel, enough with the interrogation." You try to keep your voice light, but something must slip through because she tilts her head, studying you with that perception that makes her seem older than eight. "Tell me about your day instead. That dance routine you were working on..."

"Wait, no, this is way more important!" Sleep vanishes from her face like magic. She jolts upright, her knee catching the edge of her water glass. It wobbles dangerously before you steady it. "Mrs. Jung told me I could finally tell you! She made me do the super special pinky promise with the thumb press and everything!"

She scrambles out of bed, her feet barely touching the floor as she moves. There's a moment where she trips over her giant Wolfchan plushie, arms windmilling, but she catches herself with that natural grace you never inherited from your mother's side.

"Look, look, look!" She slides across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop at her desk. Under the soft glow of her star-shaped night light, four VIP tickets gleam. "Mrs. Jung got them as an early birthday present! They're not just regular tickets—they're VIP! Front row! We could actually see Felix's freckles!" Her words tumble out faster than her breath can keep up. "Can we go? Please? I'll do all my math homework first try! I'll even eat the green parts of the kimchi!"

The paper feels expensive under your fingertips—thick, textured, with a hologram that catches the light just so. These tickets probably cost more than what you make in a week covering soulmate marks for trainees and politicians with secrets darker than their coffee. Your thumb traces the embossed date, mind already calculating risks and escape routes.

"Hyewonnie..." you start, watching her bounce on her toes. Her small fingers twist the hem of her oversized sleep shirt. She's practically vibrating with hope, and something in your chest aches. "Baby, you're only eight. These concerts... they get pretty wild. People push and shove, and sometimes—"

"NINE!" she corrects indignantly, her voice rising an octave as she straightens her spine and cheeks puff out. "I'm turning nine in exactly—" she counts on her fingers, lips moving silently, "—forty-three days! And Mrs. Jung confirmed she's going with us! She even said we can bring Mina unnie too! They're the ones who made me become a Stay! They showed me the 'God's Menu' video seventeen times in one day!" Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, Mom? Pretty please?”

You sigh, watching as she squeezes her pillow so tightly that poor Wolfchan's ears stick out at odd angles. The truth hits you like a brick—your baby sister, this tiny human who still can't reach the top kitchen shelf even on tiptoes, has been completely and utterly converted into a Stay by your chaotic roommates. She learned the names of eight boys before she could properly write her own name in Hangul.

"Mrs. Jung really thought of everything, didn't she?" You smile despite yourself, sliding the tickets into the desk drawer. They disappear beneath a scattered constellation of photocard. "We'll have a proper talk about this tomorrow, okay? Right now it's way past little Stays' bedtime."

"But you'll think about it? Like, really think about it?" She burrows under her blankets. "Chan oppa would be so disappointed if I didn't go... and his dimples get all sad when he's disappointed... and then I'd feel terrible forever and ever..." Her voice trails off into a yawn that she tries to hide behind her hand.

"Unnie will think about it. Promise. Sleep well, my little Stay." You press a kiss to her forehead.

Through heavy eyelids, she mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'I love you.'. Her small fingers—still sticky from the candy she definitely wasn't supposed to have before bed—curl around the hem of your shirt. It's the same instinctive gesture she's had since she was a baby, as if making sure you won't disappear while she dreams.

She was so small, impossibly small, like a sparrow that had fallen from its nest too soon. You remember how her fingers, no bigger than guitar picks, had latched onto your old Nirvana shirt with surprising strength, as if she already knew you were all she would have.

In the hallway, you trace the marks on the wall—each line a complete story, each number a small revolution. "Look, unnie, I grew two centimeters!" Her voice echoes in your memory, bouncing on her tiptoes to appear even taller. The last mark, made just two weeks ago during a lazy Sunday morning, shows she's already past your elbow. Soon she'll be your height, maybe even taller.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter when your phone vibrates again. The blue-tinted screen illuminates the dark hallway. The photo—you and Junho at Namsan Tower—feels like a lifetime ago.

His voice message arrives, that infuriating little 'ping' that makes your jaw clench: "Listen, jagiya,” . The ice cubes in his whiskey glass (probably his third) clink against each other. The familiar jazz from Sol Music Bar—where he first tried to impress you with his terrible English pickup lines—bleeds through his words. "I know you hate when I do this shit, but we need to talk about what went down today. You can't just—"

Delete. Block. Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before choosing both options.

"Unnie?" Bora's leaning against the doorframe like a ghost from a Joseon painting, platinum blonde hair creating a halo around her face. "Got any soju left? That fucking dream again... the one with the blood and the—".

"Bora-yah," you whisper, gathering the fallen blanket from the floor. "You have work tomorrow. The exhibition at Seoul Arts Center, remember? The one you've been preparing for months?"

"But, unnie..." She rubs her eyes with her knuckles, smearing what's left of her eyeliner across pale skin. Her bottom lip trembles—just slightly, but you catch it. "I saw Mina again. In the dream. She was wearing that stupid hanbok, the one from the palace, and her hands were covered in—"

"We'll talk about your not-so-prophetic dreams tomorrow, okay?" You guide her back to the couch, where Mina's sleeping form creates a perfect curve.

"They're not prophetic," she mumbles, voice muffled against Mina's shoulder. Her words slur together. "They're memories. From before. When we were—when you were—" She doesn't finish, already half-asleep.

You watch as they gravitate toward each other, even in sleep. Mina's fingers find Bora's wrist instinctively, tracing the outline of their matching marks—twin sunflowers, eternally blooming, stems intertwined in an endless dance.

Your phone buzzes again—once, twice, three times. The vibrations travel through your pocket and into your bones. You switch it off completely, watching the screen fade to black.

In your room, where half-finished tattoo designs and anatomical sketches create a wallpaper of controlled chaos, you sink into the desk chair. Old wood protests under your weight, a familiar creak that sounds like an old friend's greeting.

Lifting the sketchbook—that lovely, awful thing with its tattered black cover and sin-thick pages—from the drawer, your hands tremble. Another of Mina's gifts because she always seems to know exactly what you need before the thought fully forms in your mind. The pencil moves across the paper with a will of its own, like a Ouija board planchette guided by unseen hands.

An ancient castle rises from the depths of memory. Its towers pierce a clouded sky, stone walls holding centuries of secrets. In your mind's eye, you can hear the echo of footsteps—your footsteps—bouncing off corridors. Air fills with the musty sweetness of black mold and the sharp tang of melting wax, so real you can almost taste it on your tongue.

"Quick, quick!" you whisper to yourself, your words ricocheting off the damp walls. A rebellious strand of hair escapes from the linen scarf that holds your locks. Your fingers press the breadbasket against your chest as you descend the spiral stairs of the royal kitchen. The thick apron brushes against your ankles.

In the street, under a sky that begins to lighten at the edges like a burned parchment, the line is already forming—dozens of thin, pale faces, sunken eyes shining with a hunger that goes beyond the physical. The cold dawn wind makes tattered clothes dance around bodies too fragile, too worn by the Lunaris kingdom's misery.

It pains your heart, knowing that even when Chrysalis delivers their crops after the marriage ceremony in two moons, the distribution will be anything but fair. As a Solaris baker, you are left with few choices in a castle where people mock the loss of your kingdom. You were saved by the kindness of two soldiers whom the captain trusted when the others had been too eager to kill you and your infant sister. Still, you persist in your small acts of rebellion. Mina and Bora, bless their souls, run interference when the head chef notices your absence, their quick tongues spinning tales of errands and duties that never existed.

"By the old gods, look who's here!" Mrs. Jung's weathered hands reach out. The finest weaver in the Lunaris Kingdom, now reduced to threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks. "Our Solaris angel, bringing warmth to our cold mornings."

"Careful with those words, Mrs. Jung," you murmur, pressing the still-warm loaf into her hands. Your fingers linger on hers, trying to share what little warmth you possess. "The castle has ears, even at this hour."

More children emerge from the shadows like spirits. Against the cold cobblestones, their feet, encased in strands of fabric ripped from old clothing, produce an eerie cadence. You recognize the makeshift bandages as pieces of the royal banners that once flew proudly over the gates.

"Unnie!" Soo-yeon's teeth chatter as she tugs at your apron. "Jin-ho's here today. His first time." She points with her chin toward a boy who's pressed himself so far into the shadows that only the gleam of his eyes gives him away. The military coat he wears—his father's, you'd bet your last copper on it—hangs off his frame like a tent, the sleeves rolled up six times just so his hands can peek through. "His mama caught the winter fever."

"Come here, little soldier," you beckon to Jin-ho, watching how his fingers drum an anxious rhythm against his thighs. You extract an extra portion wrapped in cloth. "This one just came from the ovens. The crust might burn your tongue if you're not careful, mind you. Small bites, like a proper nobleman."

You catch Min-ah trying to inhale an entire roll like a snake swallowing its prey. Her cheeks bulge impossibly wide, crumbs dusting her chin. "Saints above, sunshine! Did the orphanage run out of plates?" Your hand shoots out to pat her back as she makes a sound between a laugh and a choke. "Remember what happened with Bora last week? Poor thing went whiter than the palace sheets when you started turning blue."

Your attention splits as Soo-yeon shuffles closer against you, drawn by the warmth radiating from your body. Your fingers find her hair, working through knots that would make a sailor weep. "And what's this mess, my little star? These braids look like they've been through a war." Your thumb brushes away a smudge of dirt from her temple. "Where's that pretty ribbon I gave you? The blue one?"

"Lost it," she mumbles, eyes downcast. Her lower lip quivers. "During the guards' raid. They—they tore through everything looking for—"

"Shh," you cut her off gently, cupping her chin. "Visit my compound later, after the morning bell. We'll fix these braids properly." You lean in close enough that your breath stirs the wisps of hair around her face, voice dropping to that special whisper that never fails to make her eyes sparkle like dewdrops in sunlight. "And if you can sneak past that grumpy old Master Lee without making a sound, we might just find some honey cakes that survived the night. Enough to share with Hyewon too, if you’re feeling generous."

Between the frost-covered windows of the castle, your eyes dart. Usually, the guards sleep until the sun rises high enough to break their stupor, their bellies full of wine and meat from the feast last night celebrating the impending union of Lunaris and Chrysalis. But Commander Jung, that snake in armor, has grown suspicious. Just last week, his eyes followed your movements through the corridors. His thin lips curved into that knowing smirk that made your blood run cold, the same expression he wore when he ordered the burning of the Sun Temple.

Suddenly, there’s smoke curling around your feet and you no longer see their faces.

The ornate room feels like a gilded cage, suffocating in its opulence. The Venetian mirror reflects three souls caught in an impossible web—one small figure and two tall ones.

"Your Grace, please try to steady your breathing." Your hands adjust the formal attire. The familiar scent of mint leaves, coffee beans, and something uniquely him—like summer rain on hot stones—wraps around you.

"Does it pinch here?" Your fingers trace the embroidered seam along his shoulder blade, feeling the way his muscles twitch beneath the fabric. When he shakes his head—a movement so slight you almost miss it—you catch sight of his eyes in the mirror. They're swimming with unshed tears, and something in your chest splinters. Those eyes, god, those eyes. You can't remember his name or the exact shape of his face, but those eyes are burned into your memory—the same ones that danced with mischief as you three raided the kitchen's sweetmeats at midnight, the same ones that grew soft and liquid while reading poetry by candlelight in the library's hidden alcove. "My l—"

"Don't." His fingers spasm toward yours but retreat. "Please. Not—not today. I'll shatter if I hear that word from your lips."

Across the room, he—the other he, your morning star to this one's evening moon—paces like a caged beast. His teeth worry at his bottom lip until you see a bead of blood well up.

As you hold him, servants flit about with ribbons and flowers as the wedding preparations whirl around you like some hideous funfair.

"Your Grace," a maid's voice pipes up, "the bride is ready."

Time crystallizes like honey in winter when she enters. Her wedding dress ripples like liquid moonlight against marble floors that reflect her silhouette in fractured pieces. Red roses tumble from her hands; you watch a single petal break free, spiraling down in lazy circles until it kisses the marble floor like a drop of blood. The sight makes your stomach lurch.

A shudder runs through him, his breath hitching against the curve of your neck, warm and damp and desperate. "Can't—can't breathe. Why does it feel like we're conducting a funeral instead of a wedding?"

Without a word, you simply draw him farther into the shadows where the tapestries provide cover. The guards won't see their war captain like this, won't witness how his knees almost buckle when another wave of perfumed air carries the scent of roses. For God’s sake, in mere minutes, he'll have to represent the military! Kneeling before their next queen and king with a face carved from stone.

And there, at the altar draped in Lunaris silk, the crown prince stands like a man facing his executioner.

However, there's happiness too, isn't there? Memories as sweet as honey wine: lazy afternoons in secret clearings where the grass grew tall enough to hide three bodies. His head in your lap—dark hair spread like ink on your skirts, cat-like eyes half-closed in contentment—while the other's fingers trail patterns on your arm. Wildflower branches woven through dark hair while the summer sun painted everything gold.

"That crown suits you better than any other, my sunny queen." A playful tug on a flower stem sends petals cascading around your shoulders.

"Shut up and pass me another daisy," you mutter, but your voice trembles slightly. Your hands fidget with the stem, weaving it into the growing crown.

"He's right, you know?" The other one shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours. "You were born to wear crowns. Even if they're made of wildflowers." His thumb brushes your bottom lip, the calluses from years of swordplay creating a delicious friction. "Though I prefer you in the morning, wearing nothing but sunlight. Solaris blood really runs in your veins—you practically glow."

By the riverside, where the air smells of herbs and magic, ceramic pots bubble with mysterious concoctions. Steam rises in spirals, carrying the scent of crushed moonflowers and dragon's breath herbs. Your hair curls in the humidity, becoming wild and untamed.

"Be careful with that one, kitten; it might explode!" He lunges forward, muscles tensing beneath his thin shirt. His hand reaches for the pot, but you swat it away.

"For the love of the old gods," you hiss through clenched teeth, your fingers still tingling from the contact. "I know what I'm doing. I've been brewing potions since before you learned to hold a sword properly. My kingdom actually specializes in that, if you've forgotten."

"Of course you do, our little sun." The other one laughs. His feet dangle in the river, creating ripples that distort his reflection into fragments. He leans back on his elbows, dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your heart stutter. "Remember when she turned your hair green for a week? You looked like a walking garden." His shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

"That was an accident!" you protest, but your lips twitch traitorously. "Besides, the color brought out your eyes."

"It brought out something alright," the first one grumbles, running his fingers through his hair as if checking it's still the right color. "The castle guards couldn't look at me without laughing for months."

"Oh please," you roll your eyes, adding a pinch of crushed starflower to the mixture. The potion turns a deep violet, exactly as it should. "You loved the attention. You practically strutted around like a peacock."

"Speaking of attention," the second one's voice drops lower, more intimate. He catches your wrist gently, thumb pressing against your pulse point. "That merchant's son couldn't take his eyes off you at the market yesterday. Should we be concerned?"

"Jealous?" You arch an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your skin burns under his touch. "Of a boy who still trips over his own feet?"

"Never," they say in unison, and the synchronicity makes something warm unfurl in your chest. The first one moves behind you, his chest pressed against your back, while the other tugs you forward by your captured wrist. You're caught between them, like always, like destiny.

One pair of honey-golden hands, calloused from wielding swords and scaling castle walls to get to your window, always gentle when wiping tears from your face, are the hands you remember like a prayer. The other pair, pale as ivory, stained with ink from writing poetry and royal decrees, skilled at braiding your hair in the traditional style of his homeland.

Remember sleeping squeezed in the middle of a too-large bed, even though you hated being in the center (you always preferred the edges, or even the floor, much to their amusement). One would whisper poetry in your left ear while the other sang softly in your right, old lullabies from the Lunaris provinces."

"I hate you both," you'd lie, voice muffled by silk pillows, trying to hide your smile.

"No, you don't." They'd say in unison, making you laugh despite yourself. Then one would start tickling your feet while the other stole your pillow, and the serious moment would dissolve into childish wrestling.

Suddenly, there's fire—so much fire it steals the air from your lungs. You try to burn an ancient book, its yellowed pages curling and blackening as flames lick at your own clothes. The smoke stings your eyes, or maybe those are tears. The leather binding crackles and pops.

"I can't let them find out!" Your voice breaks on the words. "They'll hurt you both. They'll—" A cough interrupts you, smoke filling your lungs. "I have to protect you. Even from yourselves."

Then you're drowning, being pulled into the depths of dark and icy waters. The cold bites through your clothes, into your bones. Hands—those same hands you know better than your own—extend desperately, trying to reach you. Their faces blur above the surface as you sink deeper.

"Don't let her sink!"

"Hold my hand, love, please!"

When you finally blink, returning to reality in your Seoul apartment, you realize you've covered twenty pages with the same intertwined marks: turbulent waves like a stormy sea swallowing whole ships, dancing flames shaped like fire serpents, and an intricate spiral of black roses and sharp thorns connecting the two in an infinite pattern.

"Shit," you whisper to the empty room, letting the pencil roll across the desk with a metallic tinkle. "Shit, shit, shit."

The pain is sudden and overwhelming. Like lightning cutting through your chest, the sensation burns between your breasts with an intensity that makes you drop the notebook and slip from the chair. The impact with the cold floor makes your teeth clash. Your fingers tremble as they tear at your shirt buttons, desperate to understand what's happening, your nails leaving red marks on your skin.

Love, is there any pie left? I woke up hungry. That apple one you make, with extra cinnamon.

Where is he? Did he go to war? He promised he'd return before the solstice!

I have a duty before love. You knew this from the beginning! The crown weighs more than my heart.

Please, don't make me choose between you. It's like tearing pieces from my own soul.

The roses are dying in the garden without you here.

And there it is—beneath the covering, beneath the old burn that marked the breaking of the bond, your soulmate mark pulses with a life of its own. The pink scar tissue glows with its own light, as if something were trying to emerge from within your skin. You close your eyes, fingers brushing the sensitive area, and see: lines green as springtime vines, pink as the dawn sky, and purple as amethysts intertwining, restitching something that should be permanently broken.

"No, no, no." Hot tears stream down your face as you plead into the void, knees hitting against the wooden floor: "Psyche, my lady, please, stop. Why are you doing this to me?"

The goddess cursed you, didn't she? Condemned you to keep breaking bonds while dealing with the voices of ancestors and the loss of your soulmates. The echo of her laughter haunts your nightmares and you can still see her furious face, beautiful and terrible, when you tried to burn the mark without divine permission. Why now? Why rebuild the bond? Could this be your true punishment—making you remember everything you lost?

The pain is so intense that you barely register the moment Mina bursts through the door, her own eyes wide with panic, hair still messy from sleep. The air seems to vibrate with static energy around her. Of course—she would feel it too. Your soul sister, designated by Psyche herself to keep you in check, to heal the souls you leave behind like breadcrumbs on a dark path.

"Unnie!" She kneels beside you, cold hands against your feverish face. The lavender scent of her night cream is almost sickening. Her fingers tremble when they touch the pulsing mark, and you see the exact moment she understands—her eyes widen even more, color draining from her face. "What did you do? The bonds... they're..."

"I didn't..." Your entire body convulses, muscles spasming as if trying to reject your own skin. Sweat makes your clothes cling uncomfortably, and you taste copper on your tongue where you've bitten the inside of your cheek. "I didn't do anything, I swear by the old gods and new. It's... it's coming back on its own. They're coming back, Min. All of them."

The last thing you saw before consciousness slipped through your fingers like water was Mina's face, contorted in a silent scream, and Bora's figure sprinting down the corridor, her gold hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail.

"Hey! Y/N!" Their voices seem to come from underwater, distorted and far away.

And then, your mind plunged into a darkness so complete it felt solid, the deep resonating toll of ancient temple bells echoing in your skull like a funeral dirge.

#minsung x reader #minsung #han jisung #imagine #stray kids #lee minho #minho x reader #stray kids minho #han x reader #love #soulmates #soulmate au #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids x you

101 notes · View notes

punchspeedchunk · 1 month ago

Text

Got the Sketch pretty much done, no real BG because I got distracted drawing other shit once all the Gob Squad were in.

They are fighting a Category 2 Krasus here. Which is also a Lizrog. Because DnD re-uses art elements I guess. I took liberties on top of that also. Riz just ran clear across the arena to distract it by slashing it's belly with his sword so the others could ambush it. Shmim is leaning over to ask if he's good lol.

ANYWAY, specific context under cut because it's A LOT And if you need context for the context, you can find it all in THE BIG AU DOC

So, when Fabian’s and Riz’s kids are still young, someone brings up the fact that they’re all old enough to compete at the Adventuring Olympics if they want.

This is a thing that is held every 5 years in High Court, and you have to be both old enough (25 and older) and high enough level (16 or higher) to compete. Fig is the one to suggest it, since she realised the last time that there is an event that the Last Stand was based off, and they could absolutely kill it.

The Gob Squad hear about this and go ‘bet we could beat you lol’, and then Adaine points out this might be true, but Riz is in both their parties, and he would have to pick one to compete with, which wouldn’t be very fair.

Riz goes ‘why not both?’

There is a LOT of debate over this, until they check the rules and find out that while there’s nothing preventing him from signing up with two adventuring parties in that event, it’s not something anyone has ever done successfully - as in, anyone who’s done it has been unable to compete in their second match due to exhaustion/injuries acquired.

Riz goes ‘bet. I won’t even be using any of my Fae powers, im doing this pure rogue’

The Seven Maidens also get in on this because they think it’ll be fun and they will NOT be outdone by the Bad Kids and Gob Squad.

So the event is endurance based, with rounds of monsters that adventuring parties have to take on. They go into the arena with a limit on their weapons, items, steeds/vehicles, and rations. It’s both easier and harder than The Last Stand - they don’t have to answer questions or keep a proctor safe, but there is no limit to the rounds of monsters they can face.

They just have to last as long as possible, and their round ends when no members of the party are able to fight any longer, or the nominated team captain calls that they’re done. The monsters they are facing are generally more dangerous than the ones they dealt with in the Last Stand as well.

The organisers, looking at Riz, then looking at his adventuring rap sheet, decide that the Gob Squad’s round will commence on the first of three days' competition, and the Bad Kids will go on the last day, so that there is as much time between his rounds as they can give him. They do not expect him to do any better than any other competitor that has attempted two rounds with different parties, but he has good stats, and he’s got a reputation they want to utilise if at all possible to get better engagement with the games (They are looking at suspending them indefinitely after this year due to a lack of engagement. Higher level adventuring teams had grown bored of the games, audiences were bored of watching the same parties compete, and fresh blood hadn’t decided to compete during years of turmoil with wars looming all over the place).

So, Gob squad come in with very little reputation ahead of them, everyone is expecting them to last maybe twenty minutes to a half hour, most teams do like an hour and a half roughly. There is some curiosity over the fact that they don’t seem to have much gear on any of them, except for the big guy sitting in what is essentially a mech-suit.

The mech suit is something Shmim developed over several years after that one concert where both Bad Kids and Gob Squad fought off the cultist invasion. He got the idea of having a mobile battle station that could concentrate his bardic magic when DJing so he could turn it into really hard hitting attacks (imagine, if you will, concentrated, amplified Dubstep attacks - Psyonic monsters get their eardrums and brains scrambled, they never stood a chance).

He burns one of his famous DJ identities and outs himself as the Artist known as Avalanche when he plays a full set for the entire duration of their fighting… which turns into HOURS. Not only is the Mech basically his Bardificer battle platform, it provides cover/shielding/pack support/a rest spot for the rest of the party as well.

The others are stashing their packs on this thing and grabbing items as they need them, leaving them free to run the field without dealing with their bags. There’s a little nest platform on the top back where they can sit and have a drink and a snack when tapping out, and while the mech is not fast, it is an absolute tank, so it takes hits pretty well, and even when it’s mobility is compromised, it’s an effective shield, and Shmim can still keep the tunes flowing and the bardics coming.

The other advantage to running a constant music set is that Shmim can use it for communicating strats and targets to the other Gob Squad members. Certain tunes will herald formations for different enemies, and sometimes just act as hype tracks for individuals (Every Gob Squad member gets a highlight when their song comes on and they get to wreck shop on their own).

Basically, everyone in the stands is losing their mind. Who the FUCK are these guys? They’re just a bunch of goblins, how are they wrecking so much shit? Why do they have a guy who can barely be seen unless he’s in a melee attack? How is that stoner guy doing so much damage with that longboard without breaking it? Did that one with the over-sized wizard hat just fucking re-animate the T-Rex they killed to fight for them? Is that safety goblin saying a prayer to a Dwarf God??? HOW has the tiny dance bard not been eaten by anything yet how is their Bard a famous DJ what the fuck is HAPPENING holy SHIT did the fucking business rogue just take out a Wyvern SOLO???? (Of course, any Goblins watching know who these guys are and expected no less. After the events of 'The Long Road Home', the Gob Squad are known as The Goblin King's High Guards, so OBVIOUSLY they're going to smash it).

It’s like, 4 hours and 45 minutes before they’re out of spells (They had been eating dragon livers to replenish spell slots, as well as just keeping their strength up. Who needs provisions when you can eat your enemies as you go?) and finally dropping from injuries and effects from enemy spells and stuff. Riz and Dex are the last ones on their feet, and they could keep holding stuff off until they fall completely (Shmim’s out for the count but has tunes still auto-playing from what’s left of the mech-deck), but they call it for the sake of having already smashed the Olympic record at the 3 and a half hour mark.

Needless to say, the Gob Squad become absolute fucking legends (outside of just Goblin culture that is). It’s a lot for the other competitors to live up to, and most don’t until the Seven Maidens take their turn right before the Bad Kids on the third day.

Riz rests the whole of the middle day in the Fae Wilds, not because he wants to use Fae magic to heal up and recuperate (He doesn’t, he thinks that’s cheating) but because he can use the time dilation of just being in the Fae Wilds to get extra rest.

So when Riz comes out on the field with the Bad Kids, he’s basically fine, only a single level of exhaustion to hobble him, and the Seven Maidens threw down the Gauntlet by beating the Gob Squad time by two whole minutes.

So obviously the Bad Kids have to beat that.

It takes Five hours and fifteen minutes before the Bad Kids call their match, and it’s only because they ran out of revivify materials and Kristen is at 1 hit point. None of them are actually down, they just have various status effects they can’t shed and figure they did good enough smashing the record to absolute pieces and making it hard for anyone else to match.

Plus Fabian and Riz want to go back to their babies, who were in the stands with Pok, Sklonda and Kari, getting more bored and squirmy the longer the match went on.

The organisers are sweating bullets, they were pulling emergency monsters directly from other planes of existence just to keep this match going, they never anticipated something like this, if the Bad Kids hadn’t called it, they were looking at the prospect of just straight running out, and that would have been embarrassing as hell for the prestige of the Olympic Guild.

#d20 fantasy high #fantasy high #fantasy high au #fanart #riz gukgak #the gob squad #the bad kids #d20 fantasy high oc #oc art #fanfic #the working title for this pic is The Gobbolympics #You can't see it but Jinky has 'Juicy' on the ass of her shorts #and her tail comes out as the dot on the i

61 notes · View notes

thirstkanaphan · 1 month ago

Text

Tinytown Digest - May 2025 Week 4 (Updated)

Hello! These recaps come out at the end of the week and new entries will be pinned to my blog and reposted to the Ateez Community.

What Did I Miss?

Over the weekend, mysterious posters began appearing in cities around the world. Scanning the QR code sends users to Ateez's official youtube channel and website.

On 5/25, Ateez posted a link to their website, revealing an image of a vending machine and the words OUT OF ORDER...

Hongjoong was a guest on Anyang FC's youtube channel. ENG Subs have now been added to the interview!

youtube

Hongjoong, Yeosang and Mingi on EPIK HIGH 'epikase'

youtube

Jongho and EXO Baekhyun performed ‘Until I Found You’ by Stephen Sanchez on Secret Duet.

youtube

Hongjoong, Sohyang, Maddox, and xikers' Minjae performed and spoke at The King's Birthday Party held at the British Embassy in Seoul.

ATEEZ is on the lineup for Music Bank in Lisbon to be held on Sep 27 (Sat) at the MEO Arena!

Wooyoung for Arena Homme+ Digital Cover

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Arena Homme+ Korea (@arenakorea)

instagram

This Week

Keep checking Ateezofficial.net for more information about the upcoming Ateez comeback!

5/26 Ateez is nominated for Favorite K-Pop Artist Award at the AMAs, who will hold their award ceremony on Monday May 26 at 5 PM PT. Good luck Ateez!

5/27 Seonghwa and Yunho will appear on 'Xiumin's Ramyeon Store' to be released next week May 27 (Tue) 8pm KST

Coming Soon

5/31 Ateez is on the lineup for 'K-POP Masterz 2025 in Kuala Lumpur' to be held on May 31 (Sat). CRAVITY will also feature.

TBD San will appear on ‘Naraesik (나래식)’. The episode will be released this month.

6/1 Wooyoung will be a Special Guest for Gallant at the 17th Seoul Jazz Festival to be held on Jun 1 (Sun)

6/9 Ateez will feature on "Immortal Songs - 2025 Gyeongju APEC Special"

6/11 Ateez will perform at the 2025 BOF BIG&BAND CONCERT

6/18 Ateez is on the artist lineup for 'Mrs. GREEN APPLE presents CEREMONY' to be held on Jun 18 (Wed) at K-Arena Yokohama

Voting and Streaming

“Say My Name” has exceeded 100 million streams on Spotify! Wave (98M) and Crazy Form (94M) are the next closest to hit this amazing milestone!

With a comeback on the horizon, I encourage anyone who is interested in streaming to follow the guidelines shared by our fanbases. Unity in chaos!

Extras

Some great news about the latest Aniteez Pop-Up Store!

Song of the Week

This weekend marked the 2,000 day-anniversary of Ateez's Japanese debut! To celebrate, let's enjoy Limitless!

That's it for this week!

If you would like to be tagged for weekly updates reply below!

#tinytown digest #ateez #song mingi #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #choi san #kim hongjoong #jung wooyoung #kang yeosang #choi jongho #Youtube #Instagram #Spotify

56 notes · View notes

oh-koenig-my-koenig · 1 year ago

Text

listening to music in his car

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

(cw: age gap 25/41, nsfw, pure smutty smut, consensual somno, light degradation, butt stuff, mdni)

👑 (king): whats going on? is something wrong? you’re much less chatty today me: I just had a really shitty day at work do you have some time? 👑 (king): yes me: can you pick me up and we just drive around and listen to music in your car? 👑 (king): be there in 10

He’s right, I am being much less chatty today. The truth is he has been on my mind all day, but work has been kicking my butt.

We didn’t see each other ever since he brought me to work yesterday in the morning. He insisted on it after almost making me late – for reasons. We hurried along, and I made us some coffee quickly, then we were out the door, into the car, and driving to my workplace.

The goodbye was a little awkward because I needed to get into work, but I couldn’t really tear myself away from him. His hand grabbed my chin and he kissed me one last time.

“Come on now, before I’m making you late again.”, he said, those words finally getting me to go, even though his hooded lids and the way he was looking at me made me want to climb onto his lap and fuck him again.

To say I had a hard time concentrating at work would be an understatement because I kept thinking about that morning. How he woke me up.

Soft licks on my pussy slowly but surely coaxing me awake, and the first thing I saw, was his head between my legs, his tongue dipping into me, the rosy tip disappearing inside me, which almost made me come on the spot. His hair was falling to the side, covering my thigh, brushing over the skin when he moved his head.

A soft moan escaped my lips which had him look up at me, his brows raising slightly, as I squirmed against his lips. “Good morning.”, he whispered softly against my pussy before he licked it again.

Heaven. I slowly stretch myself, grinding myself on his face, his nose nudging against my clit. Answering with a little tired “good morning”, a breathy sound, that made him chuckle, little puffs of air hitting the sensitive wet folds.

His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me for him, as he started to lick and suck more eagerly now that I’m awake. The zaps of pleasure, that shook me when he nipped at the sensitive skin, pushed my sleepiness away until I was a writhing wet mess coming undone on his tongue.

He didn’t stop at the one, this time using his fingers as well. Slowly and sweetly coaxing the second release out of me while he was sucking my clit. Licking up my arousal, even cleaning up his fingers that had been deep inside me.

I caught myself looking into the void, my mind coming back to his head between my legs more than once. My god, I needed to get a grip.

Such an event came in the form of our boss firing half the department. I didn’t get laid off, but I have been picking up the scraps ever since. Trying to figure out how the others managed their clients. How to distribute the tasks between the remaining workers.

Yesterday evening I met with a friend, one I have known for a very long time and who already has a husband and kids and the whole shebang, that’s why I didn’t wanna give her a raincheck. To be honest, I needed somebody to talk to about this whole mess. And also brag about my new acquaintance.

I fell into bed after coming home from having drinks with her. I maaaybe had one too many which almost made me late again (which is not a good look after half your department had been fired). Working on double speed to get everything done that piled up just overnight. And I sent König a few messages. But not nearly talking as much as before the concert.

Now that I see his message again “is something wrong?”, a pang of guilt hits me. I could’ve explained it to him better. I could’ve just texted him more. I could’ve just said that I’ll tell him later. That I just was busy and it had nothing to do with him. Shit.

I leave my apartment and wait for him on the curb, waving at him, when he drives closer and parks right in front of me.

“König Private Chauffeur inc. – at your service.”, he jokes as I get in the car, which makes me laugh.

“Thanks for picking me up.”, I tell him, feeling a bit shy all of a sudden. Can I kiss him? Is he… mad at me? He wouldn’t have made a joke like that or even picked me up, if he is, right?

I decide to first talk and then maybe steal a kiss later if he still feels up to it. I clasp my hands together and place them in my lap. The music from the speakers is a bit more quiet than last time, but I still recognise Dark Tranquility’s ‘Lethe’. He pulls out the driveway and starts driving at a pace above the speed limit that won’t get him in trouble if we get pulled over.

“I need to apologise.”, I start. He just looks at me for a moment, the expression on his face unreadable, before looking to the front again. And I’m aware of his serious intensity, while there is something still bubbling underneath. The same thing that just made him make the joke about being my chauffeur.

“Something happened at work and I was superbusy and yesterday in the evening I met with a friend, I told you about that, didn’t I?”, I yapp, not waiting for an answer. “And when I saw your messages, that was when I realized that I had barely texted you and didn’t even explain myself, and how that must’ve look after…” I trail off.

“I started to get worried.”, he admits. “But I didn’t want to press you because it’s not my place.” He clears his throat. “And for a little bit, I thought you maybe regretted it. What we did.”, he says with a wry smile on his face. And my stomach drops – just a little bit.

“What, no?! I just had the shittiest two days ever at work, so I didn’t have that much time to text you.”, I exclaim, reaching my hand out to touch his arm, and his gaze drops down to it for just a little bit, panning back up to me. “I swear, it had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry.” I smile at him and he nods, some of the worry dissipating. “And I don’t regret sleeping with you. Not in the slightest.”, I tell him, looking directly at him, so he knows I’m serious. I can feel the tension drop out of him, at least some of it, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna… I thought that maybe the age difference…”, he starts to explain, but breaks off twice. “It seems, I was overthinking it.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry.” To be fair, I would have never thought that it would give him some kind of insecurity – this kind of insecurity. But his messages and his words make it clear that he cared more about the whole ordeal than I thought. I pull my hand back, hesitatingly, not really knowing what else to say. His doubts were only in his head, not in mine.

"I’m gonna be honest with you, I didn't have any dates or sleepovers of that kind in like… probably four or five years?”, he says, the sentence more sounding like a question. “So, I’m a bit rusty.”

To say I’m flabbergasted by his admission would be an understatement. “Really?”, I ask. How? would be the next question. But I bite my tongue.

He shrugs his shoulders, seeming more nonchalant than he perhaps really is. “Yeah. I was too busy with work.”, he just says, but I can still see little nervous ticks happening all over his body. His thumb drumming on the steering wheel, his left leg bouncing up and down a bit. His other hand fidgeting with the gear shift, dropping down, grazing my thigh ever so slightly. Just the slight touch against my jeans makes me hyperaware of how close he is. The interior of the car is spacious enough, but due to his sheer size that doesn’t really matter. I lean more to the side, towards the center console, even closer to him.

“So, what happened at work?”, he asks then, seemingly not wanting to talk about his dating life anymore. I tell him about the whole mess with the department, and how I’m surprised that even though my boss doesn’t like me very much, I didn’t get cut, and that I now have all of Rhonda’s clients and they’re not happy about that either.

“So yeah, I’ve been extra busy and I can’t really slack because they’ll probably fire me too then.”, I conclude my extensive retelling of my last two work days.

“I see.”, he says.

Silence falls over us, ‘Spiritual Healing’ from Death sounding from the speakers.

“And… it really wasn’t anything I did?”, he asks then, his eyes darting to me.

I tilt my head at him, like ‘you’re seriously asking me this?’. “No, I swear. Everything is good. It was…” I look to the front as red-hot blush floods my cheeks. My god, this man made me cum twice on his tongue right after waking up without wanting any favours – sexual or otherwise – in return. And he feared that he did something wrong.

I clear my throat, trying to calm myself down, thinking about that whole ordeal, but it wasn’t working at all. Especially because he catches on how flustered I am. “It was good. Had a hard time thinking about anything else, when I really needed to focus on work.”, I confess. And not just the thing in the morning, right. The concert we went to together, the conversation in the car afterward, when we hooked up and he stayed over… A very dreamy first date – if you can call it that – in my book.

“I see. That’s…” His lips quirk as he’s trying to stay serious, but I can see him breaking, turning his mouth up into a smirk. “That’s good to know.”

“Don’t grin like that.”, I tell him, a little pouty, which only makes him laugh, while he takes a turn, so we’re heading down the road that leads outside the city.

His hand mindlessly wanders to his lips, his thumb softly stroking over his lower lips, like he’s also thinking about what we did, the reminder of how we kissed making my mouth drop open ever so slightly.

He sees the way I’m looking at him, and the pointer finger hooks in a ‘come hither’ motion. It doesn't take more than that. I lean towards him, bending up to reach him, my hand gripping his forearm, and I press my lips to his, feeling their softness. Just a short kiss because he’s still driving, but it is enough to make me sigh when he breaks away.

“So, tell me again, how good was it for you?”, he asks, a devilish grin forming on his face while his eyes dart between my face and the street in front of him.

I shoot him a look, but he only chuckles, a cocky sound. Oh, two can play this game. I’ll just remind him how desperate and turned on he was as well.

I lean closer to him once more, this time letting my hand trail down his stomach, placing kisses along his jawline, and I can almost hear him falter instantly, especially when my fingertips reach the waistband of his jeans. I lick his neck and a slight shiver shakes him, before I suck on it, leaving a small little hickey, like the one he left on my collarbone.

“Please.”, I say again, palming him over the zipper. His breath goes harder, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks with how hard he’s gripping it, while I softly graze over the hard tip that’s already poking out his jeans, his erection straining against the fabric.

“I need you to fuck me.”, I almost moan into his ear, a little bratty smile stalking onto my face. “Need you deep inside me.”

I can hear his restraint snap. He grunts, pulling the car to the side, parking it on the side of the road. “Get on the backseat.”, he orders, looking at me all stern, pure lust glinting in his eyes, and I scramble to get the seatbelt off and climb back through the seats.

That tone in his voice and that look on his face could make me do anything, my god. I suppress my need to answer with a “Yes, Sir” and watch him, while he gets out the driver’s side and opens the door to the backseat.

“Lie down, ass up.”, he tells me, gravelly and hoarse. I do as he told me and he pulls at my pants, pulling them far enough down to expose my ass and pussy. He climbs in behind me, onto the seat, his jeans grazing over the exposed skin of my thighs, and I have to hold myself back not to press back into his groin. He closes the door behind him and dwarfs the backseat with his sheer size, trying to fit under the car’s roof.

His hand comes down on my left cheek, the slap resounding in the space around us, drowning out the music for a split second. He spanks me again, a few times actually, which has me squirm, needy, wet and desperate for his touch. His fingers lightly graze over the reddened skin before he slaps my cheeks again, while his other hand finds my wetness, fingertips rubbing over my clit.

“If I had known that you are such a needy little thing…”, he says, pushing his fingers into me roughly. I whimper, his words only making me wetter, as I grind against his hand.

“Oh, you like that, huh?”, he asks, a rather rhetorical question.

“Yes, please, fuck.”, I groan, my nails digging into the firm black leather of the backseat, desperate to hold on to something, while the pushes of his digits alone almost make me slide forwards. Trying to fuck myself back onto him, my hips buck of their own volition.

“Please, I need more.”, I beg, and he grumbles, pulling his finger out of me and trying to grab his wallet to get a condom.

“That’s not more.”, I comment, meekly, teasing him, the little smirk on my face hidden, but he knows anyway. One of his hands slaps my ass again, harder this time, and I whine and giggle, wriggling underneath him.

He opens the foil packet with his teeth while his other hand fumbles with his belt. Hurried, rushed movements. I hear the snap of the rubber and then he pushes into me. The sudden stretch makes me scream, my back arching.

“Is that what you wanted, Kleine?”, he almost growls, as he starts to fuck me hard, the whole car shaking from his onslaught. “For me to take you right here on the backseat, hm?”

The “yes, yes, yes” from my mouth is more moans than actual words.

“Fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”, he grunts, the inflection in his voice getting more and more unhinged while he pounds into me. “Like a good little slut.” The light degradation washes over me, stoking my arousal. My fingers clasp over my mouth, moaning into my hand, while I struggle to hold on with the other one-

“Oh no no no, I need to hear you.”, he grunts, pulling them away from my lips, letting his hand rest on my shoulder then, using his hold on me as leverage to pound me even harder. The sounds that drop from my throat are almost obscene, drowning out the music.

With him fucking me from behind like that – he is so deep inside me, I feel his tip nudging against my cervix every single time, the intense feeling making me shake. The soft pillow of my asscheeks is softening every blow, but the slap against my skin reminds me that he spanked my butt before.

He spits, the dollop of saliva running down my crack. I can feel his thumb dragging the spit over my puckered hole, until he pushes into it, and the sensation makes my arms weak. The side of my face is getting pushed into the leather seat, my ass high up, his dick driving into my pussy, while he slowly pushes his thumb into my other hole, using the very same hand to pull my hips against his lap.

“Oh fuck.”, drops from my lips as he starts to also fuck me with his thumb, not at the same pace, slower, but the added pressure is driving me crazy. I won’t make it long like this.

I can feel how my thighs start to shake, the one leg almost dropping from the backseat, my pussy is squeezing him, the sensations of his finger in my ass- it’s all too much.

My toes are curling inside my boots that press against the nice leather of the seat, dirtying it up. His lap collides with my behind again, his length bottoming me out, while the digit inside of me presses down, just slightly, and I can feel the tension snap like a rubberband, the zap of pleasure getting flung through my body.

With a loud incoherent curse, I cum around him, pulsing on his dick and thumb, the convulsions shaking me hard. He’s still fucking me through the orgasm, the continued stimulation taking my breath away until I feel tears prick in the corners of my eyes, and I slump down into the cushioned seat, when he pushes into me one last time and cums too, his fingers digging into my ass, almost bruising the plump skin.

The next few moments are filled with our panting breaths and some song playing that I can’t recognize while my brain is still hazy with pleasure.

“Are you okay?” The first question he asks.

“Yes, I’m fucking perfect.”, I mumble I’m not even exaggerating. This was everything I needed.

I straighten myself up and he pulls back, almost hitting his head on the roof of the interior, and I have to clasp my fingers over my lips to hold back the giggle. He shoots me a look nonetheless and quickly gets rid of the condom, pulling it from his softening dick and putting both away, while I more or less put my clothes in place again, which is more difficult with arms made of putty.

“I’m sorry, I feel like I got carried away.”, he breathes, his chest rising with every breath, his hands reaching for me, pulling me onto his lap. His eyes are searching mine again, the same as last time.

My hand shoots up, cupping his cheek. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize, that was great.”, I tell him. The look on his face is painted in surprise.

“Mein Gott, I don’t know what I did to...”, he mumbles, hiding his face in the crook of my neck, the rest of the sentence getting swallowed up.

We stay like that a little longer, my fingers scratching over his scalp, caressing him softly, as he snuggles into me, his arm thrown around me like a weighted blankie. Music is still coming from the speakers in the car, ‘Love You to Death’ is currently playing which makes me chuckle to myself. I could have stayed here for hours, in his car, the scent of leather and himself engulfing me. The soft vibrations of the bass shaking the seats. Sitting on his lap, cuddled into his arms. The warmth of his body almost lulling me to sleep. The way he presses kisses to my cheeks and temples every so often. Little small touches, soft and tender.

“I’ll bring you home, okay?”, he says after a while and I nod. I pull my panties and pants up properly and climb into the front seat again.

I turn the music up louder, and ‘Sulfur’ from Slipknot is shaking the speakers while he gets in the driver’s seat again. I hum along to the song, sitting in my seat, looking up at him like nothing had happened. The way he’s looking at me, serious on the outside, but I can see the bubble of mischief in his eyes, and it makes a grin form on my lips, while I sing “like breathing in sulfur.” That pulls a laugh from his chest, and that hearty full-of-life sound makes butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“What?”, I ask him, grinning up at König.

He shakes his head, his grin at least as wide as mine. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” He starts the car and mutters something, that I can’t quite hear with the music so loud. “It’s great, even.”

next part: sending him a naughty pic

~ More Stuff in the Masterlist ~

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

450 notes · View notes